I’m not ashamed of the rainbow of colors that cover the back
of my thighs, rather I am proud of them. They mean that I am strong and
disciplined. I understand there are consequences to bad behavior—I knew how
much Dad valued school and I decided I didn’t care—there are consequences to
that and I will at least pretend to care from this point forward because I do
not ever want to feel that rage and hatred toward me again. I learned. I am
smarter and stronger because of the marks that are making everyone gawk at me.
I puff out my chest and march proudly to the open empty gym.
I can hear the hushed whispers of Mr. Barr and Ms.
Gerard, my gym teachers. I watch their gazes follow me. I hear the other kids
saying things like, “Her dad is crazy.” I am small and girly and sometimes
picked on for these things. I hope that now everyone will see me as tough and leave me alone.
Ms. Gerard calls me out of line to talk privately. “Jenny,
what happened to your legs?” she asks, even though I can see in her face that
she already feels like she knows. “My
father hit me because I didn’t do my homework”, I tell her matter-of-factly.
She is stricken with silence. She and Mr. Barr look at each other for several
minutes without speaking any words. I wait patiently for further direction.
Finally, “Do you need to sit out from participating?” one of them asks. Of course
I don’t I assure them both, because I am tough as nails and want everyone to
know it.
We play kickball, and when it’s my turn to kick everyone
huddles in close because I always bunt the ball. Today I kick it over all of
their heads. It is empowerment and the release of frustration and anger toward
Dad, Mrs. Gregaydis, and all of the injustices in the world. And it feels
amazing to see the shock on their faces as it flies past all of them, and to
hear my team cheering as I round all bases and easily make a run for our team.
I am Herculean at this moment.
I return to class with my shoulders back and my head held
high. I take my seat. Not gingerly this time. This time I welcome the pain that
has strengthened me. I scan the room and wonder what kind of life the other
kids live when they leave school. I decide that it is boring and lifeless. I’m
thankful, for the first time, for the family that I go home to each day. For
all that they teach me—even dad. I have always been a sponge for knowledge, so
everyone older than me has always loved to impart their beliefs and experiences
to me. I have always taken them and learned from them and hungered for more.
Now I realize that Dad’s punishments teach me. I am stronger and smarter for
them, and I am thankful.
I’m awakened from my daydream by the classroom speaker
calling me to “the office”. Thankfulness disappears momentarily as I imagine
being asked questions that will surely lead to another call home. The panic on
my face must be evident because I am assured that I’m not in trouble. For once
I’m not worried about being in trouble, but about having gotten Dad in trouble.
I walk quickly to the office, and I am told to go into Principal Broderick’s
office. I gently, quietly, and slowly open the closed door to his office and I
see several large boxes of what look like baseball cards. I look at Mr.
Broderick with confusion covering my face.
“Did you know that I collect baseball cards?” he asks. Well
this is certainly not the questioning I was expecting. I tell him that, no, I
was not aware of that, but that he seems to have an awful lot of them. He tells
me that baseball cards are only good if you know which ones you have, so you
know which ones you need and which ones you have extra ones of to trade. Interesting. Can I do him a favor and
separate all of these cards so he knows what he has? I think how nice to not
have to sit at a desk for the rest of the day. Of course I can, I tell him
because number 1 he is the boss of the whole school, and number 2, this looks
fun and it makes me feel special.
It turns out that I don’t have to sit at a desk for the rest
of the week because there are so many cards in these boxes that it takes me all
day every day to separate them all. He must have over a hundred Reggie
Jacksons. The office is filled with stack upon stack of one player after
another. I learn a lot about baseball, collections, baseball card collections,
and kindness this week. As the week ends, and I have felt more compassion and
kindness than I’ve ever experienced in my 9 years of life, I am thankful that
Dad has caused this. The pain was absolutely worth it. I don’t want to feel that pain
again, but I realize that sometimes bad things happen that lead to good things.
My week of kindness, understanding, compassion, and learning
in Mr. Broderick’s office have shaped a beautiful heart into my soul. The rocks
placed by my punishment, were effectively hollowed out to create a beautiful
musical sound as the water passes by them. Maybe even through them.
Jen ;)
