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Tommy (Tommy and Alice) Saturday, 12:10 p.m.
Our day at Busch Gardens went pretty well at first. The grandkids are teenagers and therefore unlikely to admit they’re enjoying anything, but they couldn’t hide their interest in the giraffes, rhinos, and other exotic animals. My sons-in-law were great, taking positions at the back of the group like cowboys riding drag, pushing their progeny along while the kids used their cell phones to give minute-to-minute updates to their friends. Corinne and Carol chatted with Alice and me, asking about life at B-Bird as if it were the most interesting topic imaginable.
That lasted until lunch. Over tacos and enchiladas Corinne asked, “Did you see what the Secretary of Education proposed last week, Dad? Parent oversight of school behavior codes.” A high school math teacher, Corinne also serves as education association president. To Alice she said, “You can’t imagine how irritating it is for those of us who work in the schools to have amateurs interfere with policy.”
The comment was insulting on two levels: the assumption that parents should remain out of school affairs, and the hint that Alice was too ignorant to grasp the problems of academia.
“I’m sure it’s frustrating for you.” Alice’s overly sweet tone should have served as a warning. “As a parent I always supported my sons’ teachers unless they gave me reason not to.”
“Well, of course you did. The teacher is a professional—”
“—Hired to do what’s best for kids,” Alice interrupted. “Of course, parents should get input as to what that is.”
Corinne made a visible effort not to sputter. “Surely you’re not saying that teachers have to—”
“Look at that elephant!” I pointed, though all that was visible from our table was a large, gray ear. “I bet the kids will want a picture with her later. Eat up, kids. Gotta move on.”
Later Davy, my second-oldest grandson, mentioned he planned to spend the gift card we’d sent him for Christmas on something called Splatoon. His mother had to put in her two cents’ worth. “The boys like the gift cards, Alice,” Carol said. “Mother always got each grandchild a present that was personal, but I think you’re wise not to try that.”
“A smart step-grandma never tries to replace the original one,” Alice replied. “Even if the real grandma is gone forever.”
Spinning like a dervish, I turned to address the group and cut off any possible reply Carol might make. “Wasn’t that elephant something? Probably the biggest elephant I’ve ever seen. Davey, did you get some good pictures?”
As we drove home, I waited for the explosion of resentment Alice was no doubt holding in. Instead she said, “That was a nice time, don’t you think? I enjoyed myself, and I think the kids did too.”
I was pleased to hear it, and of course I didn’t tell her that when she hugged me goodbye, Carol had whispered that I was welcome to come home to Montana anytime and live with her and Raymond.
