Ignorance Power

 

“My husband and I do not like the way our son is being taught here!”

The speaker was an obese woman with small eyes and straw-colored hair that was braided into pigtails on either side of her head.

An angry Miss Piggy was what popped into Janice Horner’s mind as she gazed across her desk at the woman seated there. She immediately felt a pang of guilt and resolved to treat this person with respect.

“What is it that you feel is wrong, Mrs. Wurtzel?” she asked.

It seemed to make the woman even angrier.

“Just the fact that you have to ask that question. That’s what’s wrong.”

She snorted, which only made Janice think again of Miss Piggy. She pushed it away.

“Well, I know our school isn’t perfect. That’s why we’re always glad to hear from parents who might have issues we’re unaware of.”

This got another snort.

“Yeah, right! Okay, you want issues? How about the issue of making my son feel like he’s stupid?”

“Is that what’s happening?”

The woman rolled her eyes.

“Are you deaf? It’s what I just said. That’s why I’m sitting here talking to you instead of making dinner for my family. My Sammy is constantly being made to feel like an idiot by his so-called teacher, Ms. Cuckoo.”

“You mean, Ms. Cook.”

“Whatever. We call her Ms. Cuckoo. She shouldn’t be allowed to come anywhere near a fifth-grade classroom. Incidentally, why isn’t she here?”

“She can’t stay after school. She does volunteer work at the homeless shelter.”

“How convenient.”

Despite her best intentions, this was starting to get to Janice.

“Look, Mrs. Wurtzel, I will deal with Ms. Cook in any way that’s necessary. But I need to know what the problem is.”

The woman took a deep breath, as if winding up for what she was about to deliver.

“The ‘problem,’ as you put it, is that she’s a smartass.” She nodded her head for emphasis.

“A smartass? In what way?”

Another eye roll.

“She thinks she’s smarter than everyone. What other way is there?”

“You mean, smarter than fifth-graders?”

The woman glared across the desk. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, not at all. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Then I’ll help you out.” She gave Janice a tight smile. “I’ve spoken to several other parents about this, and they all agree with me. Ms. Cuckoo is a goddamn smartass. She makes all our kids feel like they’re stupid.”

Janice nodded.

“Well, that’s a very serious accusation. Can you give me an example?”

“I don’t need an example; it happens constantly. She’s always telling the kids things they don’t know. It makes them feel dumb.”

Janice wasn’t quite sure she’d heard right.

“Things they don’t know. You mean, the lessons?”

“That’s right, the lessons. They’re always about things the kids don’t know.”

This had now officially become surreal.

“But she’s a teacher. It’s her job to tell them things they don’t know.”

The woman shook her head.

“Another smartass. Honestly, I don’t know where they find people like you.”

Now it was Janice who took a deep breath.

“Mrs. Wurtzel,” she said, trying to keep an even tone, “if your purpose in coming here today was to insult me, you’re doing an excellent job. But if you have a problem that needs solving, you’ll have to explain it to me in a bit more detail or nothing can be done.”

The woman’s face flushed, and Janice noticed that her hands, which had been in her lap, had moved to the arm rests and were balled into fists. She briefly thought of the school guard, who was just outside her office. At least, she hoped he was.

“I’ll thank you not to lecture me,” said Mrs. Wurtzel through gritted teeth. “But if you want ‘a bit more detail,’ I’ll give it to you. Take long division: What the hell is it? I don’t know, and if you said you do then you’re lying. It’s just some mumbo jumbo that nobody understands. And nobody needs to because we’ve got calculators. It makes Sammy almost cry every time he tries to do it, and it breaks my heart.”

If no one ever knew long division the calculator would never have been invented, was what Janice wanted to say, but, of course, didn’t.

“I’m sorry to hear that, I really am,” was what she actually said. “We do have remedial math instruction available here. If you’d like to enroll him in our program…”

“Are you crazy? That’s the last thing I’d do. That would really make him think he was stupid.”

The woman looked heavenward, as if asking for strength, then reached down into the shopping bag she’d placed beneath her chair when she first came in.

“Here’s one of those torture devices you call spelling tests,” she said, extracting a sheet of paper. She shoved it across the desk at Janice.

It was a a list of ten words, seven of which Sammy had misspelled. They included “except” (spelled “ecept”), “notice” (spelled “notis”), “syrup” (spelled “sirep”), and four others. They’d all been circled and corrected by the teacher.

“Are you saying Ms. Cook shouldn’t have corrected these words?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Why should she care if Sammy chooses to spell those words any way he has the God-given right to? You can tell what he means when you read it, can’t you? So, what’s the big deal? Why give this poor child a hard time?” Her eyes narrowed. “Unless you wanted to make him think he’s inferior.”

Maybe this is some sort of prank, Janice thought, even as she knew it wasn’t. An uneasy feeling began to creep into her consciousness.

“So, we shouldn’t teach spelling, is that right?” she asked.

“You’re making fun of me again.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just trying to…”

“Yes, you are, just like the the rest of you elitists. Never mind, I’m used to it. Let’s move on to Social Studies, which should really be known as “Socialism Studies.”

“Mrs. Wurtzel…”

“Sammy told me that Ms. Cuckoo is actually teaching the class about slavery. Can you imagine? Where does she get off exposing young children to something like that?”

“It’s part of the normal fifth-grade curriculum.”

“Yeah? Well, who made it that way?”

“Mrs. Wurtzel…”

“Socialists. You know that as well as I do. Not only is my child made to feel stupid, you’re making him feel guilty. Why aren’t you teaching both sides of the story?”

Janice’s uneasy feeling ratcheted up significantly.

“Both sides?”

“That’s right. And I must tell you, Ms. Horner, that I feel very uncomfortable discussing this with you, since you’re African-American, but there are two sides to the story. I’ll leave it at that.”

Janice had to struggle to fight back the fury.

“I think you’d be wise to leave it at that,” she said tersely. “Now, is there anything else?”

“Oh, there’s plenty! For instance, Sammy cannot make heads or tails out of this book the class is supposed to read. He showed it to me. It’s filled with words he doesn’t understand, and he’s very frustrated.”

“I see. Did you go over the words with him and tell him what they mean?”

The woman looked at her indignantly.

“Of course not. That’s Ms. Cuckoo’s job. Why should my husband and I do the work we pay her for with our ridiculously high taxes? But don’t get me started on that subject.”

“I won’t,” said Janice. “Tell me, Mrs. Wurtzel, do you and your husband ever read to Sammy?”

The woman rose from her chair, and Janice instinctively went rigid.

“That’s none of your business. My husband and I will raise our children as we see fit, not the way some pointy-headed ivory tower type thinks we should.”

She picked up her shopping bag, took a step toward the door, then looked back.

“I’m not the only one who feels this way. There are plenty of others. Just remember that, Ms. Little Jack Horner. You’d better stay in your corner.”

She snickered at her own witticism and stalked out of the office.

 

***

 

Janice had a hard time concentrating on the road ahead of her as she drove home. Her hands, had they not been clutching the steering wheel, would have been trembling. It was as if she’d been thrust into some alternate reality, where knowledge was to be avoided and its lack, something to be celebrated.

As soon as she got home she planned to call Elise Cook to discuss Sammy Wurtzel, a child for whom she now felt immense concern. Were there other children in her school who were trapped in that same precarious situation? Mrs. Wurtzel had said she’d spoken to other parents and they all agreed with her. Was that true, or were they just trying to molify her so she’d go away? Janice fervently hoped it was the latter.

The traffic was slowing as she approached the downtown area. The Board of Education headquarters was just up ahead. Its employees usually left at this time of day, hence, the traffic. But it seemed to be more jammed up than usual. As she got closer, Janice could see what was causing it.

A demonstration was going on in front of the building. There were some two dozen people, men and women, carrying signs that said things like: Screw Your Superior Attitude, Smart = Smartass, Stop Acting Like You’re Better Than Us, and You Think You Know Everything? You Don’t! Several of the words on the signs were misspelled.

A few cars in the line honked their support, and one man leaned out of his car window and yelled, “You tell ’em!”

It brought tears to Janice’s eyes. She thought of her daughter Marsha, a straight-A second grader who absolutely adored school. Was she part of a dying breed?

God help us, Janice thought as the traffic eased and she continued her drive home.

God help us all.