A Safe Place for Joey. Mary MacCracken

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СКАЧАТЬ the end of July we had both learned a number of things. Joey had learned to read, although he was still below grade level, and I had learned that Joey’s disorganizational problems were not his alone. They seemed to be part of the family lifestyle. My phone messages rarely got delivered, and Joey often arrived on the wrong day or ten minutes early or not at all.

      Still, we all felt encouraged. It had been a month and a half since Joey had fallen out of his chair or said he was dumb. But then again, it was summer and Joey always did well in the summer.

      I sent him off on his August vacation with two books to read and a workbook I knew he could handle. We’d just have to see what happened in the fall.

      The Stones came back from their vacation a week early to give Joey a chance to review with me before he was retested by the school. The Child Study Team tested him the day after Labor Day and said that while he was still “deficient,” there had been “significant improvement,” and they agreed to let Joey go on to second grade in his own school.

      None of us anticipated that Joey would end up in Mrs. Madden’s class. It was nobody’s fault. The second-grade teacher Joey was slated to have became pregnant over the summer and on the first day of school decided she didn’t feel well enough to handle both her first pregnancy and a second-grade class. She opted for a year’s leave of absence. The principal, Mr. Templar, thought the new teacher he hired was too inexperienced to handle Joey, so he transferred Joey to Mrs. Madden’s class.

      Mrs. Madden was certainly experienced. Thirty years of experience – most of it in the same school system. When I called her during the first week of school to tell her about Joey’s evaluation and what we had done over the summer, and to ask if I could check in with her every week or so, Mrs. Madden made it clear that conferences or phone calls with me were not necessary. She said she had discussed Joseph’s case with the Child Study Team. She understood they were giving him a trial in second grade. She assured me that she had known plenty of other children with problems and that Joseph would not cause any trouble in her class. She also said she thought she should be honest with me and tell me that in her opinion tutors were a waste of time – worse than a waste if they let the child become dependent on them. Of course, if the Stones wanted to throw their money away it was up to them.

      When I called the Child Study Team to say that it appeared that I was going to have some difficulty communicating with Mrs. Madden, they said they understood, they had difficulty themselves, but that in many ways she was a very good teacher.

      Joey dragged himself up to my office at a quarter to six the Tuesday after school started. He stood in the middle of the floor and raised his arms and then let them drop. “The bad news is, I got Madden. The next bad news is, I’m still not in a group – there’s the Yankees, the Red Sox, the Orioles, and me. The next bad news is, she made me miss gym and stay after school, too! I’m never going to make it through second, Mary!”

      “Sit down, Joey. I’m glad to see you. Pay yourself forty. That’s a lot of bad news.”

      I’d been thinking about Mrs. Madden ever since our phone call. I had silently hoped against hope that somehow she and Joey would communicate even though she and I hadn’t been able to. Evidently that hadn’t happened.

      I looked at Joey. “Okay. I hear you. So you got a tough teacher. You’re a tough kid. You can figure out how to get through second grade.”

      Joey rolled slowly to one side and then silently toppled from his chair to the floor. He sprawled across the grey carpet – eyes closed, body limp as a rag doll. I sat watching. After a full minute had passed, Joey opened one eye and squinted up at me. I looked benignly back, waiting for the full show. There was no question that Joey knew how to put on a wonderful act.

      Sure now that I was watching, Joey rolled his eyes up into his head so that white, pupil-less eyes stared out at me, and his legs and arms flailed up and down. The kids in school must have loved it.

      “Okay now, Joey. That’s enough.” I reached down and hoisted him back up beside me. “We’ve only got forty-five minutes. We don’t have time for any of that stuff. Besides, I don’t like it. The next time you hit the floor it costs you one hundred.”

      “One hundred!” Joey howled. “Cripes! You wouldn’t do that!” He put his hand protectively over the red plastic dish that held his chips.

      “You know I would. But I’ll tell you what. This first month of school, every day of September that you make it through with Mrs. Madden I’ll pay you a hundred.”

      “What do you mean, like … like if I don’t have to stay after school?”

      “Right. And don’t get sent to the principal or have to miss gym. Things like that. You’re going to have to be so good, Joe. Not just a little good, but one hundred percent good every day. Never mind about the Red Sox – I know you can read and you’ll learn to read better. But you have to hand in whatever work Mrs. Madden gives you. Always remember your homework, keep your desk clean, keep yourself in your seat, raise your hand before you say anything, stay in line and a whole lot more.”

      “I don’t know. It sounds like a pretty terrible life.”

      “Well, Joey, consider the alternatives.”

      “What’s alternatives?”

      “Other choices. Like failing second and having to stay back and have Mrs. Madden all over again.”

      “Oh, boy.”

      During the fourth week of school I decided to drop in on Mrs. Madden. If my phone calls didn’t work, I had to find some other way to discover what was going on in school.

      At ten after three I walked down the hall to second grade, nodding to the janitor. I’d been in the school many times to talk to other children’s teachers, but I’d never encountered Mrs. Madden before.

      She was seated at her desk going over papers when I tapped on the window. Her grey hair was neatly and tightly curled against her head. The bow of her blouse hung in two perfect loops between the lapels of a maroon suit. Mrs. Madden got up and walked slowly across the room.

      She opened the door and stood without smiling.

      “Mrs. Madden? I’m Mary MacCracken,” I said.

      “Yes. I thought as much.” She made no move to invite me inside.

      “May I talk to you for ten minutes?” I knew all teachers were expected to stay until three thirty.

      She looked at the clock over the door. “Three twelve. All right. Come in.”

      I followed her to the front of the room, and she motioned me to a chair beside her desk. I sat facing Mrs. Madden, aware that the room was much more pleasant than I had expected. The large, sunny windows to my left were filled with leafy green plants of all sizes. A fish tank hummed on the window sill. The blackboard had the day’s homework assignment printed neatly in the left-hand corner, and five short sentences about a trip to the police station were lettered in the middle. Had Mrs. Madden actually taken her class to the police station?

      I held two of Joey’s folders on my lap. One contained the written report of the testing I had done (I had asked the Stones’ permission to bring it), the other some of his recent work. But I didn’t open either. I was there to try to find out how Mrs. Madden and Joey were getting on. Did she realize the potential he had? Was he working? Was he learning?

      “May СКАЧАТЬ