Why didn’t you tell him YOU call him Golden Boy? Clearly this is my punishment for not taking Aunt Viv to the Dr.
11:48 A.M.
LOLA
Duh I wouldn’t want to embarrass MYSELF would I? Gotta go teach now. Ava has pencils sticking out of every orifice on her head. Holla. Lo
11:49 A.M.
Aside from the carpeting, I have a beautiful office because parents come to see me more than anyone else in the school, though Nan would argue otherwise. It doesn’t have the stately appearance of Nan’s oak-and-Tiffany glass–fortress, but from where I sit during parent interviews I can gaze right over Baker Beach and out to the Bay. When I’m conducting an interview and the most painful of parentstalk incessantly about their budding thigh-high Steve Jobs, their recent vacation, or their most current venture fund investment, I can appear engaged while staring at a view I never tire of.
I have two Herman Miller knockoff chairs, a coffee table (covered in Fairchild materials), and a killer couch that is perfect for a mid-afternoon catch-up snooze (of course, never when I’m interviewing although every year there are always a few that I have to fight to keep my eyes open). Sometimes Aunt Viv sneaks in for a few winks if she has to cater a reception in the evening after cooking all day for the kids. I like that she has a place she can come and rest. Her work is not easy for a woman in her late sixties. The school (Nan) treats her like she’s still in her early thirties, and I often feel like they (Nan) are taking advantage of her, but then she always says yes to whatever is asked of her. I know Aunt Viv comes from a time and a place when a job, any job that is not as a domestic, is worth putting up with the Nans of the world. But I don’t come from that time and this is California, not Louisiana. I think she’s too accommodating, she says she likes to feel needed. A difference of opinion I guess, which Aunt Viv reminds me to keep to myself. Only problem is, the work does exhaust her, and now I have her heart to worry about, too. Also, when she comes to my office for a quick nap Aunt Viv snores something awful. If she’s snoozing on my couch and starts her guttural roar I can fairly accurately peg her with a chocolate pretzel or a paper clip from my desk. She usually rolls over and quiets down before anyone outside my office hears her and blows our napping cover, but I do worry one day she will come into my office when I’m not there, get all comfortable, start sawing logs, and the jig will be up.
“Save me!” Roan demands, blowing into my office and slamming the door.
“It’s too late for you, Roan, you best end it now. It’s been a good twenty-nine-year run, but time’s up for you.” I’m feeling feisty after my text exchange with Golden Boy.
“Aren’t you so not funny this morning, Wanda Sykes. Your twelve-thirty is here for their interview.”
“Not following your drama.”
“Meredith Lawton is here for her parent interview. I invited her to wait for you in my office, but she says she can’t, she needs to start immediately. She has a hydrotherapy appointment at one-fifteen that shemustmake.”
“Seriously, she told you she has a hydrotherapy appointment?”
“Yeah, is that a big deal? I’m an easy guy to talk to. You know: open, approachable, and...”
“Judgmental. Hydrotherapy is code for a colonic.”
“I wonder if she shits diamonds?”
“Okay too far, even for me. What does Christopher look like?”
“There’s no Christopher. She said he’s in the Middle East for work and her friend Beatrice Pembrook will be joining her for the interview.”
“But no Beatrice yet?”
“Nope, the aristocracy of alumni has not shown up yet.”
“Hmm... Seems Beatrice doesn’t care much about Meredith’s colonic appointment, either. Give me three minutes then show her in.”
“Yes, my queen.” Roan gives me a sarcastic curtsy and backs out of my office sure not to make eye contact. Clearly, he’s been watching too much PBS.
I heat the water in my teapot to offer Meredith a warm drink before we jump into our conversation. I grab Harrison’s file off my desk and quickly review his teacher recommendation. Despite his over-the-top five-year-old lifestyle, he sounds like a pretty down-to-earth child according to his preschool teacher. Shares easily with fellow classmates and is a well-liked community member. He engages in creative imaginary play, willingly cleans up, enjoys doing hisclassroom jobs, and he is steady with his emotions. The cherry on any entering kindergarten application, he can go to the bathroom without adult supervision. I suspect his aim is off from time to time being a rising kindergarten boy and all, but at least he can wipe. Go, Harrison! The last question of the teacher recommendation form is about parent participation in the school. Harrison’s teacher has switched from black font to red for the answer. Interesting to note.
We have never met Mr. Lawton, but we have to assume Harrison’s kind and giving personality comes from his father’s side of the family. While Mrs. Lawton means as well as any other mother in the school community, her version of parental involvement and support differs greatly from the definition provided in thePeople of the Pacific Primary Schoolparent handbook. When we asked for families to collect used and found objects to contribute to our art studio (buttons, egg cartons, yarn, cardboard, etc.), Meredith hired her interior decorator to come work with the students for a week to teach them about color matching, textiles, and textures. Apparently, she spends so much time at the Lawton house that Mrs. Lawton considers her family or at least on the family payroll and offered her up to fulfill Mrs. Lawton’s required parent volunteer hours for the month of March. When we asked families to sign up to bring various items to the school potluck and art show, the Lawtons flew in one hundred lobsters from Maine and hired a chef to dish them up for the community. Once a week we have Ready Set Read time where parents read to groups of three or four kids for about twenty minutes. This fall Mrs. Lawton signed up her new bodyguard, Randy, to come every week. Initially he terrified the kids in his black suit and dark sunglasses, but I do have to say a few weeks into the school year, the kids have gotten toknow him and love his undercover spy uniform. Mrs. Lawton also volunteered to fly in Dav Pilkey, author of theCaptain Underpantsseries, but we politely declined. This is all to say that the Lawtons are a very generous, supportive, and involved family, it’s just that their involvement is based on their own unique interpretation of what the school says it needs and how the school would like its parent volunteers to help.
A diplomatic recommendation, but I get the preschool teacher’s drift. Mrs. Lawton outlandishly outsources her school commitments, but she views it as being highly involved in her child’s school and education. Noted. A dab of lip gloss, and I’m ready for you, Meredith. I open the door to my office to see Roan shifting uncomfortably in the hallway and Meredith texting away on her phone. He wasn’t joking when he said she refused to wait in his office.
“Hello, Meredith, it’s lovely to see you again,” I say, shaking her hand firmly, a conscious power move I always employ in parent interviews.
“Oh, Josie, I think by this point we know each other well enough to kiss hello, don’t you? You’re kinda like a sista to me by now.” Meredith goes in for the customary French double cheek kiss. Nowhere in the Lawton application did I note French lineage or anything else that would lead me to believe we could be sisterly in any way. Meredith has added herself to the long list of white folks who knowingly or unknowingly put on an air of ghetto thinking we will then be able to better relate. They throw out asistahere orbrothathere, a claim to love fried chicken or Jay-Z’s jacked teeth and then, presto, we’re practically bosom buddies. Whether it is conscious or subconscious, there’s an assumption that the change in tone and language will somehow bridge a racial divide between the two of us. All it does is put a person’s ignorance on display and deflate the conversation before it has even started. I am no more ghetto than Meredith is poor and from the hood.
While Meredith is working overtime trying to up her street cred, I notice her Miu Miu fur slides. Only two hundred pairs of them were made this season. The model in me has not totally died. I still covet the most unique and gorgeous of clothing and shoe design and indulge myself now and again with a couture eBay “YAY ME!” present. The hunt, the find, and the low-bid for the win are my Triple Crown. I can’t deny that I would love to slip my foot into one of those soft leather slides and let the world be jealous.
“Would you like a cup of tea before we get started?” I grab my tea box to show her my selection.
“Oh, yes, I would indeed, but I always travel with my favorite tea, which Christopher brings me whenever he goes to China. They have yet to import this tea to the States and it’s absolutely divine and detoxifying. Would you like to try some? I have several bags with me.”
