A Time To...

by Ronald Louis Peterson

  “So I did the only responsible thing anyone could do to stop the chaos and maintain an orderly teaching environment. I created Miss Lemur’s Ten Commandments. Actually, they’re rules, but commandments have a nicer ring and let them know that they’re in big trouble if they disobey them.”

  Al’s mom sat dumbfounded as Miss Lemur went on.

  “The first is, ‘Always listen to Miss Lemur.’

  The second is, ‘Don’t speak or whisper in class unless Miss Lemur tells you to.’

  The third is, ‘Stay in your seat.’

  The fourth is, ‘No fighting.’

  The fifth is, ‘No laughing or crying.’

  The sixth is, ‘No potty breaks during class time.’

  The seventh is, ‘No eating or gum chewing.’

  The eighth is, ‘Ask Miss Lemur whenever you want to do anything.’

  The ninth is, ‘Nobody is allowed to question anything Miss Lemur does.’

  And, the tenth I call my wild card because it is reserved for anything else that may come up at the time.”

  “What about writing? Are they allowed to write?” Al’s mom wondered to get the conversation back on track.

  “Writing? They don’t know how to write. I haven’t taught them writing,” Ms. Lemur advised.

  “Al wrote something, and he said you threw it away,” Mrs. Masterson said with all the diplomacy she could muster to keep Ms. Lemur from feeling uncomfortable.

  “Uh oh. I see he plays the victim with you, too. He stopped doing that with me after he realized that I wouldn’t give him the attention he craved. You should try it.”

  “No. No. You’re missing the point. It’s not about Al.”

  “Then, what’s your point?” Ms. Lemur asked with impatience written all over her face.

  “My point? My point?” Al’s mom repeated as she searched for the right words. “My point is that the Al you described to me isn’t the Al I know. Al’s on the shy side. If anything, he tries hard to blend in so he doesn’t get noticed. Playing a victim? I believed Al when he told me about a lot of cruel things some boys in his class have done to him. Thankfully they’ve stopped after my husband had a talk with Billy Bensen’s father. Billy did take Al’s autographed baseball from him ... not the other way around as you just said. And now you’re telling me you didn’t throw away his writing. So apparently he just lied to get my attention. But he doesn’t need to be a victim of something to get my attention. He didn’t tell me about his paper willingly. I had to coax it out of him.”

  Ms. Lemur shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “You know, now that I think about it, I could have thrown out his paper,” an annoyed Ms. Lemur offered. “I really don’t remember, but it’s possible. If I did throw it out, it’s because the writing was not an assignment I had given. I’ve got enough to keep me busy with my assignments, so I really can’t handle any more.”

  Just then, Miss Lemur’s timer beeped on her desk in front of Mrs. Masterson. “Oops. Time’s up. Thanks for coming,” Miss Lemur said as she ushered Al’s mom out, saying, “It was a pleasure meeting you.” And, without missing a beat, Miss Lemur then ushered in the next parent and welcomed her with, “I’m so glad you could come.”

  At that point, the larger scene in Al’s flashback came alive again and the TV screen dissolved from Al’s classroom to Beaver’s classroom and picked up the episode where it had left off.

  “Looking at them side by side, you’d never know that they are the same creature, just at different stages in their lives,” said Miss Canfield as Beaver and Larry held up the caterpillar and the butterfly so everyone in the class could see them.

  “Miss Canfield, wouldn’t it be great if kids grew wings when they got older?” Beaver asked with wonder.

  “Well, Beaver, people can’t grow real wings, but we do grow in other ways so we can do amazing things as inventors, artists, firefighters, and more,” Miss Canfield advised.

  “My dad says if we’re good, like my grandfather, we’ll grow wings when we die and go to heaven,” said Beaver thoughtfully.

  “I stand corrected. I forgot about those wings,” Miss Canfield confessed.

  Al liked Ms. Canfield because she made learning fun, she was nice to her students, and she cared about them.

  “I don’t think your teacher cares about her students,” Al’s mom told him when she returned from the parent-teacher meeting. “I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s the feeling I got after talking with her.” Al nodded because he knew exactly what his mom meant. And, a week later in class, Miss Lemur confirmed what he and his mom had suspected.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Dysfunctional Teacher

  “I don’t care. Do you hear me? I don’t care.” Miss Lemur told her class emphatically. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions! Understand? Today, I want you to take these letters I wrote and these signs I made, and give them to your parents. The letter explains why I’d like them to walk in front of the Lowe’s Theater on Steinway Street tomorrow night with these signs.”

  That night, Al overheard his dad tell his mom, “We’ve got better things to do with our time than to fight that woman’s personal battles. From what you and Al told me, she only cares about herself. What other kind of person would ask us to do something like this?”

  Apparently all of the other parents in Al’s class felt the same way, because none of them showed up either in front of the theater with Miss Lemur’s signs.

  A few days later, however, they saw a photo on the front page of the Long Island Star Journal showing Miss Lemur holding one of the signs in front of the Loews Theater. The photo was big enough for the reader to see the words on both Miss Lemur’s sign and the theater marquee.

  “They stole my story,” read Miss Lemur’s sign, and the theater marquee read, “Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?”

  Al learned from his dad that the news story accompanying the photo reported that Miss Lemur claimed to have sent a letter outlining the same movie plot two years ago to the star of the movie, Tony Randall. As a member of his fan club, she had thought he would be perfect for the role.

  After the news story appeared about Miss Lemur’s claims, Miss Lemur hired a lawyer to help her receive compensation for copyright infringement. One thing led to another and the story became national news, with Miss Lemur and her attorney appearing in theater news reels across the country.

  Al’s flashback then fast-forwarded to a moment weeks later. “You’re getting a new teacher,” Al’s mom told him. “We just got a letter from your school telling us that the school board fired Miss Lemur because she had lied about sending that letter to Tony Randall. The court dismissed her case and fined Miss Lemur for making false accusations and wasting its time. The school board said Miss Lemur had to leave her job after breaking the law and shaming the school.”

  “Wow! Does this mean I don’t have to go to school tomorrow?” Al asked.

  “You’ll have school tomorrow. Your new teacher is a Miss Weir, who was just hired. She has to be better than Miss Lemur. I just wonder how someone like Miss Lemur gets to be a teacher in the first place,” Al’s mom said, taking the words out of Al’s mouth.

  Later, Al learned that Miss Lemur left teaching to become a successful publicist for celebrities. Her successes had a common thread. The tabloids and the gossip columns loved to print stories about how Miss Lemur’s clients had been victimized in one way or another. Her strategy worked even better when they had actually been victimized. It was only in hindsight, as Al’s life flashed before him, that he appreciated the irony in Miss Lemur’s accusing him of playing a victim to bring attention to him. He understood now that she saw in Al what she had wanted to see, and as it turned out, Miss Lemur’s perceptions of Al had been based on her own twisted view of the world.

  And it was only now that Al fully appreciated what his replacement teacher, Miss Weir, did for him.

  Al’s world had been turned upside down with hi
s family’s move to New York City. People talked with strange accents and languages, dressed in different clothes styles, ate weird food, interacted with each other abruptly, and had wide-ranging variations in their skin colors, hair styles, and physical features. Maneuvering in this new world was difficult for anyone, but even more so for a seven-year-old who, unlike most of his classmates, had a much different school experience as a reference point.

  Al was still reeling from the anti-social antics of Billy Bensen’s band and Miss Lemur’s dysfunctional leadership when Miss Weir entered his life. So Al braced for the worst as Miss Weir walked into the classroom for the first time.

  CHAPTER 17

  The Good Teacher

  “Good morning, class. My name is Miss Weir and I’m your new teacher. This is my first day at PS 171, so you’ll have to help me find my way around. In fact, I’m new to this part of the city. I grew up in Manhattan, and last spring became a teacher after graduating from college. Now, I know it’s hard for you to get a new teacher mid-year, so I’m going to do everything I can to help you make the adjustment. And you can help by telling me a little about yourselves.”

  The students were quiet and listened with great curiosity, even Billy Bensen and his buddies. Miss Weir looked and sounded a lot different than Miss Lemur.

  “Unfortunately your last teacher must have taken the class seating chart with her. I just have an attendance book with your names. So, as I call your name, please raise your hand and tell me three things that I should know about you. It’s really the only way I’ll be able to teach what you each need to learn.”

  What kind of trick is this? Al wondered. She must think I’m nuts. Tell her and everyone else in the class about me so they could use what they learn against me? Not a chance. Every time Al had shared anything about himself with Miss Lemur and the class, he had just gotten burned.

  Miss Weir called on the students in alphabetical order, but none of the first three had anything to say about themselves. “You know, I think it’s only fair that I first tell you three things about myself that you should know.” All the students sat up in their seats and leaned forward to listen.

  “I like music, all kinds; and, I played clarinet in my high school band.” This revelation didn’t make much of an impression on the class.

  “Do any of you have nicknames? My mom gave me one. She calls me Tiffany because I like and collect stained glass. Tiffany is a famous maker of stained glass.” This created a buzz around the room of students sharing their nicknames with each other. “And the third thing about me that I think you should know is that I have a reading disability that kept me in second grade for two years.” I was lucky to have a teacher in my second year who recognized my disability and helped me learn to read in spite of it. Before her, everyone except me and my parents thought I was just not very smart. They called me a slow learner.”

  The students stared at Miss Weir, trying to understand how someone with a learning disability could become a teacher.

  “Once I overcame my reading disability with my teacher’s help, I was able to keep up with and even learn faster than many of my classmates. Then they began calling me smart. So, you see, we all learn in different ways. But I can’t help you learn if I don’t know what interests you or how you learn. Hopefully, none of you have learning disabilities like me, but if you do, I need to know so I can help you like Mrs. Barton helped me when I was your age.”

  Miss Weir then smiled and looked around the room at the faces of all her students. Their expressions ranged from amazement to contemplation. A few whispered to their neighbors.

  “Instead of going around the room in alphabetical order, let’s try this,” Miss Weir suggested. “If you would like to tell me three things about yourself, please raise your hand.”

  Then something strange happened that Al remembered well. He had raised his hand. But, he wasn’t sure why.

  “Yes. First tell me your name,” Miss Weir told Al as she pointed to him.

  “Al Masterson.”

  “OK, Al. Now, please tell me about yourself.”

  “I used to live in Louisville, Kentucky.” The words flowed from his mouth spontaneously as if someone else were speaking them.

  “Ah. So that’s where you’re from. You have a Southern accent, but I couldn’t place it exactly. Isn’t Louisville where they run the Kentucky Derby?” Miss Weir asked.

  “Yes,” Al said confidently.

  “I’m reading a travel book now and it talks about some very interesting places in Kentucky, like Mammoth Cave, one of the world’s largest caves,” Miss Weir told the class.

  “Mammoth Cave is really neat. I went on a tour of it last year with my family,” Al said.

  “If you have any photos that you took there, please bring them in tomorrow. I’d love to see them and show them to the class,” Miss Weir told Al with a warm smile.

  “My dad took a lot of pictures. I’ll ask him if I can bring some in.”

  “That would be great, Al. The book I have only has one small picture of the cave. What else can you tell me about yourself?”

  The protective wall that Al had built up around himself began to crumble. There was something different about Miss Weir. She was really interested in getting to know Al and she thought his old home state was such a cool place that she even wanted to visit it.

  “I like riding on the subway. One of the first things we did after moving to New York was taking the subway to Coney Island,” Al replied.

  That created an affirmative buzz and appreciative nods from Al’s classmates. Al didn’t know how, but he sensed that his classmates were beginning to see him more as an interesting person to get to know rather than a stranger with comical differences. It was as if Miss Weir had waved a magic wand across the room to change everyone’s perception of him. And, more important, Al’s perception of himself in the class had changed. As Al reflected on this moment, he smiled.

  “You know, Al, you just gave me a great idea. If all of you work hard this year, I’d like to take the class on a field trip to Coney Island the last week of school in June,” Miss Weir told the class.

  The students couldn’t contain themselves. They clapped and cheered. A few of his classmates patted Al on the back for inspiring Miss Weir.

  Al was excited about returning to Coney Island because he had gotten an upset stomach and didn’t do much on his first visit.

  “OK, class, settle down. Remember, first you all have to work hard the rest of the year to earn the trip,” Miss Weir told them.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Weir,” asked Mr. Kurtz, the school principal, who was walking by the classroom when the students erupted.

  “Everything is fine, Mr. Kurtz. We were just setting goals for the year. Thanks for asking.”

  “Goals. Yes, that’s something to be excited about,” he said as he left the room.

  “Now, where were we?” Miss Weir asked her class. A handful of the students closest to Al pointed their fingers at him.

  “Oh, that’s right. Al has one more thing to tell me about himself. OK, Al. So you’re from Kentucky and you like to ride the subway. What else should I know about you?”

  “I wish I could read and write,” he said seriously.

  “Well, you’ll continue learning to do both this year. It takes time. Each year you’ll learn to do more. If you could read and write now, what would you do?”

  “I’d talk to my grandmother,” Al replied without hesitation.

  “So you’d send letters to your grandmother?”

  “No. She lives with me, my parents, and my brother. She can’t hear or talk because she had a heart attack,” Al said. “The only way I can talk with her is by writing what I want to say so she can read it, and then she writes what she wants to say to me. But since I can’t read or write; only my parents and my older brother talk with her.”

  “Oh, I see. I’m sorry to hear that about your grandmother. If you’d like, I’ll hel
p you to write some things to your grandmother,” Miss Weir offered.

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  Miss Weir gave all her students opportunities to tell her about themselves before school ended that first day.

  On the second day, she began by saying, “Now that we know each other a little better, I want to discuss classroom rules.” All the students rolled their eyes and moaned reflexively. She walked over to a large pad of paper on an easel next to her desk. On it at the top of the first page were the words, “Miss Weir’s Class Rules” in black magic marker, which she read to the class. Then she turned to the next page on the pad, but nothing was written on it.

  “This is our first class assignment,” she said as the puzzled students looked at each. “I have some ideas about the class rules that are needed to help me teach and help you to learn, but I need your ideas, too, because we’re in this together.”

  The first things that came to Al’s mind to tell Miss Weir, and apparently to everyone else’s, were Miss Lemur’s rules because they were the first ten responses. But the children didn’t credit their source. They just repeated what they thought their teacher wanted to hear. Miss Weir listened politely with interest until she heard the tenth commandment and then, with a quizzical smile and in a good-natured tone of voice, she said, “I think you misunderstood what I am asking. I didn’t say I wanted rules for living in the Wicked Witch of the West’s dungeon.”

  A wave of laughter filled the room.

  “I want rules that will get you excited about learning. Rules don’t have to stop you from doing things. Sometimes rules make it easier for you to do things. They free you to do things. These are the kinds of rules I mean.”