This is an interesting day. It is the only day with a command. March "Forth". I know it's kind of corny, but I still like it. A pastor used it one time in our church, as a means to prod us to take action. It was his last sermon at the church, so I guess it worked.
The "Christian Army" is a strange beast. We have a general, who left the field, in physical form, 2000 years ago. It was like Douglas McArthur in the Philippines. "I shall return." Only Dougie didn't leave behind our General's secret weapon, the Holy Spirit. So we don't have a physical general, but we do have a spiritual Master Sergeant, who leads us in battle, gives us direction and occasionally relegates us to KP duty. (For all my current Army buddies, that means Kitchen Patrol. You can see examples of it in old John Wayne movies about WWII, along with Jeeps and Tommy guns.)
Sometimes I feel like I'm taking the wrong hill. The mission is somewhere "over there", but I am running in the wrong direction. Not to worry, because we're making good time getting there. So how do you know if the war you're waging is the right fight? Let me know when you have the correct answer, so you can tell me.
We have two polar opposites in Elizabeth and Katherine, when it comes to school performance. Elizabeth wants a gold star for showing up to class. Katherine turns down the gold star for getting straight A's, because she should have gotten all A+'s. Applying that to our Spanish situation is doubly hard for her. Katherine is absolutely mortified with failing a test. We told both of them to expect to fail for at least the first semester, while they made all the requisite adjustments, like learning a new language in a new school in a new country. Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat, and she promptly set about doing nothing, in an effort to pass the bar as low as possible. Katherine went straight to defib at the prospect of failure.
The other day, Katherine had another meltdown. In airline parlance, she is experiencing some turbulence. Hormones are surging within her like the Mighty Mississippi, and her mood changes direction quicker than a fat rabbit eluding a skinny fox. Most of her anxiety stems from being a perfectionist, which is nothing new. What is new is the level of rage, despair and hopelessness to which she will fall. This is followed by soaring heights of happiness, affection and playfulness. I feel like I am watching an elephant on a bungee cord, in an awesome display of Newton's Law of equal and opposite reactions. Sometimes I feel like the cord.
Katherine related to us yesterday how the French teacher had singled her out in class to say that Katherine wasn't paying attention and that she needed to do better. That sent me to the moon. The Redneck in Europe was about to pull out a can of whupass on somebody; the economy-sized version with the easy pour spout.
I better preface this with a little note to the reader. My mama was a teacher for 30 years. I have the utmost respect for teachers, and I have always taken the teacher's side, when my children or other parents have complained about a particular educator. This time, however, I have previously met and spoken to Anti-Christ. I have seen her expression, when she asked if my daughter did any work at home. I have witnessed the condescending look in her beady little Hell-stained eyes. The can is open and ready to pour.
My first attack was an email, which I am proud to say was written entirely in Spanish. A good letter or email should contain just the right gas/air mixture to combust without causing damage to the engine. Just spewing out a bunch of expletives is sophomoric and belies a lack of vocabulary. I wanted to tell her that if she was on fire, I wouldn't pee on her, but it is much more effective to paint word pictures that lead the recipient to the inevitable conclusion that she is Wormwood, who needs nothing less than a rectal exorcism and a one way ticket back to Hell, without actually saying that. My daddy gained some notoriety on his way to becoming chairman of the Darlington County School Board for his letters to the editor of the Hartsville Messenger. If I can see far down the road, it is because I stand on the shoulders of giants.
Being something of a perfectionist myself, I first sent the email to Julio for proofreading. The worst thing in the world is a poorly written beatdown letter, especially one that is going to a teacher. Julio dutifully returned the missive with the appropriate corrections and added, "Are you sure you want to include the last paragraph?" Well, duh, of course I want to send the last paragraph. That's the one that says she is a shame to her profession and qualifies her for water boarding. A good friend will make bail. A best friend will punch you on the shoulder and ask, "Who are we gonna call to make bail?"
In the meantime, I had also requested a meeting with the principal, who is our friend. I had told him I wanted to discuss Katherine's French teacher, so he would know precisely how I wanted to direct fire. I waited to send the email, until after my meeting with the principal, and Mephistopheles. Susan rode shotgun, in case I ran into linguistic barricades. I laced up my roach-stompin', tail-kickin', sphincter-insertin' size 13EEE boots and waited patiently in the outer offices. If you mess with my family, you will pull back a nub.
Luis, the principal, is a wise man. He had assembled a few people for our meeting, including the guidance counselor and Katherine's adviser. We first met without Beelzebub. That took a little starch out of my collar. Even when I'm mad, I don't like to talk about somebody behind her back. I prefer to face the enemy and spew venom, rather than take a chance on somebody else diluting it. During this meeting I maintained decorum and only made slight references to French class, preferring to keep a professional demeanor. Luis related to me that Lucifer had actually told Luis that morning how proud she was of Katherine's performance on her last exam. Well, that didn't fit my image of the Beast. What this a clever deception? Then she walked in the door.
Southern grace dictates a warm salutation, even for the enemy. I kissed both of Judas' cheeks, as is the Spanish custom. We sat down and discussed Katherine's plight. Apollyon related how her own daughter (aka demon in training), who sits beside Katherine in French class and refuses to help Katherine, is having back trouble and requires physical therapy, due to stress-induced cramping. She also related how this entire class seems to be abnormally preoccupied with good grades and performance. Great. That's just great. Not only is my daughter nesting with a bed of perfectionists, but now the Beast is becoming more human-like. She even appears to care a little bit. The scales were retracting from her face. That is not fair. Then she pulled out her ace in the hole.
On Katherine's most recent French exam, she had written in big red letters, "Tres bien!!!" Katherine scored a 5.5, which was higher than many of the Spanish students. Maria related how happy she was with Katherine's progress. She even got emotional with Luis, and told him the other classes should have more modifications to help Katherine learn the material easier.
The pus began draining out of my heart. I don't know what happened to her, but she definitely changed from the last time we met. Perhaps it was her own daughter's plight. Maybe it was the fact that we involved her boss. Whatever the reason, for now we have an ally where we previously had an enemy. When we showed Katherine the test, you could see that she was having trouble reconciling this new truth with her old paradigm.
I did not send the email, and I am glad I didn't. I learned a lot of things, all over again:
- Julio is my friend.
- Katherine is tough, but fragile.
- Luis is wise.
- Teachers are people too.
- I can write a nasty, almost grammatically correct hate letter in Spanish.
- God forgives, even before I ask.
The right hill to take is the one called Calvary. The battle is already over. We just need to occupy the ground. Onward, Christian Soldiers.
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