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Mother’s Day
by Saralyn Richard
First published in Encircle Publications' Eccentric Circles
The first day Principal Sally Pearce returned to school after burying her mother, the faculty surprised her with a pancake breakfast in the cafeteria. Sally’s assistant, Pat, whispered in her ear. “The whole staff pitched in on this. Everyone at Lincoln High loves you.”
Tears spilled onto Sally’s cheeks. Even kindness caused her wounds to sting. It had been ten days, but grief over her mother’s sudden death still hovered. She’d insisted on coming back to school, though.
Remaining at the cafeteria door, inhaling the coffee, maple syrup, and bacon aromas, she watched the bustling scene—two hundred faculty and staff members filling trays with food and sitting to eat. Sally crumbled inside. Such a normal scene, and her heart felt anything but. She hoped no one would mention the word, “Mother.”
Lincoln High had thrived during this school year, Sally’s first whole year as principal. The new student-centered programs had helped bury the previous year’s unrest. Bury. Why can’t I free my mind from death?
Melody Singer, new assistant-principal, hooked her arm through Sally’s. “Come on, Captain. It’s a party. You’ll hurt a lot of feelings if you don’t participate. Better hurry, too. Homeroom’s in forty-five minutes.”
Sally forced a smile and inhaled deeply. “Okay, let’s go.” She strolled into the seating area where paper flowers and pastel placemats decorated the tables. A microphone was set up at the front. Sally would have to speak, and what could she say that wouldn’t cause her to cry?
Just thank everyone. Say it’s good to be back. End with something inspiring, like, “Go, Warriors.”
Sally patted Melody’s shoulder. “Let’s meet later to catch up. I don’t see Eric. Wonder where he is.”
“Discipline referral. Said he’d stop by if he finishes before homeroom. You know, he always puts duties before eating.”
“I’m glad to have two hard-working assistant-principals, but sometimes we need to leave our offices and engage with our staff. The school is only as congenial as its least congenial leader. I learned that from R.J. Stoker.”
Sally worked her way around the tables, shaking hands. Whenever anyone mentioned the word, “sympathy,” she nodded and inched away. Soon, she made it to the serving line and filled a plate with pancakes and fruit. She fixed a second plate for Eric and covered it with napkins. She’d stop by his office on her way back.
After eating and giving a brief speech, Sally was ready to get on with the day. The people who needed her attention and assistance would be the best distraction. The homeroom bell pealed through the intercom, triggering an automatic response. She strode from the cafeteria and crossed the hall into Eric’s office.
As she entered, a hard-faced woman and an obviously-pregnant girl were leaving. “We aren’t accepting this,” the woman shouted over her shoulder at Eric. “We’re going to the principal.”
Sally searched the woman’s disgruntled face. “I’m the principal,” she said, extending her hand.
The woman looked Sally over. She shook Sally’s hand and nudged her daughter. “This here’s your principal? Shake her hand, Latrice.”
Sally smiled at Latrice. “Why don’t you two go to the main office and tell my assistant, Pat, that I sent you? I’ll be there as soon as I meet with Mr. Simpson.”
As the two women lumbered into the hallway, Sally reflected on how different they were from her. She was motherless and childless. No matter how troubled Latrice was, she had a mother to champion for her, and Latrice’s mother had a daughter to care for.
Sally’s husband, Ron, and her puppy, Archie, gave her plenty of affection and companionship, but when she observed families at school or among her friends, she realized the enormity of what she was missing. She’d talked to Ron about it late one night, after her mother died, and he’d proposed adoption, as he had many times before, but there were compelling reasons not to, the demands of her job being one. She was doing what she loved, what she was good at—looking out for other people’s children.
“What’s going on with Latrice?”
Eric tapped the paperwork on his desk. “Five-day suspension for fighting.”
“In her condition?”
“Yeah. The other party is the baby-daddy’s other girlfriend.”
“Who started it?”
“Witnesses say Latrice. I really wish we could do something about these guys. We’ve got too many males who take no responsibility for birth control or for the hearts they’re breaking, the lives they’re ruining. I don’t need to tell you.”
Sally swallowed. Why did babies come so easily to people who didn’t want them, weren’t prepared for them? “I’ll support the suspension, but we need to teach our kids better ways.”
“Agree. By the way, what’s that in your hands?”
“Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you breakfast. Probably already cold, but still edible.” She set the plate and utensils on the desk and turned to leave.
“Thanks, Captain,” Eric said behind her. “And I’m so sorry about your mother.”
Sally waved, but kept walking, not wanting anyone to notice the tears.
Normally, the hallway between Eric’s office and hers was brightly lit this time of the morning, courtesy of the east-facing windows. Today the hallway was dim, reflective of Sally’s mood. Arriving at the main office, Sally winked at Pat and motioned for Latrice and her mother to enter her inner office. They seated themselves, and Sally sat behind the desk. Latrice’s eyes were red and swollen. Her eyes look the way mine feel. Perhaps her mother’s been taking her to task.
“I understand you’ve been involved in a fight, Latrice.” Sally made eye contact. “And we have to take fights seriously at Lincoln High.”
Mother and daughter sat, glaring, arms crossed over their midriffs.
“Tell me your side of the story, and then we’ll go from there.” Sally leaned forward, attentive and patient. Sometimes all a person needs is to be listened to.
Latrice told how Sharonda had taunted her in the girls’ bathroom in front of a group of onlookers. Latrice’s mom uttered expletives under her breath. “So, I had to swing at her,” Latrice finished. “I couldn’t let her get away with it.”
Sally nodded. “I understand how frustrated and angry you must have felt, Latrice. Nobody likes being disrespected. But there are much better ways to express anger without fighting. Especially as we get older, and especially as we take on adult roles.” Sally’s eyes passed over the bulge in Latrice’s lap. “In adult society, fighting is called, ‘battery.’ That’s a crime. You could be arrested for it. Fighting can cause serious bodily harm, sometimes permanent. Just think how bad you’d feel if Sharonda punched your belly and caused damage to your baby.”
“How’m I s’posed to get her to stop if I don’t hit her?”
Latrice’s mom uttered a monosyllabic grunt. Perhaps she didn’t appreciate having another adult lecturing her daughter, or perhaps she wanted to know the answer to the question, herself.
“Many ways,” Sally said, leaning forward and lowering her voice, as if to impart one of life’s secrets. “One is to ignore her. You act as if nothing Sharonda says is important, as if Sharonda isn’t worth listening to.” Sally sat back. “If Sharonda can’t upset you, she’ll stop picking on you and try taunting someone else.”
Sally stood and made eye contact with Latrice. “You need a better way to express their emotions. You know fighting carries a consequence of suspension, and I have to uphold that. But I want you to learn something even more important.”
Latrice opened her arms and sat forward, mimicking Sally’s posture. “What?”
“You’re about to become a mother, and your education is going to be more crucial than ever. What do you know about our Infant Care Center?”
Latrice shrugged, but her mother leaned forward.
Sally explained the Infant Care Center was a state-licensed childcare facility on campus, established to help teen parents complete their educations and to educate them in best practices for caring for their children. “In addition to a certified director and full-time employees, the center is staffed by students who have taken required electives in childcare and child development.”
“You mean the babies come to school with their mothers and have day care here at the school?” The woman’s name tag said LaTonya Martin.
“Yes, Mrs. Martin. If she signs up for this program, Latrice won’t miss out on her education. And the baby will be cared for by competent people in a clean, stimulating environment.”
“How much does this daycare cost?”
“Free of charge to Latrice, provided she takes the classes and works in the center an hour a day.” Sally bent to gaze through her window at the gathering clouds. “Looks like a rainstorm’s headed our way, but tell you what. Let’s go visit the center. I want you to see how it works. And when you’ve served your suspension, you can talk to your counselor about enrolling in the classes for next fall.”
As Sally hoped, Latrice and her mother showed interest in the program. Perhaps it soothed the sting of the suspension, while leaving the lesson of not fighting. As the trio walked across campus to the Infant Care Center, black clouds hovered, and large, splashy raindrops fell. The air was thick, but the temperature was not unpleasant. “I hope this squall blows over quickly. I don’t remember any rain in today’s forecast.”
Sally had called ahead, so the director buzzed them in. “Ooh, looks like a storm out there. Come in and make yourselves at home. I’m Dana Wells, center director. I’ll take you on a tour. Please feel free to ask questions as we go along.”
The ambience of the center warmed Sally’s heart and served as an ointment for her grief. Dana began the tour with the infant room. Ten cribs were lined up around the perimeter. Three student workers and a paraprofessional tended the babies. One was being diapered. One was being fed a bottle. One was being jiggled on a lap in a rocking chair. Three babies lay on their backs in cribs, awaiting their turns. A sign over the door read, “Everything depends on upbringing.” ― Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.
As Dana led them into the toddler room, Sally’s radio buzzed. A call from 02, Eric. “What’s your location?” he asked.
“Infant Care. What’s up?” Sally moved toward the window for better reception, and noticed how black the sky had become.
“National Weather Service just issued a tornado warning for our area. I’m about to initiate the drill. You’d better stay there.”
Sally’s breakfast transformed into a boulder, but she had rehearsed many tornado drills. The principal thing was to move everyone into a window-free zone, to sit on the floor, head between knees. She’d never been in an outbuilding during a drill before, but the same principles would apply. Mainly, she needed to exert calm, confident leadership.
“Excuse me a moment,” she said to the Martins, as she whispered into Dana Wells’s ear.
Dana’s response was smooth as sea glass. She pointed to the long center hallway that connected the various rooms. “That’s our shelter-in-place spot. Meet you there.” She glided toward the student workers, touching them lightly on the shoulder and mouthing the single word, “Tornado.” Within seconds the tornado alarm blasted over the public address system, three long and two short beeps.
A few babies started shrieking. Sally glanced at the quote above the door in this room. “Mother is a verb. It's something you do. Not just who you are.”― Cheryl Lacey Donovan, The Ministry of Motherhood. Sally couldn’t stand by watching the handful of student workers and adults protecting three or four times the number of children. She had to help.
She enlisted Latrice and her mother to help roll cribs from the infant room into the hallway, patting the babies as they moved into the safe zone. After the babies were secured, she went back to where the toddlers stood in a line. They marched like ducklings, some unsteady, and some were carried by adults.
A third room held older children, three- or four-year-olds, also being shepherded into the hallway. A crack of lightning and a rumble of thunder fairly shook the center, and a moppet of a girl with brown frizzy hair screamed, “Mommy.” The word reverberated in Sally’s heart. She too wanted to scream, “Mommy.” But Sally’s mommy was even more beyond reach than this one.
Sally lowered herself on one knee and stretched arms out to the frightened child. “I’m here for you, sweetheart. I’m here.” The warm little bundle against Sally’s chest, rubbing a wet face into Sally’s blazer, grew quieter, even as the distinctive whistle of the tornado approached, growing louder.
Everyone was in the hallway, crouched on the floor in practiced postures, as the tornado rolled its electrifying centripetal force across the Lincoln High School campus. Sally sat cross-legged, cradling the little girl in her arms, rocking gently. To her surprise, the child had fallen asleep in her arms, her little head turned to face Sally.
Sally thought of a time when her mother had held her and comforted her like this, how nothing could replace the warmth of a mother’s embrace, the beating of a mother’s heart. In this moment, her mother’s quiet strength and love surrounded her. Sally passed it on to this other person, someone who, in the moment, needed it.
After the tornado passed, everyone returned to normal. Sally gently woke her charge, who was sucking on two fingers. “Let’s go back to the classroom, little one,” Sally said. “You had a nice little nap.”
As Sally deposited the child in the care of a student worker, she glanced at the sign over the door in that room. “Being a mother is an attitude, not a biological relation.”— Robert Heinlein.
The workers in the center had a lot on their hands, calming everyone down. Now the tornado had passed, the babies’ mothers would be checking on their children, and soon it would be lunch and naptime. Sally couldn’t linger. She had 2700 other students and staff to worry about.
She tracked down Latrice and Mrs. Martin. “Thanks for helping during the emergency. I have to return to the main building now, but Ms. Wells has asked if you could stay to help a little longer. If you’re willing, I’ll shave two days of suspension off as time served.”
Latrice grinned. “Really? I’d love to.” She turned to her mother. “What d’ya think, Mama? Totally worth it.”
Mrs. Martin nodded. “Funny how things happen. Latrice and I are sold on the Infant Care Center, too. Thanks for bringing us here.”
Sally left the center in capable hands. She needed to check on other buildings, other people. It was good to be needed, good to open her arms and heart to others. In two days, it would be Mother’s Day, the first one without her mother. Now, Sally thought, she’d be able to bear it.
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