The young teacher sat nervously in the reception area at the county superintendent’s office. She’d heard nothing but intimidating things about the superintendant. Dietz was his name and once a year he did a round of observations at each school in the county. So the young teacher had seen him for a moment, each year, in the back of her classroom. He never made eye contact or expressed interest in building any relationship with the teachers. He only kept a business-like relationship with the schools’ principals. Teachers who’d worked in other counties criticized this behavior. All of the lore the young teacher had heard made Dietz sound like a teamster, he even talked liked Hoffa. They said.
The extremely large waiting room she sat in was cozy. It was a room that divided Dietz’s secretary from Dietz’s office. The furniture was 60s retro, large and square. A dozen wooden carvings of animals littered the coffee and side tables. A reading area with small brown stools was set up around a table containing magazines from the 60s. The magazines were cared for enough that pages were still intact. It appeared someone had chosen the best of Time Magazine, Life Magazine and National Geographic. She rued her anxiety and her incapability of doing more than staring at the array from the chair she sat in. If she were more comfortable and not about to go on trial, she’d be in those brown stools rifling through the piles. It wasn’t a trial, it was called a meeting in the letter she received, but she knew it was going to end badly. It was an impromptu arraignment.
The sound of heavy shoes steadily approached her. She took one last deep breath in and out. The door opened. It was Dietz himself to receive her.
“Afternoon, Aya.” She stood abruptly,
“Hello,” she said.
“Shall we?” with his hand he motioned toward his office. She walked ahead of him into a door just past the periodical area.
“I’ll be back in just a moment. Excuse me,” he said. Inside his office there were larger carvings of two owls and three bookshelves filled with literature, all hardcover. A mini-replica of a Caldor hung from the ceiling in the center of the room, like a chandelier. The Caldor hung above a table, on it was a glass pitcher of lemonade and two glasses, placed neatly upside down. The table divided two leather chairs. The chairs did not face each other, instead they faced the windows. Aya assumed it would be like most interviews where you face one another at a desk, but his work desk was packed in a corner. All of the furniture had been directed to the view. It was a fourth-floor elevation. Puffy cumulous clouds offset the bright blue sky outside. This set up put her at ease and made her feel less like it was a hearing.
When he returned, he sat down and flipped one of the glasses, poured lemonade in it. Then the other glass and placed one of them next to her.
“Okay, Aya. We both know why you’re here today. I’ve already read the file on this incident. Can you tell me in your own words what happened?” Aya’s heart was beating faster. She took a sip of lemonade.
“Sure,” she said meekly. He placed his left fingertips to his left ear and tugged it saying, “You’ll have to speak up, I’m losing my hearing.” He was curt with his language, but he seemed sensible, she was glad he’d cut to the chase.
“Okay, no problem,” she said now louder,
“Well,” she cleared her throat and coughed, “One of my students, Andrew, had an older brother who’d enlisted in the army and died. I found this out because another student made a joke about it during class one day.
Not too long after, I was giving the lesson on national anthems. We’d gone over a few countries and I handed them a lyric sheet of the "Star-Spangled Banner." Andrew, who’d been listless for a few months was getting rambunctious. He interrupted me demanding to know what ramparts meant, then he interrupted me again to ask about, rocket’s red glare. They were asking about war.
They wanted to know if people always die in wars--” Dietz chuckled,
“They’re smart little guys, ah,” he said. She nodded in agreement and wondered if this was just going to be a warning. It really didn’t make sense for her to be nervous because she’d resigned from the position in her mind. She couldn’t stand all the whispering and gossiping amongst the staff and parents. She continued with her explanation,
“Yes they are so bright, and so honest. They asked what is the point of Andrew’s brother dying. They wanted to know why, they were taking the song lyrics very literally. The best I came up with was to tell them about the sixties.”
“Why??” he interrupted her, “Why the sixties in particular?” No one had asked her anything this constructive regarding the situation. She continued,
“I guess because I sensed that they were responding to the bloodshed. Or at least that is what they focused on. They kept talking about severed body parts and explosions. Andrew’s brother was killed by an explosive device in Kabul. I don’t think they really even understood what they were saying. All I could think of was to give them an example of a non-violent revolt.
The next class I taught them the song, "We Shall Overcome."
And that’s pretty much all that happened.” She wanted to keep it vague. She didn’t bother telling him how perplexed she was at poor little Andrew. She’d gone home upset for weeks wondering what she should do. She couldn’t ignore Andrew’s vulnerability or her own desire to nurture his skepticism. Aya had a music teacher who’d deeply affected her as a child, thirty years ago. Ms. Beezus, the music teacher she’d had for five years. Ms. Beezus taught Aya and her classmates the song, “We Shall Overcome,” on the day that the Gulf War was declared. Ms. Beezus dragged a television in the room and forced the kids to watch the news report, the official declaration of war. She was abominated at the war, she didn’t believe in it. She was incensed by the fact that it was declared on Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. Ms. Beezus told them it was a travesty to the man’s work. Ms. Beezus was very passionate, Aya remembered, she was almost in tears at the irony. Aya didn’t let her emotions show as much when the situation with Andrew came up. Aya was calculated enough to know she’d get flak for straying certain confines. Aya saw the parents each morning. The school was in an affluent suburb. A lot of moms bored and not working, looking for a project. Aya just didn’t think it would come to this.
And that’s pretty much all that happened.” She wanted to keep it vague. She didn’t bother telling him how perplexed she was at poor little Andrew. She’d gone home upset for weeks wondering what she should do. She couldn’t ignore Andrew’s vulnerability or her own desire to nurture his skepticism. Aya had a music teacher who’d deeply affected her as a child, thirty years ago. Ms. Beezus, the music teacher she’d had for five years. Ms. Beezus taught Aya and her classmates the song, “We Shall Overcome,” on the day that the Gulf War was declared. Ms. Beezus dragged a television in the room and forced the kids to watch the news report, the official declaration of war. She was abominated at the war, she didn’t believe in it. She was incensed by the fact that it was declared on Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. Ms. Beezus told them it was a travesty to the man’s work. Ms. Beezus was very passionate, Aya remembered, she was almost in tears at the irony. Aya didn’t let her emotions show as much when the situation with Andrew came up. Aya was calculated enough to know she’d get flak for straying certain confines. Aya saw the parents each morning. The school was in an affluent suburb. A lot of moms bored and not working, looking for a project. Aya just didn’t think it would come to this.
Aya didn’t bother to convey any of this to Dietz. He wasn’t her mother or friend.
“And then you showed a Woodstock video?” he raised his eyebrows and she saw a mild disapproval cross his face.
“And then you showed a Woodstock video?” he raised his eyebrows and she saw a mild disapproval cross his face.
“Oh yeah. Just a couple performances. I made sure there was no nudity,” she said. He sighed.
“Well, unfortunately I have to let you go,” he said.
“Yeah I figured,” she said softly.
“Is there anything else you’d like to say or ask?” he asked. She looked down at her hands debating on whether she should say anything.
“Well, yeah, I do,” she said, “Why is this happening? Really, off the record.” Again she thought she saw his disapproval at this.
“You strayed from the curriculum and the state mandates teachers to follow it closely,” he said.
“But don’t you think the art classes should have some leeway? A teacher is bound to accidentally get creative,” she said.
“Sure, those things are considered, but in this case you ruffled a lot of feathers,” he said. She was angry, now he seemed more like a mechanical wall than sensible.
“Well even if the kids hear something questionable or controversial, can’t these parents just talk to their kids and deal with it themselves? This is turning into a big brother system. We can’t even encourage them to question things--” He interrupted her,
“Well that definitely conflicts with newer regulations. Look, off the record, I’m just waiting out til my retirement. I’ve done a thirty-year stint as superintendant and I’m just waiting. If it were up to me I’d still be smacking ‘em and I bet they wouldn’t go home crying about a thing,” he said. Dietz was all-business. He didn’t bother to convey to her he’d been intrigued by her file. Dietz observed Aya’s peers had no concern about politics. He was surprised that someone her age was so interested in the sixties culture. Obviously she was an eccentric for reacting to the child’s brother’s death this way. But at least she was thinking. That’s the bare minimum he’d come to desire at this point. He thought her persecution was ridiculous but protecting her too much would jeopardize his seat. He’d invested thirty years, he wasn’t going to fight now. He at least wanted to be the one to let her know the outcome.
“Look, the regulations and trends have changed drastically in the last ten years. You’re not the only one. So don’t beat yourself up. You just really ticked off the wrong parent. Someone with a lot of time on their hands,” he finished this statement very satisfied with himself, and thought, she must be able to read between the lines and know it’s out of his hands. Aya did indeed read the lines and now thought him a coward. A cold CEO type. The “meeting,” a severly passive outcry. Aya didn’t speak any more. She only nodded at all of his closing conversation.
“Well I think we’re all set here.” Dietz escorted her to the door out to the reception area.
“Okay, then,” he said, “Best of luck to you. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” Aya mustered up a tiny fake smile and nodded.
She walked past the stools and the reading area catching a glimpse of a Life Magazine with Coretta Scott King on the cover. The headline read, “He Had A Dream.” Dietz, now with nothing to lose, still did not verbalize that he’d been inspired by her file to look through the magazines after many years of not touching them.
Aya thought it was a magical coincidence and contemplated it sadly as she walked away.
