by Neile Parisi
Some of my students said goodbye. “See you tomorrow, Mrs. M.”
“I guess we got out of homework tonight, ha ha.”
“Stay cool, Mrs. Murray.”
I don’t remember answering any of them. I only remember the hole in the pit of my stomach growing deeper, and the disbelief rising in my throat and turning to nausea.
I sat at my desk, my head in my hands, and wept. I sobbed for what seemed like hours. I remembered hearing stories about teachers falsely accused whose careers were over even after they had been proven innocent. No one would ever hire them to work with children again. It was just too risky. You not only lose your job, you lose your career—and your life as you know it.
I had read about a daycare teacher who was accused of touching her students. She was promptly dismissed, as if she had never existed. She got off easy. She wasn’t prosecuted, just dismissed.
Statistics say about 56 percent of the accused are innocent of the crimes, but 75 percent of accused educational workers either surrender their license or just get fired. Some say it’s just too much trouble to fight, and chances are, no one will ever hire you again after you have been involved in any incident, even if you are not guilty. How shameful that all a student has to do is claim that he was mistreated, and the teacher is crucified for life. The student could dislike the teacher, he could be unprepared for class or just be trying to get attention, and the poor teacher is stripped of his or her career.
I read somewhere that tears can only flow for four to six minutes at a time. Mine seemed endless. My chest heaved uncontrollably as I screamed, “What am I going to do? Why is this happening to me? I can’t believe this is happening. What am I going to do?” Over and over and over again, until I threw up. “How the hell did this happen? I hate him. He lied after all I did for him!”
I stopped crying and called my union president, who said she would call the principal, and, if necessary, send a letter to the assistant superintendent of schools.
Then I bowed my head and prayed, asking My Heavenly Father to help me through this ordeal, to know what to do and say, to confirm to me that I would have a job after the investigation was completed, that everything would be all right.
Then I heard a voice as clear as if someone were sitting beside me. The voice said, “YOU WILL LOSE YOUR JOB AND IT WILL BE VERY PAINFUL. PREPARE YOURSELF. PACK UP YOUR ROOM TONIGHT. YOU WILL NOT BE ALLOWED IN THE SCHOOL TOMORROW OR EVER AGAIN.”
No, I thought, this can’t be true, but a comforting voice assured me that it was to be. I actually realized that it was a blessing to know what was going to happen. I was prepared, at least for tonight. The next thing I was conscious of was calling my two best friends, Lee and Madge, to come by the school and help me pack up my room. I briefly explained what had happened, and they agreed to come by immediately. Then I called Philip, my husband, and told him I would be late. I didn’t share what had happened. I wanted to do that in person.
CHAPTER 10
Packing My Room
LEE AND MADGE ARRIVED at around 7:00 P.M. with heavy hearts, open arms, and dinner in hand. We all hugged and cried for a while.
“So, what happened?” Lee asked. “No matter what, we will help you. We love you, and we will figure this all out.”
“We’re on your side, no matter what,” Madge said.
“I knew you would be there for me. You always are.”
We sat down and I told them my nightmare, expressing my anguish with the situation. I shared what I knew, and for the next four hours, my two best friends quietly packed up eighteen years of my life and my room, refusing to question me any further. They rejected the notion that I was guilty, and spoke of the future and my continued success as a fantastic science teacher.
As we rummaged through the boxes, I made decisions about what to keep and what to discard. There were experiments labeled for future classes. I loved being the magical, mystical mad scientist Mrs. Murray, threatening to amaze young minds with my experiments. I was a GRAND TEACHER. Students loved coming to my class. There were photos of science fair winners. We usually came in first or second. There were remnants of science projects, and much more. There were numerous textbooks—everything from the organs of the human body to the ten deadliest snakes in the world. There were rolls of adding-machine tapes that had been used to draw the phases of the moon.
Oh, how I loved astronomy. There were Styrofoam balls to make solar systems, every color of paint ever manufactured, and skeletal remains of various creatures that I had collected over the years. The biggest, and my favorite, was the skeleton of a wild boar with three of its four tusks still intact. I also had the femur bone of a horse, the horns and upper jaw of a steer that I had found in the desert in Utah, and complete skeletons of a squirrel, a bird, and a rat. They all had names.
And, I almost forgot—I had inherited a human skeleton, complete with skull. His name was Hector. There were booklets ready to use for compiling data from experiments. I always wanted to be ready. And let’s not forget the glow-in-the dark paints, a smash hit used to create entire solar systems, a microwave and a bar refrigerator (necessities for any good science teacher), and more books on every subject: physics, earth science, astronomy, the human body, zoology, the earth, the sun, the stars, the moon, and on and on and on. Why did I need any of this anymore? Would I ever teach again? Should I just throw everything out and start fresh? I wanted to believe that I would be in a classroom again, but it seemed hopeless.
We continued to work in silence. I told our janitor Harry that I would be staying late, so he wouldn’t worry when he saw my classroom lights on. Around 11:00 P.M., we wheeled my belongings and memories out to my car. It took three trips. Eighteen years of lesson plans, science equipment, rocks, plants, crystals, chemicals, test tubes, projects, weights, solar systems, demonstrations; numerous papers, books, and memories had all been reduced to eight boxes. We loaded them into the car, hugged again, and parted ways. I sat in my car for a long time and cried, and looked up at my classroom windows for a long time. They were dark now. And they would be dark to me forever.
I didn’t get home until 11:15. Philip was waiting for me with a cup of tea and warmed-up dinner.
“Thank you, honey, but I’m not really hungry. I feel sick to my stomach.”
“What happened?”
“It’s such a nightmare. You know Daniel, my teacher’s aide? He accused me of punching him. They told me I had to go home on administrative leave indefinitely until an investigation is complete.”
I started sobbing, and Philip wrapped me in his arms.
“What? That’s crazy. Tell me what happened. I just don’t get it.”
“On Thursday, there was a fight that Daniel started, and kids were screaming, swearing, and punching. I tried to break it up and restrain Daniel, and I had the guard take him to the principal’s office. Then, today, I was called to her office, and there were Daniel, his mom, and her boyfriend. They were screaming at me and saying I was going to lose my job, and they were going to sue me. My head was spinning. I said, ‘What are you talking about?’ They told me to go home and not return until after the investigation. I said, ‘What investigation?’ I was helpless and hopeless, and went alone, with no union rep, no one to help me. I want back to my classroom, and the Lord told me to pack up my room, because they were not going to let me back in the school again. So I called Lee and Madge to come help, and that’s where I’ve been all this time.”
Philip held me as I wept. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll call a lawyer in the morning. We’ll figure this all out. It will be okay. Let’s go to bed. It’s late. I love you.”
CHAPTER 11
The Lawyer
I CALLED A LAWYER THE NEXT DAY—the best in town, or so I thought. Attorney Barrone was known for defending teachers, and had a great success rate. He had been recommended to me. Several teachers had been reinstated as a result of his talent and legal skills.
I was mostly numb, scared, and disbelieving that firs
t week. Part of me thought they would call me back and admit it had all been a mistake, and say I could return and take my rightful position in my classroom again. I missed my classes and teaching. But that was a dream. I was meeting the lawyer in two days.
I was still dumbfounded that Daniel Ray had accused me of anything. I thought he was doing so well. He had been my aide during his study periods, correcting papers and preparing equipment for experiments. He stayed after school to help, but had stopped coming early in the morning. He actually received two credits for being a teacher’s aide. He had seemed more focused and to be enjoying school more and more. Why had he accused me of this horrific act? What had happened, and changed his feelings so drastically that he would lash out like this? Well, those answers would have to wait as I tried to defend myself and keep my job.
Philip sat, listened, cried with me, and cradled my head as I kept going over my saga. He also asked, “How did this happen? Why did this happen? What do you intend to do? Maybe you shouldn’t have helped him so much. People start to think and wonder why you are spending so much time with him. What really happened?” It was painful to listen to Philip.
I never thought helping a student would turn into such a trial. I later found out that Daniel’s mom’s new beau beat him nightly. Daniel had said, “I hate the nights. I hate going home. I’d like to stay here as long as I can. It’s happy here. I’m happy here.” I didn’t know then why he hated the nights. Poor, poor Daniel, to have to suffer so much.
I didn’t schedule the bouts of depression, but with the regularity that they occurred, I could have sworn they were appointments in my daily plan book. I had read that the word depression is greatly overused and incorrectly used, but I had also read the symptoms of depression, and I was exhibiting every one of them, right down to suicidal tendencies. It seemed like a good plan to quietly slip off into dream world, never again to awaken to this nightmare. I just didn’t have the balls to do it.
When my family was home, I learned just how loudly to turn up the radio volume, coupled with the shower running, so my screams were not audible to anyone. When I was alone, I yelled, cried, begged, and pleaded with the God I used to know and love. Why had this happened? How had it happened? When would I wake up? I couldn’t survive this. It hurt too much. What could I do?
I washed, got dressed, and scoured the paper for job openings. I cried, read some more, and cried some more. I went to the bookstore and immersed myself in the latest bestsellers, hoping to find an answer, peace, solace, or just an excuse to stop crying. It was more difficult to cry in public, so I ventured out frequently.
CHAPTER 12
Philip, the Lawyer, and Me
PHILIP TOOK THE DAY OFF from work and accompanied me to the attorney’s office. After listening to the lawyer, I realized that this was the first time Philip had doubts about what had happened. His eyes betrayed his words. He vowed his support. He mouthed the words I believe you, but his eyes spoke differently. They were hollow when he looked at me, and I knew he didn’t believe me.
The attorney informed us that the Board of Education had an obligation to believe and protect the child, and my task was to prove my innocence. He also said it would be very difficult for me to win. I should have retained a different lawyer right then.
I only wanted to win my job back and salvage my reputation. That was all I cared about—not suing anyone. I felt that the principal should have defended me, but my attorney quickly educated me. His job was to defend the child. He couldn’t have cared less about me and my future.
Now, the long, arduous task of defending myself began. At first, I had great faith in my attorney, but as the days progressed, I saw the pathetic truth. Everyone believed Daniel. No one believed me, except my dear friends and my mother. Would that be enough to maintain my sanity?
At this point, my relationship with Philip was crumbling. I was very hard to live with. I had no job. I read a lot. I cried a lot. I was in the way all the time. I kept crying. My husband suffered. My sons suffered. They didn’t know me anymore. I couldn’t play with them. I couldn’t love my husband. I became consumed with the ordeal and the trial. I became the ordeal. I lost my identity. I lost my job. I lost my career. I lost my husband. I lost my sons. I almost lost my soul. That was all I had left.
My attorney asked a myriad of questions. “Did you punch Daniel?”
“What? I thought you were my attorney and believed me? No, I didn’t!”
“I have to ask these questions. Why did you designate him as your classroom aide?”
“I felt sorry for him and his pathetic life. I wanted to help him. I thought I could make a difference in his life.”
“Did you have feelings for him?”
“NO. Are you insane?”
“Just asking. Alright, tell me what happened that day in class.”
I had gone over and over it so many times, both in my mind and with Philip, that now it felt like a memorized recitation. “We were holding science fair presentations, and Daniel was the timer. His job was to tell the students when their time was nearly up, and ring the bell when it was five minutes.
He started fooling around, taunting students, making fun of their science fair boards, and had actually ripped off some data when one of the students told Daniel he was going to fail because he had no science fair project. Tempers flared, screaming and swearing began, and then punches started flying. Daniel was pushing, shoving, and punching several students. I jumped up from my desk. By this time, there were eight students involved. I ran in between the students, holding them back, trying to restrain Daniel, and he was punched several times by the students. I yelled at him, reprimanding him for his behavior. At the same time, I called a student to go and get the guard. I told Daniel that he had to leave and go to the principal’s office. He refused to leave. The guard had to physically drag him out of the room.”
“Daniel told the principal that you punched him, and his friends corroborated the story,” the attorney replied.
“I didn’t, but he was punched several times by students. As the days progressed, Daniel was overheard by his English teacher coaching his friends in class as to what to say to the principal: ‘Make sure you tell him that you saw Mrs. Murray punch me. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.’ I later found out that the principal had interviewed these students, and they agreed with Daniel. He also interviewed other students who sided with me, but apparently, their testimonies didn’t matter. They told me I was on administrative leave until after the investigation. They feel they have to protect the child. Well, then, who is supposed to protect me?”
“That’s my job. I must admit, it will be difficult, because he has witnesses who said you did it.”
“But they aren’t credible,” I said. “They are his friends, and they would lie for him.”
“Well, let’s see how it goes in DCF Court. We will review the questions and answers with you a couple of days in advance. My retainer is $5,000 to start. You can see the clerk as you leave. I will call you in a couple of days.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said.
CHAPTER 13
Residual Effect
LEE HAD BEEN MY BEST FRIEND for as long as I could remember. We went to elementary school, middle school, and college together. We dreamed of becoming teachers one day. As young people, we used to role-play many times during the day, taking turns being the teacher or the student.
One summer, I even started my own summer school. I had fourteen neighborhood children. I charged them 25 cents a day, and I even gave them lunch! I certainly felt that this was the career for me.
At the time, it seemed that I was going to teach forever, and one day retire after many successful years. It was so satisfying. I would walk around the neighborhood picking up my students, their parents gladly escorting them out the door with their 25 cents held tightly in their sweaty palms. When we arrived at my house, we gathered around the picnic table so I could present the lessons for the day. The day always included something
dramatic, with costumes and makeup. I usually let them write a short play, and at the end of the week, we would present it to anyone who would watch. This usually included my mom, my brother, and my cat. Even then, my cheerleader mom supported my endeavors. And she was paying for the peanut butter sandwiches and the lemonade.
Lee and I wanted to be teachers. It was a prestigious occupation then, unlike today’s definition of the job. It was a time when children revered their teachers and parents respected them, again unlike today’s standards. We were elated when we both graduated from the university. Now the best part was beginning. We planned to apply for jobs in the same school, and we actually were hired in the same school. I was an eighth-grade science teacher, and Lee was an English and history teacher. We were two of the finest teachers you could ever find: dedicated, intelligent, popular, creative, loving, and enduring. We were two of the most popular teachers in the entire district. I was even a runner-up for Teacher of the Year.
Lee couldn’t believe it when I told her about Daniel. “They said what? Daniel accused you of punching him? What are they talking about? Everyone knows that Daniel is a liar, a thief, and a cheat. Don’t they know that you are the grandest science teacher these walls have ever entertained? That is the best word to describe you—entertainer. Your students adore you and love coming to your class.”
“That’s true. They even come to school when they are sick so as not to miss my class. Remember when I dressed up as Einstein when I was teaching physics, and as Galileo when I was teaching astronomy?” I didn’t have to wait till Halloween to dress up. It was a common occurrence in my classroom. I loved it, simply loved it, and so did my students.