DYLAN: 'LORD PROTECT MY CHILD'

When I got out of prison for drunk-driving , the only job I could find was ‘substitute teacher’ in the local school system. It helped that my Dad was the high school principal. He is 85 years old, and has no intention of retiring soon. He loves his job. Perhaps too much.

I showed up at the Administrative Office and the secretaries smiled and motioned me into Dad’s  private office. He’s been principal for 40 years now, has made the place his own, to put it mildly. I knocked on the door.

“Yes,” a booming voice emerged from behind the solid wood.

“Dad, it’s me,” I tried to boom back, but nobody booms like Dad.

“Ah, James, enter,” he exclaimed..

Inside, Dad was doing paperwork. “Too much darn paperwork, lately” he’d said at the dinner table. Yes, I now live ‘at home’again.  A  condition of my probation. Dad knows all the cops in town, has had the Police Chief over for swordfish dinner many times. Dad cooks it out on the gas grill.

“Well, son, are you ready for work?” he said, brightly . He put down his Number two pencil. The yellow legal pad he was inscribing was put to the side, as well. He was giving me full attention. I was a bit demure, I gotta admit. This guy, in his office, is a magnificent force of nature. Behind those huge black glasses.

“Absolutely, Dad,” I said.  I’d been out of jail for two days. At home. Mom had cooked my favorite meals for me, upon my return. She confidentially tells me, “your father , he doesn’t pay me enough attention. I am so glad you are home. You are the only one I can talk to…” There are, as you see, loyalty issues. Mom and Dad are at war. Always have been, since I was a wee one.

“Good,” he said. He rose, straightened his tie and then his glasses , put the pencil in his breast pocket, and took me by the arm. “I have a particular assignment in mind for you, for your first day. But..”

He was aggrieved. Or pretending to be. I had to play along. His forlorn face hung out there, begging an inquisitive innocent query, which I as a good son provided.  “What ? What, Dad?”

He was refreshed. He rose to full height, one inch shorter than me, and said, “If you feel , because of your situation, you cannot handle it, I will give you another assignment. It is up to you, son. How it goes for you..”  He looked me hard in the eyes. I went to stone as always. I muttered, “Dad, you know I can handle it.” Bravado! He liked that, I think..i don’t know…

“Let us go to your class, then, “ he said grandly. He says most things grandly. Except when he is in drunken argument with Mom. Mom gets quite hysterical, and Dad does not do ‘ hysterical’.  The best he can manage is deep stillness in his rocking chair, in the dark, contemplating Mom’s insults. I am usually in the corner, helping him regain some animation to his soul , mending Mom’s wounds to his proud soul.

Except when I am in jail for DUI. All hell had broken loose in the 4 months I was in the Big House.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Mom has a cellphone, and can text. She is five years younger than Dad, a somewhat spritely 80. I missed her 80^th birthday party because of my incarceration, but I called her . Three times. That is the limit. Three twenty minute calls, collect.

“Hy r uss tday, jcd?”

She isn’t good at texting. But her arthritic fingers try. What she said is: “How are you today, j?” I  won’t embarrass her by printing her texts, only the pith.

“good. “

“is your father drunk yet?”

“no.”

“is he coming home for lunch?”

“yes”

“good. I will limit his sherry”

“ok. How are you?”

“I bought you that chili you like. I went to the store today.”

“Thank you, mom, I am proud of you”

“I am proud of you, jim. Don’t let your father get to you. You know all he cares about is that high school, not me. But he loves you..”

Etc.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Dad led me down corridors of lockers and swarming teenage angst  & bonhomie & mysterious slinking. They all looked so damn young. They were, in fact, young enough to be my children. I am childless, and shall remain so, for the near future. To put it mildly. What kind of woman wants a 2 time dui loser boyfriend with nothing but a vast college education in useless subjects like philosophy and theology for a mate? Although: there is always galpals..

“Here, James,” he said deadly serious, in that ridiculous stern authoritative voice, impossible to crack, but, I have to admit, effective..he has been principal for forty years, for heaven’s sake…

“Here is your assignment.” He smiled, adjusted his glasses, and strode off. Nodding to students, who gave him a wide respectful berth.

I went in. Twenty kids. All seemingly pathologically depressed. (Thank you, Dad!)

“Hello, “ I said, setting my briefcase down on a desk from1960 or so, “ I am Mr. Emmerling. I will be your teacher today. “

No response. All eyes downcast. I wanted to tell them I am nothing like my father, I am lively, I am modern, I am fluid. But they knew the name, and fear crept into their hearts. Dad ran a tight ship.

I sighed.  I turned around and looked at the chalkboard for some clue of what the f**k Dad wanted me to teach.

In the left corner in Dad’s printing: “ HEALTH CLASS. MR EMMERLING”

Jesus christly shit on a damn popsicle stick..