No Child Left Behind

No Child Left Behind

Troy L. Fullerton

Veronica Sawyer glanced at her watch and frowned.  It was five forty-five on a Tuesday night, and she was bored, mad at her boyfriend, and not ready to go home—much like most other days.  She wished it were the weekend. 

Veronica had spent the day at a friend’s house lying around on the couch, texting, smoking, and watching the soaps—“not much a single mother of three gets to do”, she reasoned.   Her friend had left to pick some things up at the store for a get-together she was having later on that evening.  Veronica could have stayed for it, of course, but she wasn’t in the mood for one of her friend’s get-togethers, particularly when she heard who all was coming.  “Nah, that’s okay,” she had said when she turned down the invitation.  She didn’t give any explanation, but it just seemed to her that some of the people her friend hung out with were majorly annoying. 

She looked at her watch again and sighed, grabbed her cell phone and shoved it into her pocket, and dragged herself off the couch.  She made her way into the kitchen of her friend’s apartment and helped herself to another big piece of cake so she wouldn’t have to worry about coming up with something to eat.  She just hoped the kids didn’t have the place tore up any worse than it already was.  She pulled on her jacket and walked out the door, heading for home.

The mid-day sun had been so bright earlier that she had to squint when she went outside.  But by now the sun had faded, and the weather had become depressing.  It was now a gray, drizzly day—the kind Veronica hated.  It disgusted her that the weather service, “with all its technology”, wouldn’t do something about it. 

Then, as soon as she got in the car and turned the key, she noticed that the little red oil light stayed on…again.  “Why can´t they make a car that works?” she said out loud to no one in particular.  She thought about the mechanic—the one who always overcharged her.  Obviously, he wasn´t doing his job right, or she wouldn´t have to keep getting her car serviced.  “Or maybe they just sold me another lemon,” she thought, and it made her all the more depressed.  Every car she ever owned seemed to have problems like these.

  By now, the kids would have been home from school for a couple of hours…and they probably would have eaten all her left over baloney, her donuts and chips, and even gotten into her ice cream.  “Who knows?  Maybe they heated up some Ramen noodles in the microwave, instead, this time,” she thought out loud, hopefully. 

Veronica hardly ever got in the mood to cook anything, and she never did have supper time, but food shouldn’t have been an issue, either.  There was always something in the fridge—some hot dogs, a little lunchmeat, or a few pieces of left-over pizza.  They had chips and pop as well…so the kids shouldn’t have been hungry.  They could always open up a can of Spaghettio’s or even have the leftover chicken nuggets and French fries from their last trip to McDonald’s if they wanted something different.  But no, half the time, they got into HER food…and that irritated her.

The previous night had been a bore.  Veronica had been up half the evening watching television until the kids had either fallen asleep on the couch or had gone to their rooms to play video games until they dozed off in their clothes.  When she got up, she looked around and grumbled about the house.  The clothes strewn about needed to be gathered and washed, and there were dishes to do, but she didn’t feel like doing any of that.  Some days, she just wished some Fairy Godmother could appear, wave some kind of magic wand, and make all of that clutter and the boring jobs she hated to do go away.  Sometimes she wondered why the kids didn’t do it—though how they would have ever learned remained a mystery.  She just wondered why life had to be so depressing, and, as usual, tried to escape into her television programs.

After all her shows were over, she stayed up on Facebook until the early hours of the morning and then lay down and plugged in her cell phone, since it had run out of juice.  She ended up texting back and forth with her friends till she fell asleep sometime late into the night…she couldn’t be sure when.  The television was still blaring in the front room after she woke up, long after the kids were off to school.  She lay around in bed skimming through a magazine, bummed out because her life wasn’t more like that of the people she read about in the tabloids. 

When she finally decided to get up, she stretched and yawned and wandered toward the kitchen to get some coffee.  She eyed the stack of papers and unopened mail on the table, but she didn’t bother to go through it.  Just then, she thought she heard her cell phone ring.  She stumbled through the living room and back toward the bedroom to answer it, tripping over a sack of groceries that had never been put away.  Back in her bedroom, she grabbed her phone, but she had missed the call.  She looked at the call log--it was her mother.  “Now what does SHE want,” she thought.

Taking the phone with her back to the kitchen, she fixed herself a cup of coffee and sat down in her usual place on the dilapidated couch back in her living room to call her back.  As the call went through, she glanced at the floor.  The rug was a stained, unsightly mess with crumbs and trash lying about.  It needed vacuuming badly, but Veronica never had the time…or so she told herself.  The call went to voice mail, per usual…her mother always let her calls go to voice mail so she’d know who was trying to get a hold of her and could call back at her convenience.  “Look at your caller I.D., woman”, she said out loud as the recording droned, but when she heard the beep, she just said, “it’s me—call me back”, and hung up.

In the corner, on the bookshelf, a scanner blinked a sequential row of lights, periodically springing to life when a cop made a traffic stop or an ambulance was needed somewhere.  She kept it going so she’d know where the cops were at all times, and so she could hear if her boyfriend or a family member was in any trouble.  She figured her mother would be calling back and decided she´d better get up and turn it down while she was on the phone.  So she pulled herself up, frowning at all the effort she was expending, and trudged into the next room.  Sitting down again, she waited a few minutes while she stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring, but it never did.  Finally, she clicked onto her mother´s number and tried the line again. 

This time her mother answered.  The news was more of the same old garbage:  One of Veronica’s brothers was in a fight at school and got suspended…again…and was issued a citation by the school’s resource officer.  They needed money to pay the ticket.  One of her sisters was pregnant…again…and had just lost her job.  Furthermore, her mother´s current live-in boyfriend had been arrested after another bar fight and needed bail money.  It always seemed like her family knew when she was supposed to be getting her monthly assistance check, but this time they were out of luck.

The father of her two oldest kids had been by and had given her some cash about a week ago.  But by now, the money was gone, and the father of her youngest had flown the coop.  Under the circumstances, she thought her current live-in boyfriend would pony up some money till her assistance check came through—after all, it’s not like he didn’t owe her.  He was supposed to be paying half the utilities and half the rent.  But he was just as bad as her last boyfriend had been about being out of money when it was time to pay up…and the boyfriend before him had been even worse.  So she, too, was out of luck, it seemed.  Such was life. 

She was still mulling all of these problems over in her mind as she made her way across town toward the house.  Just then, her phone rang.  Veronica’s experienced fingers automatically groped for the cell phone, flipped it open, and accepted the call without looking.  It was her friend Tiffany, who lived in the projects.  Tiffany made some mindless small talk, and then she asked what time her boyfriend would be home.  Veronica thought it was suspicious that Tiffany seemed so interested in her boyfriend, but she hadn’t really known him long and didn’t really care all that much, either, particularly today.

“Girl, he knows better than to show his face!” she retorted, “and I´m not in the mood for any foolishness from those kids, today, either.  As far as I’m concerned, they’d better stay out of my way and leave me alone, if they know what’s good for them.  No hassles.  Not today.”  Not on most days, actually.

After she hung up, Veronica´s thoughts shifted back to the weather, then to her car, and then back to her current boyfriend.  Ever since she kicked her previous boyfriend out and started shacking up with this one, it had been the same old thing—he’d say he was going to give her money, but then lose it all gambling—which she could understand.  But what REALLY irked her were the times he’d blow his whole paycheck down at the tavern, buying rounds of drinks for his buddies.  She thought it was funny how he never invited her along when he did that.

Then she thought of Tiffany again. “Perhaps they’d make a nice couple, after all,” she thought to herself with a wry smile.  As old as she was, life still seemed so much like playing house that it reminded her of grade school.  And just like when she was in grade school…well…she found she had grown tired of this “playmate” and was now ready for another.  Even though she had dropped out of school as soon as she got pregnant with her second child, in a lot of ways, she had never really left the playground.

As soon as her current boyfriend moved in, her youngest had started calling him “Daddy”—just like he had with the one before, but her oldest girl resisted.  She was always such a problem child, it seemed…always giving her boyfriends the cold shoulder every time a new one moved in.  At least her youngest was used to the way life was.  “Well, looks like he´s fixing to get a NEW daddy”, Veronica thought as she turned the corner and pulled up to the house.  But then, “what´s this?” she thought---as she saw that there were two strange cars parked in her driveway.

Startled, and then intensely curious, she studied the two cars with a wide-eyed, mystified expression.  “Now who would be coming here at THIS hour?” she thought.  Right away she thought of the cops---but these weren’t police cars.  Instead, they were modest, family cars...not new, certainly not Cadillacs, but neat.  One of them was a hatch-back with a bumper sticker from some educators’ association that she´d never heard of before.  The other was smaller, with a box of books in the back seat.  With her mouth hanging open and wondering what was going on inside the house, she wandered toward the front door.

As she approached the screen door, she could smell good food cooking, and noticed immediately the strange absence of the usual sound of the television—it had been turned off.  Wondering what was going on, she opened the door and saw a rather official-looking lady with a tweed skirt and a sharp looking blazer standing at the table.  The lady’s graying hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and while she wasn’t smiling, she looked friendly--matronly, really--as though she were supervising a social gathering.  As Veronica walked closer, she saw that the woman had all of her children gathered around the table.  As soon as the woman caught sight of her, she introduced herself.

“Oh, Hi, Miss Sawyer, I’m Mrs. Stephens.  With the exhaust fan running, I didn’t hear you come in.  I’m your daughter Meredith´s teacher at the grade school.  And this is Mrs. Richards, Timmy’s teacher” she said as she gestured back toward the kitchen area.  Veronica hadn’t noticed her yet.  Mrs. Richards turned around, smiled warmly, and said “how do you do,” then turned her attention back to the freshly-used pans she was washing in Veronica´s sink.

On the table, there were baked chicken, potatoes and gravy, green beans, and even a little fruit dessert which her children were eyeing, hungrily.  The smells were exhilarating, and the kids were ready to dig in.  But first, Mrs. Richards came in and announced, “Now, before we eat, Mrs. Stephens and I always give thanks to the Lord.  We’re not trying to push our religion onto your family, you understand, but since we’re going to be eating, too, do you mind if we offer thanks?”  The kids wrinkled their noses and looked back and forth between the teachers and their mother---they’d never seen anybody do that before and didn’t know what it looked like, or what to think of it. 

The teachers offered a simple prayer.  As the kids grabbed for the food, ready to start piling it on their plates and shoveling it in, one of them turned around to turn on the television. “NOT SO FAST”, Veronica heard Mrs. Stephens exclaim.  The children came to attention and looked at her.

“First of all, let’s all take our napkins---that’s right, those are NAPKINS, Jimmy---and lay them on our laps.  No, Timmy, we don’t watch television at the table—and, Meredith, sweetheart, let’s not start eating until everyone has a portion.” 

“Uh, uh!  No, no, we don’t reach across the table…that’s bad manners,” Mrs. Richards explained patiently and authoritatively.   Then Mrs. Stephens sat down between the boys and said “No, no, not like that…here, THIS is how we hold our fork—with our fingers…like this” and she showed them how it was done. 

Then Mrs. Richards started the table talk with “so how was YOUR day, Meredith?”  She asked each child to tell something that had happened on the playground or on the way home from school.  “And whom did you play with after school today, Timmy?” she heard Mrs. Stephens say as she helped Jimmy hold the knife to cut his chicken. 

As Veronica stood and watched, she felt herself becoming more and more indignant.  “What are you doing here?” She asked, and then she realized how abrupt she sounded and tried to soften it with, “I mean…I didn’t know you were coming over.”

Mrs. Richards looked up and said, “Oh, didn’t you get our note, Mrs. Sawyer?  We sent out a flyer from the school.”

“I never got it---or if I did, I didn’t read it,” Veronica admitted.

            “Won’t you come and join us?”  Mrs. Stephens asked. 

            Veronica declined, saying she had just eaten a big piece of cake at her friend’s house.  Leaving Mrs. Stephens to tend to the children, Mrs. Richards got up from the table and walked over to where Veronica was standing behind the partition in the living room area.

“This is part of our No Child Left Behind program,” Mrs. Richards went on to explain.  “The school holds us, the teachers, entirely responsible for everything involving your child’s educational success, regardless of any…uh, ‘challenges’ they may have in their personal lives.  We’re constantly told that good teachers don’t make excuses, so absolutely no outside factors are ever taken into consideration.  As far as the Department of Education is concerned, if any child is not learning and passing end-of-instruction tests, then it’s entirely the teacher’s fault.  The school’s rating goes down, and now, even our pay depends on our test scores,” Mrs. Richards explained.  Then, she turned her attention back to the children and admonished one to chew with his mouth closed.

Mrs. Stephens then got up and walked over to Veronica and continued the explanation while Mrs. Richards returned to the table.

“When we saw that we were being held entirely responsible, and that even our jobs were in jeopardy, we formed an ad hoc committee of teachers to examine the problem.  We realized that the factors preventing…uh…how shall I put this…a LARGE SEGMENT our struggling kids from succeeding had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with our performance in the classroom.  So we put together volunteer groups to go out and fill in the gaps on our own time and at our own expense to ensure that the kids have what they TRULY need to succeed.  Obviously, there is still so very much we cannot do…so much we can’t change,” she said, wistfully, and she looked away, slightly shaking her head.  “But we’re doing what we can to give every child a chance,” she said, and then she, too, went back to the table to continue helping Veronica’s children while Veronica sat down on her couch and eyed everything with interest, still not sure what to think about all of this.

When the children had finished, they stirred and started to get up, but not before Mrs. Stephens insisted that they wait to be excused from the table.  She had to help Jimmy pronounce the words, “excuse me”.  As one of them again reached for the television, she announced, “OH, no!---not now—we’ve got some evening activities to do!”  There was a chorus of whining complaints, but she steeled herself.

Timmy, the youngest, was to get his bath first, and get changed and ready for bed.  And he did not like it---not one little bit!  But Mrs. Richards consoled him by explaining that this was a SCHOOL night, that he needed his rest so he could learn, and that she’d read him a story and tuck him in as soon as he was ready.

Veronica was still wondering what any of this had to do with her children doing well in school.  She looked across the room.  There in the corner sat a basket of fresh laundry—obviously the ladies had washed up some clothes when they first arrived.  How long had they been here?  What ELSE had they done? 

Then Jimmy told his mom, rather matter-of-factly, “She made us pick up our rooms, make our beds, and pick out clothes for tomorrow as soon as she came in,” and he was pointing at Mrs. Richards---obviously, she had arrived first.  “And she even IRONED them!” Meredith said, proudly. That startled Veronica—Mrs. Richards had obviously brought her own iron and ironing board as Veronica never had any use for such things.

Then Veronica cast her gaze back toward the kitchen where Mrs. Richards had been washing up the pots and pans.  Veronica realized that she probably had to wash a lot of dishes in order to put supper on in the first place.  She shrugged her shoulders and picked up a celebrity magazine.

            As the children moved past her, they were protesting that Mrs. Stephens had turned off the computer and put away their cell phones, as soon as she arrived.  They were asking to use them now, but Mrs. Stephens was sticking to her guns…as soon as they helped clear off the table, they were to meet her in the living room to get started on their homework.  “I’ll be there to help you”, she explained.  She assured them that it wouldn’t even take an hour, and that they’d have plenty of time to enjoy themselves for a while before bedtime.  They gave a surprised look and said in chorus, “Bedtime?” and then they stared at one another in bewilderment.  This, too, was a new concept for them.

            So the dishes got cleared away; the homework was finished; and the children were bathed, read to, and prepared for bed.  Somehow, though, they still had time to play before it was time to turn out the light.  Then, the ladies gathered their things, thanked Veronica for allowing them to work with her children, and quickly let themselves out into the night.  Veronica saw their headlights shining through the curtains on her windows and listened as they backed out of the drive and drove away.  As she walked over and locked the door, she absent-mindedly looked back around the room.  Suddenly, she cursed.  “Lousy teachers,” said out loud to nobody in particular, “why couldn’t they have picked up this living room and vacuumed the floor?”  And with that, she plopped down in front of the television and tried to forget her troubles…again.