Some Things In Life Should Remain A Mystery

Junior year Psychology class was one of many classes that I remember from High School. On one particularly interesting afternoon, the teacher told us: “These are the best years of your life, so enjoy them because after this--it’s over!” Not something that a psychology teacher should be telling young, impressionable 17 year olds who are neither wise nor emotionally mature enough to handle it.

One of the students, and a close friend of mine, looked at her incredulously and said, “Well then Mrs. T., I think we should just throw in the towel because if it gets any worse, then forget it!” I looked at Mrs. T. the way that I look at everyone who strikes my interest; I smiled at her and was eagerly waiting to hear how she was going to crawl herself out of the massive hole that she had notably dug herself in.

She stared at this student and made a sound that resembled a nervous laugh and fashioned, what seemed to be, a constipated-like smile, and proceeded to say:

“What I mean to say is that you should consider yourself lucky that you are living a charmed life right now; you are living in a nice, small town protected from the harsh cruelties and realities of life and attend a school with a wonderful reputation … ” (Note: memory may not be as good today as it was then, but this was pretty much the gist of her comments.)

It is interesting how I never forgot that moment and those words. It’s funny how some thing just stay with you—one of the powers of being a teacher, I guess—hear that all you teachers?

I remember this not only for her apparent misstep in trying to teach immature 17 year olds the true meaning of life and the burdens and responsibilities, therein—because let’s face it, if she hadn’t recovered from that little fiasco, then the headline in the morning paper could have read something like: Mrs. T’s 6th period psychology students found dead in murder suicide. Mrs. T. (Psychologist) can you explain this??

I remembered her words, now almost 25 years later, and thought about them often while I walked through the years of my life; through all of the ups and downs and the harsher discoveries that I had to face—and learn from. Looking back, I think she was right in some respects and wrong in others. But I do know what she was trying to teach us: that we needed to appreciate our “easy” teenage life (in retrospect)—for the short time that we still had them; but, sadly, that lesson was just too big for teenagers to handle—there are just some things in life that should remain a mystery.

I did see Mrs. T. again at a restaurant in my hometown a few years ago; she was a frail, older, grey-haired woman, and she was peacefully sipping her wine while staring out into the harbor. And when I was approaching her table I thought about reaching out to her and delicately touching her shoulder to say hello. I was certain that she would remember me, as I am certain that all teachers, likewise, remember their students; but as I approached her table I thought about what I would say to her. Do I tell her that I understood what she was trying to tell us that day in class—a day that maybe she, too, was going through a tough time in her own life; or do I say nothing more than a quick hello and leave my life a mystery—as some things just should be; or do I merely walk away without ever touching her shoulder or saying one word, and choose to be remembered as the happy, smiling girl who always enjoyed her 6th period psychology class.

So I walked away, as if I hadn’t seen her; but I duly noted her peaceful smile while she looked out into the harbor.

"The Storm After the Diagnoses" Poem

As some of you know I did a lot of poetry writing when my kids were younger (3 and 4)--and while I was going through the emotional roller coaster of understanding and adjusting to my kids' (who are just a year apart) diagnoses (which came at me back-to-back)--my daughter is severely autistic and my son was diagnosed as pervasive developmental delay (MR) which we know now is mild autism (aspergers). This was one of the poems (or prose) that I wrote when my world had just collapsed all around me and I was making my way without much help ... It's about our previous school system and realizing that people are just people no matter what your circumstances (or life) might be. Teachers are trained to teach our children of special needs but are not trained to deal with parents of children with special needs.

"The Storm After the Diagnoses"

When you feel like you’ve just hit bottom.
When you think it couldn’t get any worse—it does.
My daughter needed more services, and I needed more help.
My son was just newly diagnosed with a disorder
That I still couldn’t digest
So I called her school’s director for help, but got no answer.
I waited for word, and got no response.
I yielded when I should have charged;
I could take no more.
My emotions were riding high
Building like a turbulent storm;
Turning the once blue skies dark; the calm ocean fierce.
I drove to the school, opened their doors
And sailed in on my tumultuous wind.
I demand help. I demand services. I demand blue skies!
The teacher: the one with the bad reputation
Was the one I spoke with and she was not sympathetic
But rather quick and dismissive. Was I rude?
I was inquiring about her boss’s whereabouts
And desperately seeking a meeting
But she didn’t seem to care
“She’ll call, she'll call”
Was all I got in a brushing-me-off kind of way,
As if I were a nuisance like a bill collector
And was appeasing me with “It’s in the mail.”
She knew about my son’s new diagnosis
And my daughter’s new problem
But did she offer to help or understand—No!
Maddeningly enough, she barely maintained eye contact
As if she had better things to do.
I grew angrier and angrier by the minute
And wasn’t about to go away without a final word for the director
And an attention grabber for an unresponsive teacher.

“Pathetic Witch” printed in neon as bright as sun
Atop my daughters IEP for all to see.
(Funny how the teacher actually got it wrong
“Cold-hearted Witch” was what I actually called her.)
Nevertheless, small lettering of ugly words
Have a powerful way of magnifying and glow
Like a big, yellow caution sign flashing brightly in my face.
The round table struggled not to laugh
And I could barely speak.
A trust between parent and teacher had gone bad.
An agreement of confidence was broken.
An emotion of dread was unanalyzed. Or was it?
I had realized at that moment that business was business
Not matter the business and delicate circumstance.
Gossip stops nowhere especially when an unsatisfactory
Reputation warrants an extra brownie point.

She sold me out; fed me to the dogs;
Led me upstream; hung me out to dry.
Look out for number one—isn’t that the philosophy?
The ugly surfaced; the nasty prevailed;
The Cold-Hearted Witch was living up to her new name.
Institutionalize was her word of the day.
DSS was also thrown my way.
Mouths hung open. Eyes glared. Solemn mood.
Silenced lingered for what seemed like an eternity
As shock waves settled in the thick of the minute
Was this a war or a child plight? I wasn’t sure?
But pay back seemed to be in store!

Lesson number one:
Remember the rules; remember the politics; remember the game.
No matter what wrong was committed; no matter whose fault it was;
No matter what feelings were exchanged, always:
Kiss up; suck up; play the political game and be friends
No matter how much you cringe
Because you will be rewarded--your child will be serviced.