30 Berry
Berry
Hollis is at the house for dinner. It’s taking some time for me to get past the way he and Phil were in cahoots behind my
back, angling to fix Phil’s company without ever telling me anything about it. I’m trying to move forward, and with each evening
that Phil spends telling me about his day, how he’s handling the bankruptcy, sharing both his successes and fears with me,
I feel our relationship healing.
It also helps that Hollis has been more of a mensch than ever with Leo. He arrived twenty minutes before I got home from work
and will be spending the night. He announced a few weeks ago that he’d like to spend one night with us a month to help out,
but I’m pretty sure the opposite is true—he’s lonely. Maybe the recent work he did with Phil knocked something loose inside
him, reminded him how nice it is to feel needed. Either way, he’s always been a much better grandfather than he ever was a
father.
I’m unpacking a grocery delivery when Stella calls.
“I just got off the phone with Greer,” she says.
Greer Franklin is a second-grade teacher, and she and Stella have gotten very friendly over the past couple of years.
“She said the nonfiction text unit is a disaster. Whatever Neil Rumson gave them links to last year’s anthology, which we no longer have.
Then it asks the students to circle glossary entries, but they haven’t even introduced glossaries yet.
She had a whole litany of issues. I wrote it all down and just emailed it over. ”
I stop pulling items from the grocery bag as I take a steadying breath. What Stella just relayed is eerily similar to what
I heard from Lorrie Cyrus on the fourth-grade team about the new math assignments from Neil and how the materials jumped right
to the standard algorithm before students had learned area models or partial products. And two days before I spoke with her,
the entire kindergarten team came to see me because the tubs of manipulatives Neil ordered for the counting and sorting unit
didn’t have any of the sets they were supposed to, just random numbers, many of which were stuck together with dried glue.
All the new strategies Neil Rumson outlined at our meeting back in June are turning out to cause one hiccup after another.
This lack of alignment with school standards ultimately reflects on me. With each mistake being made, I can feel the promotion
to permanent principal slipping further and further from my grasp. More important than my own self-pity is the fact that we
can’t let our students suffer for my mistakes.
“Let’s organize an urgent review of the curriculum,” I tell Stella. “Tomorrow. We gather teachers, department chairs. We have
to fix this.”
“I’m on it,” Stella tells me. “I’ll start sending calendar invites. I knew you’d know what to do.”
As I hang up, I hear Leo come in the front door. He’ll be happy to find Hollis waiting in the living room. They’ve always gotten on like gangbusters. Hollis has a knack for tech, so he and Leo like to debate the merits of the newest gadgets from places like Brookstone and Sharper Image.
“I got a ninety on my history essay,” Leo says to Hollis by way of greeting.
Hollis grunts, and I assume it’s the sound effect that accompanies my father-in-law rising from the couch. He’s never been
a hugger, and he knows better than to invade Leo’s personal space anyway, but he’s got old-fashioned values and still rises
to greet people.
“Come, let’s go tell your mom the good news,” he says.
“It’s not good news,” Leo answers. “Last time I got a ninety-two. A ninety is worse than a ninety-two, so this is bad news.
Sad news, bad news. Bad news bears. More bad news.”
My heart stutters at his words. The past few months have been so hard for Leo, but I thought he’d finally begun perking back
up. When we talked to his psychiatrist in August to see if we should switch his medication, the therapist said Leo’s moodiness
was normal and, in fact, a good, appropriate response to being separated from someone he’d grown fond of. While Phil and I
agreed that it had been lovely to see Leo develop the friendship with McKenna, telling him he had to stay away from her hurt
all of us so much. I’m still not sure it was worth it.
But then, a couple of weeks ago, Leo suddenly came back to himself. He stopped moping around and even started asking about
studying education in college to pursue a teaching career.
“I have to get into college, Grandpa,” Leo says, and I can breathe again. I love seeing him focused on his future.
Phil and I are still working out the finances of it all, but at least we’re working together again instead of working against each other, as we did for all those months.
“A ninety on an essay isn’t going to keep you out of college, kid,” Hollis says with a smile in his voice. “Especially not
with all those hundreds you get in your multi-quadruple-quadrilateral-dimensional-whatever-it-is math classes.”
“There’s no class called that. I take dimensional analysis,” Leo says as they appear at the entry to the kitchen.
“Right,” Hollis says. “I should have mentioned I was joking.”
“It’s not a good joke because it doesn’t make sense. Multi-quadruple means multiple sets of quadruples, which are configurations
of charges or magnetic poles, and quadrilaterals are shapes with four sides, but we’re talking about dimensions, not shapes,
because it’s not geometry.”
“I brought you something,” Hollis says, heading over to the computer desk in the kitchen and picking up a catalog.
Leo looks down at the Hammacher Schlemmer catalog, with its picture of some high-tech charging station on the cover, and nods
vehemently as if Hollis did just the right thing. Soon they’ll be busy debating what they think of each new gizmo for sale.
“Great, thanks,” Leo says, reaching out for the magazine. “I’ll look at it upstairs.”
As he heads out of the room, Hollis looks over at me and pulls a face. “Guess he’s growing a little more independent.”
Before I can answer, the sound of the garage opening fills the room. When the noise quiets, he adds, “Maybe I’m not as useful
as I thought I’d be. If you send Leo off to one of those college programs, soon you won’t need me around at all.”
“We’ll always need you, Dad,” I say, because it seems like the right thing to say, even though it’s not the truth.
When Phil finally revealed his business problems and how he’d turned to his father as a last resort, I’d spent several days convincing Phil of exactly the opposite: that we did not need Hollis, that in fact, much of what Hollis had taught Phil was unproductive, that Phil might actually blossom and come into his own in new ways without the heavy hand of his father on his shoulder.
Each time I spoke these things aloud, I felt like I was talking about Leo too.
If we want him to be ready to fly the coop in a couple of years, it’s time for us to let him make his own decisions, put himself out there, and take risks.
I resolve on the spot that I’m going to tell Phil as much later.
“Berry!” Phil calls with excitement as he comes into the kitchen, but as soon as he sees his dad, his expression gets more
guarded.
“Dad, hey.” Phil marches dutifully across the kitchen and reaches out to shake his father’s hand. This strikes me as bizarre
every time it happens, the way they keep each other literally at arm’s length. Like I said, the man’s not a hugger.
“I’m just going to change out of my work clothes, and then I’ll start dinner.”
“Wait,” Hollis says, looking from Phil back to me. “What were you so excited to tell Berry when you walked in?”
Phil’s eyes meet mine, and I can see him thinking through something, reaching a decision as he turns back to his father.
“You know what, yeah. Let’s do this.”
“Son?” Hollis asks, clearly confused. I don’t know what’s happening either.
“I found a new job,” Phil says.
“Phil!” Hollis says as I yelp with joy. “Wonderful news.”
But Phil holds up a hand to shut us both down.
“It’s freelance. It doesn’t come with an office or an impressive title, and the pay, it’s not a salary. Just an hourly rate.”
“Then why are you taking it?” Hollis asks. “I’ll get my computer, make some more calls. We can do better. That’s not . . .
No, you don’t need to do something like that. You deserve something with more prestige.” He starts walking toward his bag
to find his laptop.
“Dad, no.” Phil’s voice rises in frustration. “I’m excited about this position. It’s what I want to do. You’ve got to stop
pressuring me to do what you want—to be who you want. I’m not like you, Dad. I can’t keep living a life where my entire self-worth
comes from the numbers in my bank account, like it always did for you. Not anymore. If you want to think I’m some kind of
loser now, you go ahead, but I’m not going to think that about myself, and neither is Berry.”
“A loser?” Hollis balks. “I would never think you’re a loser. I just want what’s best for you. Why is it so wrong to want
my son to succeed?” He staggers a little, like he can’t quite bear the weight of Phil’s accusations. I’m tempted to step in
but don’t want to interrupt father and son.
“Then stop acting like my value begins and ends with my job title! My whole life, it’s what you’ve taught me!” Phil shouts
back.
“I never said that. I wanted you to have opportunities. To be able to afford the things I knew you’d want.”
“You had no idea what I wanted!”
I see the color rising on Phil’s neck, and I know he’s only going to get more heated if he keeps going. I put a gentle hand on his arm hoping to prevent him from saying something he’ll regret.
In the sudden silence, the air feels laden with so much hurt for both of them. I take pity on Hollis, whose face is nearly
purple as he continues digesting Phil’s words.
“Look,” I tell him. “I think it’s great that Phil’s excited about the new gig. He and I are going to move forward from here.
Maybe you two could agree to do the same?”
The men look at each other for a long moment, and finally, Hollis nods.
“Great.” I clap my hands once, hoping that part of the conversation is officially over. “Now tell us about the new job.” Then
I give a little squeeze to Phil’s forearm, and he smiles down at me gratefully.
After Phil has explained that he’s found a position consulting for pharmaceutical companies—which, frankly, sounds perfect
for him—and after Hollis has offered stilted congratulations to his son, I head upstairs.
Reaching the landing up top, I hear quiet music coming from Leo’s bedroom.
The door is half open, so I poke my head in and see Leo standing in front of his desk, watching something on his computer.
He’s moving his arms in jerky motions, as if he’s imitating something on the screen, as if he’s trying to dance.
When he notices me, he pauses the video.
“What are you up to?” I ask casually, wondering if he’s back to thinking about prom again.
“I’m learning jujitsu, so I’m busy,” he says, and then he turns the video back on.
I watch him from the hallway a little longer, noting that the movements he’s making look very far from any sort of martial art.
“Are you going to watch the whole time?” he asks as the video comes to an end. “I still have more of these to do.”
“May I come in and talk with you for a few minutes?” I ask, careful to respect the boundaries that he’s made clear are important
to him, like ownership over his bedroom.
He nods, and when I walk to his bed to sit down, he lowers himself in his desk chair, swiveling to face me. Not so long ago,
I would have had to tell him to do that, to turn toward me for our conversation. Thinking about how much he’s grown recently,
I feel a bittersweet tug in my heart and wonder if I’m actually becoming just like Hollis—a parent who’s no longer needed.
“Why do you want to learn jujitsu?”
“Marvin told me it might help me.” Marvin is one of the middle-aged guys in the IT department at the Y.
“Help you with what?”
“He said it might help me make friends. If other kids know I’m tough, they won’t make fun of me.”
I don’t hate the idea of Leo having some self-defense skills, but I doubt he’s going to learn what he needs to know from watching
YouTube in his bedroom.
“If you really want to learn, we could sign you up for a class,” I offer, but I realize my mistake as soon as the words leave
my mouth.
“No,” he says, clamming up.
We spent weeks trying to convince Leo to get involved in another group activity after the fiasco with the swim lessons, and he shot us down every time.
“Is someone making fun of you?” I ask as the rest of what he said registers.
“They didn’t today.”
“What about other days?” No one at school has been able to fill the hole Sebastian left behind, but at some point over the
summer, Leo came to terms with the idea of finishing high school as a loner. “Have kids been mocking you?”
“I don’t know.” He’s not deflecting. I understand that he actually doesn’t know what the behavior of the other kids means.
“If you don’t want to take a class, then no class,” I say. “You’re old enough to make your own choices and do what makes you
happy. I don’t want to stand in your way. I’ll get out of here so you can get back to work.”
I find Phil sitting at his desk in our home office. He’s updating his email signature with his new professional role listed
at the bottom. I fill him in on what’s going on with Neil and the chaos I’ve allowed that man to create with our curriculum.
“So much for being the front-runner for principal,” I say as I flop down on the small loveseat opposite him. “I should have
caught those errors before the plan made its way to the board. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get canned.”
“Hardly,” Phil says. “This is your sweet spot, Berry. You’ve been studying curriculum tools since the day you started at Stillwell.
No one knows more about cutting-edge educational strategies than you.
Never mind triaging complicated situations.
Micromanaging isn’t always a bad thing. You know so much about this field.
Fire up those formidable brain cells of yours and get to work. ”
It’s just the pep talk I need. Phil’s right. I know exactly what to do.
By the time our emergency meeting is set to begin the next morning, I’ve already taken care of most of the discrepancies.
I spent hours on the shared drive, replacing Neil’s broken and incorrect links, connecting PDFs from open educational resources
to our curriculum portal, swapping in the right lesson sequences, relabeling one folder after another, realigning everything.
When the teachers walk in, I hand out a single sheet titled “Corrected Materials: Ready to Teach Today.” The children of Stillwell
Elementary Academy will not suffer any additional gaps in their teaching, not on my watch.