Educated Flaw

Educated Flaw

Dennis O. Shepherd

Scot Alan Stivers never had been a morning person; his internal clock made waking up refreshed next to impossible. He went to bed when the nightly news came on T.V., but it took him time before he entered deep sleep. Mornings always arrived too early, regardless how well he slept. Even when Scot Alan awoke on his own, he felt draggy until mid-afternoon.

Day one in first grade, he fought to be alert on the bus ride to school, let alone in the classroom once he arrived. He slept the entire night before; he even had a dreamless night. Mother urged him awake at 7:00 the next morning and he rolled over, not even acknowledging her voice. Eyes still closed, Scot Alan said, “I’m too drained to move. I cannot even open my eyes—they’re glued shut; something’s wrong with me. I am non-functionable today. Just let me stay home.”

“Now none of that, Young Man,” Mother stated and told him to hop to it and get ready for his first day of First Grade.

In the classroom, he found a chair at a table in the rear of the room and settled with a look of fear lighting his face. Scot Alan did not look around, nor speak to the other students finding their places at nearby tables. Bashful is not the word; he avoided all conversation and interactions. If asked a question requiring only a Yes or No, that is all one got in return. He knew he did not fit in with the other children; he spent most of his time alone, even having four siblings.

Miss Tobey, an older woman—especially to a barely six-year-old shy boy, tried to make the class atmosphere fun and interesting. Scot Alan sat still, a statue compared to the other boys and girls. They told their names, how big their families were, their favorite color and food, and what they wanted to be when they grew up. Scot Alan sat silent with saucer eyes.

The bell rang at 3:30 causing him to sigh and breathe easier for the first time since arriving. The bus ride home took half an hour, far longer than Scot Alan could manage.

“How did your first day at school go?” Mother asked when he placed his tote on the kitchen table. Streams of water flooded out of Scot Alan’s eyes. “H-o-r-r-i-b-l-e!”

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Mother opened Scot Alan’s bedroom door the next morning to hear him exclaim, “I feel terrible; my tummy hurts and my head is hot.” Mother touched his forehead. “You don’t feel like you have a temperature. Come on, let’s get ready for school.”

“No! My eyes feel like they are going to fall on the floor and roll downstairs.”

Mother tried not to chuckle. “What’s wrong? Okay, let me take your temperature and see how high it is.” She placed the glass monitor in his mouth and left the room. Scot Alan puffed out his cheeks, forced his breath out without opening his mouth and onto the thermometer’s tip without blowing it across the room. All the while, he hoped it made the red line go to 105 degrees.

Soon, Mother returned, took out the thermometer, and declared all well. “Let’s get you ready for school.”

Grandpa drove Scot Alan’s school bus and stopped to pick him up when driving up the road. The routine took the bus to the end of the road, turned around, and picked up the students on the return trip. The valley road covered about six miles and the bus filled soon after the turnaround. Being the second day of school, Scot Alan did not say more than two words after boarding. He sat rigid in the seat behind Grandpa.

Grandpa stopped the bus at the Stiver’s neighbor’s driveway; Scot Alan jumped from his seat, told Grandpa he didn’t feel good, and left the bus. In the kitchen, Mother looked at him with stern eyes. “School makes me vomit, Mother!” He threw his lunchbox on the kitchen table and ran upstairs to his bedroom.

She allowed him to stay home and hoped Scot Alan would learn to be calm and deal better with facing being gone from her all day the next day. Not so much….

Grandpa opened the bus door and Scot Alan took the same seat the next morning. “Are you feeling better today?” he asked. “My rear end is crumbling,” Scot Alan noted. Grandpa lifted his eyebrows, rounded his lips into an “O,” closed the door, then motioned the bus up the road to its turn-around area.

Twenty minutes later at the neighbor’s drive, Scot Alan exited the bus again. Mother sighed with frustration when he entered the kitchen. “You are going to school today,” she stated in no avoiding terms and tone. She finished the morning housecleaning project she’d been working on. Mother then slapped Scot Alan in the rear a couple times, put him in the car, and drove him to the elementary school.

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Day Three. Grandpa greeted Scot Alan but forwent asking how he felt. He did not want to upset his grandson more than he already appeared. The trip up the road and while loading the other children on the way back brought absolute silence from the seat behind Grandpa. When nearing the driveway next to the neighbor’s place, Grandpa held his breath. Surely, everything will be okay today; hopefully, the boy realizes he has to attend school.

Again, however, Scot Alan left his seat when the bus stopped at the neighbor’s drive. Mother stood at the open door. Scot Alan halted in mid-air on the second step. Shock and fear glistened his face.

An hour into the school day, Scot Alan sat at his place with tears gushing from his eyes. Miss Tobey gently said, “Why are you crying?”

“I want my Mommy,” he whimpered.

“While you are at school, I’m your mommy.”

Niagara Falls froze at the edge. Scot Alan lifted his head, his face scarlet, his eyes moon-size. All 42 rooms in the school house heard, “YOuu’rre NNnnoott MY MOMMY!”

Miss Tobey retired the end of that school year.

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