by Allen Cheney
Fred nodded and headed for his daughter’s bedroom. Winnie knew firsthand how beneficial it was for a girl to have a caring father, and she was grateful Allison still had Fred in her life. Just down the hall, he knocked while calling, “Allison? Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she said flatly.
He found her sitting on her bed, listening to music, looking defeated. “What’s wrong?” Fred asked, taking a seat.
“Nothing.” She didn’t bother looking his way.
“Allison, please don’t do that. You know you can talk to me about anything. What is it?”
Her agitation increased as she stood and moved toward her window. “I already told you. I’m fine.”
“Yes, that’s what you said. Only problem is, you aren’t saying it very convincingly.”
She brewed, keeping her eyes focused on the sunset with her arms crossed tight.
“Please, Allison,” Fred persisted. “Tell me.”
It wasn’t until Fred dared to turn off the music that she finally began to open up, still facing the window. “Word spread about The Tonight Show,” she began. “Everyone was all excited that Ed McMahon held up that old album cover with my picture on it and said all those nice things about me.” She turned partly toward Fred, just enough for him to see her brows pinched and her eyes red from crying. “But that teacher . . .”
Fred sighed and patted the bed.
Allison sat but kept a good distance from her father. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t understand why she doesn’t like me.”
“Jealousy is a terrible thing,” Fred said. “Oldest story in the book.”
“It’s not fair.”
“You’re right. Nothing fair about it,” Fred admitted. “And I’m sure it hurts.”
She finally made eye contact. “Can’t you make her stop, Daddy? You’re a teacher too.”
“Unfortunately, there’s not much anyone can do to make a person like that stop,” Fred said. “All you can control is how you handle it.”
“It’s not that she does anything specific. She just gives me looks and talks like she’s mad at me all the time. She won’t call on me in class. She doesn’t choose me for projects. She makes it very clear she doesn’t want me there.”
“But you’ve got a lot of friends who do want you there, and you’re good at choosing people who really care about you,” Fred said. “You know you’re loved. Just hold on to that truth, and you’ll have all you need to get through school. Through life.”
Giving Allison a kiss on her forehead, Fred turned to walk out of the room when she called out meekly, “Daddy?” Fred turned to see his daughter’s eyes looking down as if holding a burdensome weight, something heavier than a few school worries. “Someday will you talk to me about what really happened?”
Fred’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
After a pause, Allison continued. “Will you tell me why you were really gone for so long?” She looked up to reveal a deeply held pain and confusion. “I just . . . I feel like I deserve to know.”
Fred walked back to his daughter and wrapped his arms around her. As she leaned into him, he kissed her forehead again. “Do you know you are the we of me? And that I love you more than I can put into words?”
Allison nodded from the safety of his arms.
“From the very first day I saw those perfect blue eyes looking back at me, and you reached up and grabbed my finger, I knew you deserved the world.” He held her in silence, wanting to shield her from all the hurts of life. She had grown to become observant, like her mother, and curious, like her father, and it was clear that she had been longing for answers for quite some time. “You deserve to know the truth.”
Allison grabbed her daddy’s arms, as if he were her rock in an unsteady world.
“Someday I’ll tell you everything you want to know. You have my word. For now, I just want you to know that everything is okay. It really, truly is.”
Fred and Winnie had worked diligently to protect their daughter from the strains they had endured, and since leaving Bernardsville together, even they hadn’t spoken about any of it, believing the best thing to do was to move forward in their new life. Clearly that had left Allison with nothing but questions. Fred imagined she had been equally confused by the fact that they hadn’t spoken to their Allen relatives in several years, even rejecting some of their attempts to reach out and come visit. Allison was surrounded by Winnie’s loving and doting family, but she knew only that they didn’t talk about Fred’s. She deserved to know more about her father’s journey so she could understand her own. In time Fred would have to find a way to tell her everything, but for now his reassurances would have to suffice.
Not long after that day, Allison experienced another unfortunate episode at school. A different teacher had caught a few students cheating and falsely accused Allison of taking part. When he called her out with the group, he gave her a condescending stare and said, “Well, it looks like Fred Allen’s daughter isn’t so perfect after all.”
This time, Fred and Winnie did intervene, meeting with the teacher who, upon reviewing the exam with the Allens, admitted he had been mistaken and reinstated Allison’s innocence. After speaking with that teacher and sorting out the misunderstanding, Fred then experienced yet another unpleasant incident on campus. The door of the teachers’ lounge had been propped open, so he’d wandered in unnoticed and overheard his two bitter podmates gossiping.
“He’s so arrogant. Thinks he’s God’s gift,” one said.
The other jeered, “I don’t know why they don’t just go back to New York. Or wherever they really came from.”
They only realized Fred was in the room when he stepped toward the coffeepot for what was sure to be another weak cup of joe. He’d just given Allison a life lesson about not letting the bullies get to you, and now he realized he had to follow his own advice. It wasn’t easy letting their brutal comments slide, but with coffee in hand, he glanced toward the teachers, gave a wink, and walked out.
Fred exhaled and held his head high, but by the time he reached his classroom, he was fighting that old, familiar feeling of inadequacy. No matter the age, no one wants to be on the receiving end of cruelty, and Fred was especially susceptible to its effects, having fought long and hard to find a place where he belonged.
Sensing his frustrations, Frances came into his room and closed the door behind her. “What’d they say now?” she asked, certain his grim expression had something to do with the foes at the end of the hall.
“What are you? Psychic?” Fred laughed.
“Intuitive,” Frances said with a smile. “And wise. Very, very wise.” Now she laughed too.
He offered her the cup of lukewarm coffee.
She winced in disgust and said, “Well, that’s your first mistake right there. Never drink that awful stuff.”
The two had become close friends in the months since Fred had arrived at Thomasville High, relying on one another for support through the turbulence they faced each day. In time, Fred had learned that Frances had her own strong musical talents, having trained as an opera singer and directed productions within her church community. She’d sometimes send students to Fred for discipline or support, and he’d send singers her way for extra vocal lessons or encouragement. It was proving to be a successful partnership in more ways than one, and now Frances sat at Fred’s desk and said, “I avoid that lounge with all I have in me.”
“You too?” Fred took a seat on the piano bench.
“People can say horrible things, Fred.”
“Again, you speak truth,” he said, sad to imagine Frances on the receiving end of any hate and more impressed than ever by her upbeat spirit.
“You know what this pod was like before you came?” she looked out the window where a group of students were talking innocently, causing no trouble. “I was outnumbered. Barely wanted to put my head out the door some days.”
Fred’s jaw tensed in defense of his friend.
; “But you know me,” she said, waving her hand through the air. “I just shake it off. You know why?” She held Fred’s gaze, as if she were his teacher, understanding that even adults needed help sometimes. “Because I learned a long time ago,” she said, “happy is a choice.”
As the kids began to filter in, the two teachers moved to greet their students. Frances hugged a boy who had thick glasses and an exceptionally fragile frame. He walked on the tips of his toes, with his knees turned inward, but he wore a bright smile and seemed to not be bothered in the least by his own limitations. As he limped through her classroom door, Frances looked toward Fred again and whispered, “See? It’s like I tell my sons. Some people are happy no matter what. And some people are unhappy no matter what. You gotta choose what team you want to be on.”
Thirty-six
By mid-December everyone at school was eager for the winter break. With exams just around the corner, holiday stress was building, and the seasonal rains were taking their toll. Frances had become Fred’s closest friend. Each day they would share deep conversations nothing short of those he had enjoyed in New York with Pete and the other academics. By then their families had become close too, so in between conversations about music, history, and politics, Fred would ask about her five sons, and she’d insist Allison would wear the crown for Miss Georgia someday. “Too beautiful, that girl of yours. The perfect blend of you and Winnie. And my goodness, can she sing!”
In addition to his work with the schools, Troupe, church, and ensembles, Fred began giving voice lessons upon request. Many of his students were training to sing for literary competitions, college auditions, or the talent portion of beauty pageants.
“You’re working wonders in this town,” Frances said to Fred. “You think these are little things, that they won’t matter in the end. But some of these kids . . . they’re on life support. They’ll come back and thank you one day. Watch and see.”
As she said this, Fred spotted Paul in the commons area. He was standing apart from the others, arms crossed, head down. Alone.
“He’s the only one I can’t seem to reach,” Fred admitted, drawing Frances’s attention to the troubled young man. “One minute he’s cocky and bullish. The next, he’s sullen and withdrawn. With his looks, he’s the kind of guy who could be running this school, and yet . . . he’s lost, Frances. I’m afraid I’m running out of options.”
A gifted teacher with a knack for helping people find their strengths, Frances kept her eyes open. While she wasn’t one to gossip, she was one to care. “He really needs someone like you, Fred. You know how I feel about these boys needing healthy male role models in their lives.” She lifted her brows, as if to say, What are you going to do about it?
The bell rang, and Frances went back to her room as the students filtered in, complaining about exams and shuffling their backpacks until Fred closed the door. Then a sudden silence fell as they snapped straight in their seats and gave their music teacher the respect his mere presence commanded.
“How about we do something different today?” Fred asked, eager to brighten their spirits before midterms. “Paul, Annie. Come on up to the front.”
The girl in braids did as requested, but the loner stared from the back row and said nothing.
“Come on up, Paul. It’ll be fun. I promise.”
He glared, angry at having been called out.
Laura raised her hand and said, “I’ll do it,” so Fred called her to the front instead, cutting Paul some slack.
From the back Paul glared at Laura and grunted, “You’re not normal.”
As the beautiful blonde moved enthusiastically toward her teacher, she turned to Paul and spread her arms wide open as she began to quote a line from The Fantasticks. Fred had introduced his class to the musical just last week, but he certainly never expected to hear any of his students quoting lines at random. Now Laura beamed brightly, lifting her voice above Paul’s criticisms as she declared: “I am special. I am special. Please, God, please, don’t let me be normal!”1
Fred couldn’t help but smile as the students laughed in response to her performance. “You’re on to something, Laura,” Fred said. Then he turned to address the class as a whole. “There’s already far too much normal in the world. Be better than normal!” From his desk Fred pulled out a feather. Then he told Laura to lie flat across the floor, faceup.
She did as she was told, and he then instructed Annie to stack books on Laura’s abdomen. “Gently!” Laura warned, drawing more laughs from her peers as Paul watched curiously from his seat.
Fred leaned over Laura, speaking down directly to her. “I want you to lift this feather just a little bit into the air while you exhale. Remember everything I’ve taught you about breath control. Take a deep breath and slowly exhale, vibrating the feather without sending it flying. Then when you’re a master, you’ll be able to lift it just enough to let it fall back down against your lips between breaths.”
Laura blew the feather a little too high into the air, but the stack of books sank low as she exhaled. “Good,” Fred said. Then he turned to the class and said, “See? Only your belly should move. Do not let your chest collapse.” When Laura inhaled, the books lifted, providing a clear visual demonstration of how to breathe deeply. Fred patted his abdomen, modeling for the students to follow his lead.
“Now, I’m going to give you each a feather. Find a partner and show me how a singer should breathe.”
The students were allowed to move around the room as they tackled the challenge. Just as the classroom became a frenzy of feathers, one of the school administrators entered unannounced. From the doorway, he eyed Fred suspiciously.
Fred shrugged and said, “Breath control.”
The administrator offered a confused grimace. Then he closed the door, causing a gust of air to scatter the feathers across the classroom.
Instead of showing his frustration, Fred used this opportunity for yet another moral lesson. “See how that wind from the door had power in this room?”
He noted a few nods.
“You’ve got that power too. You can either use your energy to help each other rise, like your feathers. Or you can use it to leave chaos in your wake.” He eyed the feathers that had been scattered haphazardly when the administrator closed the door. “We each get to choose. How will we use what’s inside of us?”
After class Fred was gathering his belongings when shouts rang out loudly from the commons area. “Fight! Fight!” While the kids jeered, Laura pounded on Fred’s window, yelling from the green space. “Mr. Allen! Hurry! It’s Paul!”
Fred raced from his room to find Paul red-faced and pointing a switchblade at another boy. Students had circled the pair in silence, their eyes wide with horror. Fred’s heart pulsed as he frantically worked his way through the anxious crowd. Several other teachers had gotten there before Fred, but instead of intervening, they’d kept to the side in shock.
With urgency Fred wedged his way between the two boys, quickly allowing Paul’s target to pull away. All the while, Fred was looking Paul in the eye with a calm and steady authority. Then, without so as much as a blink, Fred held out his hand and said, “Give me the knife, Paul.”
Despite the December temperatures, Paul was covered in sweat. His hands were shaking.
“Everything will be okay, Paul. I promise. Give me the knife.”
The troubled young man looked at Fred, fear in his eyes. It was clear he didn’t really want to hurt anyone. Paul had long been the target, never the bully. But now this young man had found himself in a corner, exactly where Papa Noah had warned Fred never to get pinned.
In a panic Paul turned the knife on himself, holding it tight against his own throat and yelling, “Leave me the hell alone!”
The crowd remained unusually quiet.
Paul’s face shone red with heat. His eyes darted every direction, and Fred recognized this desperate move as an act of survival. What he didn’t know was whether the terrified teen would react with fight
or flight. In that moment he was responding by freezing, but he couldn’t stay frozen forever. Fred thought back to all his training in adolescent psychology, but he also recalled the many emotional extremes he’d experienced in his own life. The graduate coursework may have given Fred names for various conditions, but it was his personal journey that enabled him to feel empathy. To understand.
“We can get past this, Paul. Nothing is worth ending your life. I promise you that.” Fred reached for the weapon. “Give it to me.”
Paul could have run. He could have stabbed Fred with the blade or tried to take his own life right there in front of his peers. But the frightened teen didn’t do any of those. Instead, he burst into tears and surrendered, handing the knife to the one teacher who dared to care.
It was a peaceful resolution that should have pleased everyone. But rather than thank Fred for his intervention, his graying podmate huffed, “Show-off.”
Her skeletal cohort snarked back in response, “Always thinks he’s the star of some show.”
By then an administrator had arrived. “I’ll take it from here,” the man said, grabbing Paul’s arm with forceful aggression.
Fred stood tall. This was the last thing the vulnerable boy needed. More criticism? Cruelty? Shame? Sure, he would need a serious consequence for threatening another kid with a weapon, but Fred couldn’t stay silent and throw Paul to the wolves. He also knew better than to challenge a superior in front of a crowd. He followed them to the administrator’s office where he asked for a minute with his superior in private.
By no small miracle the administrator told Paul, “Wait here.” Then he told another teacher, “Keep an eye on him,” as he led Fred into his office, closing the door behind them.
“This kid’s in a lot of trouble,” Fred said.
“Tell me about it.” The man reached for the switchblade in Fred’s hand. “The police are on their way.”
“What I mean is, I don’t think he’s in a safe situation. Outside of here.”