the cardigan chronicles

The scene is my classroom several years ago on a hot September afternoon--a few days into my short-lived career as a high school teacher.

The phone rings.

Me: Hello?

GC: Miss M.? Fiona Guidance Counselor here. We have a problem (misplaced, if strategic, use of pronoun "we" as I am 100% sure that "we" means "you" as in "me").

Me: Hi Fiona. Sooo nice to hear from you. (A lie, of course, as there are two kinds of high school guidance counselors in the world. One is the kind you want to befriend and with whom you want to talk because she (or he) is the secondary education equivalent of US Weekly magazine. The other is the prep school equivalent of The Gestapo or Anna Wintour).

GC: Let's cut to the chase, shall we Miss M.? Did you make a phone call home to Maximillian Pervesie's parents?

Me: Regarding...

GC: Regarding Max's summer reading test grade?

Me: Ummm, well....

GC: Did you or didn't you?

(Imagine a single shadeless light bulb falling from the ceiling at this point and the walls of my classroom receding into the dark for dramatic effect)

Me: Um, yes, I did. I called the number provided to me by the school, but Max answered and said his parents were in Versailles.

GC: Miss M., I realize there was no way of you being aware of this, but Max's father is dead. Alleged yacht collision, trunk of a Cadillac blah blah blah. So, Mr. Pervesie is certainly not in Versailles.

Me: Oh, I...that's awf--

GC: And the number given to you by the school is for Max's residence, not his mother's.

Me: Max's residence?

GC: Yes. Max's mother bought him a house in Summerlin since the family residence is in Anthem. The commute, the carbon footprint, et cetera blah blah blah...(tautology...But I don't bother--her redundancy is lost on her)

Me: Is Max even old enough to drive? He's in ninth grade.

GC: Let's not get off track here, Miss M. (No, let's not, Fiona).

Me: I had no way of knowing I was given the wrong number by the school, Fiona.

GC: Yes, well, Miss M. It's the oldest book in the trick at The Canyon Day School. You always have to be one step ahead of these students. Our students are sophisticated in alluding (Eluding! The word is eluding!) authority.

Me: I, uh...I'm sure I can...

GC: Here's our problem. You cannot, according to school policy, give a student a failing status in your class for any amount of time without having first notified that student's parents or parent, as the case may be.

Me: Um, yes. OK, Fiona, but how could I have notified Max's parents--parent--if the school gave me the wrong number? How could Max not be failing my class if the summer reading test is the first and only grade for the semester thus far?

GC: Regardless of your internal ratiolizing (Grrrrrr...), Miss M., you are going to have to change the grade according to school policy as listed in the handbook, which believe you me is the only school-issued material our students actually read.

Me: Fiona, Max did not read the summer book.

GC: Can you prove this?

Me: Well, in addition to failing the test over it, Max told (with impressive yet unconvincing animation that a great gust of wind blew the book into the swimming pool) he didn't read the book.

GC: Classic He Said She Said, Miss M. Second oldest book in the trick (Right. Whatever.). I'm going to need you to fill out the Grade Change Form and give it to Vivienne in the Grade Change Office.

Me: Fiona, I...

GC: Miss M., I've been here for 25 years. This is a preemptive move on your part. I'm doing you a favor. Please do try to keep up.

Right.

*The latest statistic claims that only 34.4% of Cleveland's high school students actually graduate. The rate is slightly higher than only one other city in the United States--Indianapolis. It's a black mark on an overall dismal report card for a nation where, on average, just 70% of high school students graduate. Statistically speaking, this is the equivalent of every third senior class across the country not graduating. The graduation rate for inner city schools is even worse hovering just above 50%.