Read Online Amanda Bright @ Home by Danielle Crittenden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Danielle Crittenden
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teacher, Ms. Burley (“That’s
Ms.
not Miss”), was the sort of person with whom it was impossible to have a light exchange of pleasantries. A quick hello might be greeted with, “Ben forgot to bring in his coins for math again yesterday.” A fast dash into the classroom to deliver a forgotten lunchbox could provoke a five-minute discourse on personal responsibility. Amanda wasn’t her only victim: Ms. Burley regarded parents generally as barriers to education. On the first parents’ night, shortly after the term began in September, Ms. Burley had lectured the assembled adults on such matters as the correct tools for learning (“pencil cases must be twelve inches by four inches—nothing else will be considered acceptable”) to instilling proper work habits in nursery students (“this year the children will receive a minimum of thirty minutes of homework per evening—this will prepare them for the increased workload they will face in kindergarten”). The ideal parent, Ms. Burley noted, perceived learning opportunities in every daily activity. Bath time offered “the perfect chance to demonstrate specific gravity, using simple toys that sink or float.” A walk through the neighborhood could easily be turned into “an exercise for identifying grid patterns.” Cooking dinner was, of course, basic chemistry. To prevent slacking, Ms. Burley would send a “suggested” exercise home every day for parents to complete with their children, such as counting all the clocks in the house or adding up the change at the bottom of Mommy’s purse. Amanda was dubious of the benefit of these exercises to Ben, but she was certain they accomplished Ms. Burley’s main objective, which was to make a mother feel that however much she was already doing for her children, it was still hopelessly inadequate.
Amanda entered Ms. Burley’s classroom that morning at the agreed-upon time. The room was dark; the children had gone to recess and the lights were switched off. Amanda thought she might have made a mistake—maybe the appointment was the next day—but a rustle behind an open supply cabinet indicated the presence of Ms. Burley.
“Come in, come in,” the teacher said, emerging with a sheaf of papers. “I’m here.”
Physically, Ms. Burley was unprepossessing. She was slight and short and dressed in the dowdy but practical clothing of a nursery school teacher—baggy blouse, leggings, and scuffed leather flats. Her personality expressed itself in the sharpness of her movements and the permanent expression of dismay pinched upon her face.
“The lights were off—I wasn’t sure.”
“I don’t believe in wasting power. We can see well enough. Please sit down.” Ms. Burley invited Amanda to pull up a child’s chair that was three sizes too small for her. She settled herself in the upholstered swivel chair behind her desk.
“I want you to look at these.” Ms. Burley handed Amanda a stack of Ben’s crayon pictures.
“Oh yes, he loves drawing.”
“I can see that. Just look at them closely.”
The first picture showed some childishly scrawled airplanes with bright orange and yellow explosions bursting around them. Ben had labeled the drawing “WW1.” Amanda turned to the next one, which was similar, except that it was labeled in the same uneven writing “WW2.” Continuing through the stack, Amanda came across “WW3,” “WW4,” and “WW5.” This last was especially bloody, with little stick figures strewn on the ground, red crayon spurting from them. Amanda placed the pictures back on Ms. Burley’s desk.
“So, what do you think?” Ms. Burley asked her.
“Ben’s an optimist?” Amanda said, hoping to elicit a smile from Ms. Burley.
“That’s not what I think,” the teacher replied sternly. “I think what we have here is a troubled boy showing early signs of an obsession with violence.”
Amanda frowned. “I—I don’t think that’s right. I wouldn’t say that Ben is ‘obsessed’ with
Ms.
not Miss”), was the sort of person with whom it was impossible to have a light exchange of pleasantries. A quick hello might be greeted with, “Ben forgot to bring in his coins for math again yesterday.” A fast dash into the classroom to deliver a forgotten lunchbox could provoke a five-minute discourse on personal responsibility. Amanda wasn’t her only victim: Ms. Burley regarded parents generally as barriers to education. On the first parents’ night, shortly after the term began in September, Ms. Burley had lectured the assembled adults on such matters as the correct tools for learning (“pencil cases must be twelve inches by four inches—nothing else will be considered acceptable”) to instilling proper work habits in nursery students (“this year the children will receive a minimum of thirty minutes of homework per evening—this will prepare them for the increased workload they will face in kindergarten”). The ideal parent, Ms. Burley noted, perceived learning opportunities in every daily activity. Bath time offered “the perfect chance to demonstrate specific gravity, using simple toys that sink or float.” A walk through the neighborhood could easily be turned into “an exercise for identifying grid patterns.” Cooking dinner was, of course, basic chemistry. To prevent slacking, Ms. Burley would send a “suggested” exercise home every day for parents to complete with their children, such as counting all the clocks in the house or adding up the change at the bottom of Mommy’s purse. Amanda was dubious of the benefit of these exercises to Ben, but she was certain they accomplished Ms. Burley’s main objective, which was to make a mother feel that however much she was already doing for her children, it was still hopelessly inadequate.
Amanda entered Ms. Burley’s classroom that morning at the agreed-upon time. The room was dark; the children had gone to recess and the lights were switched off. Amanda thought she might have made a mistake—maybe the appointment was the next day—but a rustle behind an open supply cabinet indicated the presence of Ms. Burley.
“Come in, come in,” the teacher said, emerging with a sheaf of papers. “I’m here.”
Physically, Ms. Burley was unprepossessing. She was slight and short and dressed in the dowdy but practical clothing of a nursery school teacher—baggy blouse, leggings, and scuffed leather flats. Her personality expressed itself in the sharpness of her movements and the permanent expression of dismay pinched upon her face.
“The lights were off—I wasn’t sure.”
“I don’t believe in wasting power. We can see well enough. Please sit down.” Ms. Burley invited Amanda to pull up a child’s chair that was three sizes too small for her. She settled herself in the upholstered swivel chair behind her desk.
“I want you to look at these.” Ms. Burley handed Amanda a stack of Ben’s crayon pictures.
“Oh yes, he loves drawing.”
“I can see that. Just look at them closely.”
The first picture showed some childishly scrawled airplanes with bright orange and yellow explosions bursting around them. Ben had labeled the drawing “WW1.” Amanda turned to the next one, which was similar, except that it was labeled in the same uneven writing “WW2.” Continuing through the stack, Amanda came across “WW3,” “WW4,” and “WW5.” This last was especially bloody, with little stick figures strewn on the ground, red crayon spurting from them. Amanda placed the pictures back on Ms. Burley’s desk.
“So, what do you think?” Ms. Burley asked her.
“Ben’s an optimist?” Amanda said, hoping to elicit a smile from Ms. Burley.
“That’s not what I think,” the teacher replied sternly. “I think what we have here is a troubled boy showing early signs of an obsession with violence.”
Amanda frowned. “I—I don’t think that’s right. I wouldn’t say that Ben is ‘obsessed’ with
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