the hell are you doing here?”
“Trying to get certified.”
“Ah, I get it. Last year is when the state approval came in, right? No tickee, no job, eh?”
I nodded.
“Well, Doris is a tough old war-horse, but she kept that school alive when no one else could.”
“Yes, she taught me a great deal.” Glad that I could say it. That the hurt of having to leave was easing.
“Okay now,” Foster said, “let’s get down to business. We have come up with a terrific idea.”
“We?”
“Yeah. Bernie Serino and me and the Falls City Mental Health Clinic. You know Bernie?”
“Yes. He was supervisor of special ed when I was teaching and helped me get one of my kids back into a regular class in junior high.”
“Yeah. Well, Bernie and I have lunch every Wednesday. A little business, a little pleasure. We’ve known each other a long time.
“In some of the districts they’re having a hell of a time with the younger kids. Not just truancy, you expect that, but stealing, setting fires, drugs – you name it. So what happens, they call the school social worker or psychologist, she adds a name to her list. Then the truant officer, they call him something fancier, but I don’t remember what it is, checks in. Nine times out of ten he comes back and says it’s a ‘broken home,’ either the father’s skipped or nobody knew who he was. All they got is uncles, Uncle This and Uncle That. Every time Mom gets a new boyfriend, the kids get a new uncle. Convenient, but unstable.
“So they have a conference and call up Bernie and tell him they need ‘special services.’ Well, about the only ‘special services’ Bernie’s got any connection to where he might get help for these kids is the Mental Health Clinic. They’re a good bunch, working hard in the community, but they got an even longer waiting list than the school social worker.”
He paused and I asked what he knew I would ask.
“What happens?”
“What happens?” Professor Foster banged his feet to the floor and leaned toward me.
“Same damn thing happens every time. By June the kid has moved up to number thirty on the waiting list. He’s been picked up by the police, taken to court, warned and fined, and released. The school year ends and the whole thing begins all over again the next fall.”
I said nothing. I sat looking at my hands, feeling the old familiar sadness as I heard about the children. What sense did it make? Any satisfaction I had felt at completing registration faded. What was I doing here in this college memorizing the commutative, associative, distributive mathematical properties and the content and study skills of reading?
I was so deep in my own thoughts that I missed the first few words or sentences of Professor Foster’s next statement, tuning in when he got to “… the Mental Health Clinic has gotten a grant to put ‘therapeutic tutors’ into one of the schools in Falls City on a trial basis. Bernie’s agreed and picked the school and I’ve offered to supply the therapeutic tutors.”
“What’s a therapeutic tutor?” I interrupted.
“Somebody who’s good with kids. What else? You can hear it in fancy words later. So what do you say?”
“It sounds like a good idea from what you’ve told me.”
“No. Not that. Will you do it? Be a tutor?”
“Me?” I couldn’t believe it. I answered instantly before he could change his mind. “I’d love to. Where do I go?”
Professor Foster smiled at me. “Don’t you want to know about credits – hours?”
I looked down, embarrassed and immediately shy. I had been too eager, revealed too much. I nodded.
“Well, first there’ll be training sessions at the clinic. Then you’ll see your child three times a week for about fifty minutes each session. Eventually you’ll have three children.”
In my mind’s eye, I could see the schedule of courses that I had just completed. Falls City was about twenty minutes from the campus; that would mean another forty minutes each time I went down. There wasn’t a day when there was a block of time long enough. Wordlessly I handed Professor Foster my schedule.
He studied it briefly, then whacked it down on the table.
“What the hell is this? How could you sign up for classes before you checked with me? Am I your adviser or not? Why didn’t you ask for advice?
“Never mind,” Foster said after a minute, picking up my schedule. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell. Let’s see what we can do.” He studied it closely and then grinned at me. “At least you’ve got good taste, picking ‘Counseling and Guidance for the Handicapped’ – that’s mine. Unfortunately, it’s only a two-credit course, but at least that gives us a couple of hours to play with. Mmm-de-dum-dum.”
Professor Foster hummed to himself as he flipped through catalog pages, checking them against course requirements and my own schedule. Finally, he looked up at me and said, “That’ll do it. Drop History of Ed and take Independent Study in its place and spend the time of my course at School Twenty-three and you’ll be all set.”
“What’s Independent Study? And what do I do about History?”
“Independent Study is whenever I want you to do something. I just write up a slip and send it to the dean. You’ll get your three credits.”
“Power,” I said.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay, now. Go on back to registration before it closes and drop that history course. You can always take it next year, there are plenty of sections. Here’s a note if you need it.”
“Thank you,” I said as I stood up. “When, where will I start?”
“Well, the other two tutors are both seniors with much more freedom in courses, so scheduling will be a lot easier for them. Let’s see your schedule again. Okay. You’ve got some time on Monday afternoons. We’ll meet down at the clinic at two.” He glanced out his door. Four pairs of blue-jeaned legs could be seen below the hall bench.
“Ah. Gotta rush now, way behind. See you next Monday. Call the clinic to get directions down there. Sorry I can’t talk longer.” He was already standing, tucking in his shirt, smoothing back his hair.
The line was still long at the student union. I went up to the guard at the door. “I’ve already registered. I just want to drop one course. Is it all right if I go in?”
“Name, please.”
“Mary MacCracken.”
“MacCracken. M. That’s all right. Social security number?”
“No. Look, I’ve
