by B.Y. Parsons
November 8, 1998.
Nearing the end of a long Friday at the Wychwood Academy, my secretary Janice pops her head in my office door. "Mrs. Robinson is here to see you, Sir."
Damn! Normally, I wouldn't forget an appointment with a parent. But I've been preoccupied putting the finishing touches on this evening's speech to the Eastern Counties Headmaster's Association. As the youngest private-school Head in the region, I was honoured to be asked to give the after-dinner speech to our Association's annual meeting. I've been working hard on it for weeks. Now, as I polish the final draft, I've completely forgotten about the appointment I had arranged with Mrs. Robinson after suspending her son for a week. "Tell her I'll be with her shortly, Janice. Then bring me Tim Robinson's file."
My efficient secretary has it on my desk in a minute. I leaf through the thick folder littered with Misconduct Reports, familiarizing myself once again with the wretched details. Anticipating yet another parent whining about the school's unjust treatment of her poor misunderstood child, I note that there is plenty of misbehaviour here that would have warranted the boy's suspension a month ago.
Tim Robinson, frankly, is a pain in the ass. I've no idea what's going on at home, but the boy strikes me as a good kid, spoiled rotten by wealthy parents. I would speculate that they compensate for their failure to give him enough attention by buying him all the latest high-tech gadgetry. When Madame Poli, his French teacher, caught him chatting with his girlfriend on his cell phone, she made him come to the front of the class and converse aloud with her in French. Timothy didn't appreciate being embarrassed in that way, so he turned on his heel and stomped out.
From the classroom to the office, it's the same story. The boy refuses to obey the school's rules or accept our discipline for flaunting them. He exudes a sullen arrogance that makes him toxic in a school where students normally evince a cheerful attitude and a modicum of respect for authority. When he was sent down to see me on Wednesday, I told him to sit on the bench outside my office to give him time to reflect on his behaviour. After a couple of minutes, Tim had the gall to open my door and say, "Can you see me now, Sir? You don't look real busy, and I've been cooling my heels out here for ages." That's when I invited him into my office while calling home to set up an appointment with his mother.
"Alright Janice. Show Mrs. Robinson in now."
A moment later, she appears in my office doorway. "Doctor Hill, I presume?"
"Yes," I smile, looking up from my desk.
"Margaret Anne Robinson reporting to the Headmaster's office. Am I in big trouble, Sir?" she laughs, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
I am tempted to reply in kind, jocularly addressing her as a naughty schoolgirl. But given that her son really is in big trouble, I elect to play it straight. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Robinson. It's a pleasure to meet you."
With a dazzling smile, she shakes my hand most warmly. As we draw close, I catch a whiff of divine perfume. The prickly impression I had of her from Wednesday's phone call is replaced by one considerably more favourable and (shall we say) stirring. Five foot eight or nine, with a great swath of honey-blond hair piled atop her head, Mrs. Robinson's lush curves are snugly wrapped in a lime-green linen suit set off by a pale violet scarf at the throat. Silver hoop earrings shimmer in the late afternoon sun. I'm having trouble breathing.
Pulling up a comfortable upholstered chair (unlike the ones I provide for students in big trouble) I invite Mrs. Robinson to be seated and close the office door behind her. Returning to my desk, I notice that she has crossed her legs and her skirt has ridden up. As I pass by, I could swear I catch a glimpse of black stocking top and a sliver of white thigh. Why would she wear such sexy lingerie to a daytime meeting with her son's Headmaster? Is she deliberately offering me a peek? These speculations seem so far-fetched that I dismiss them as figments of my over-heated imagination.
Forcing myself to concentrate on the matter at hand, I explain Tim's situation as empathetically as I can, aware that it is difficult for any mother to remain calm while listening to a litany of horror stories about her child. But I do not spare Mrs. Robertson the obnoxious details. I review Tim's offences and note that he compounds his problem by making smart-aleck quips whenever he is caught. I explain that I cannot keep such an unruly boy in school if something is not done.
Mrs. Robinson leans forward, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Tell me, Doctor Hill, which wood does Wychwood use to discipline unruly students?"
"Pardon me, ma'am?"
"I really shouldn't be making smart-aleck quips about such a serious matter. Naughty me!" she laughs, holding up one hand and slapping the back of it with the other. "I meant to ask: is corporal punishment ever employed at the Academy?"
"No," I reply, taken aback by her line of questioning to say nothing of her manner. "It was banned by the Board of Governors ten years ago. I wasn't here then."
"Why?"
"I gather they considered it archaic. Many parents complained as well."
"If the Board had wished to continue the practice, parents could have been asked to grant the school permission to discipline their children in that way."
"Yes, I suppose they could have. However..."
"Were the staff in favour of dispensing with corporal punishment as a deterrent for repeat offenders?"
"I gather the staff group was divided on the issue."
"And your predecessor?"
"I'm not aware of his view."
"And what is yours, Doctor Hill?"
Perturbed by the tenor of the conversation, baffled by where it is leading, I register my unease. "I'm not sure what the relevance of my view is, ma'am."
"It is highly pertinent to me, Doctor Hill. We are discussing your options as Headmaster in the case of my son who desperately needs some discipline in his life. I'd rather he be taught respect for authority right here in your office than be banished from the school. His expulsion would only serve to deepen his alienation and reinforce his self-image as a boy who is beyond the control of adults. That would set a dangerous precedent."
"I am suspending Tim for a week, Mrs. Robinson, not expelling him for good."
"I fear it will be the beginning of the end of his days at Wychwood, and, quite possibly, of his formal education."
"Have you no influence over him?"
"Precious little, but don't change the subject. I shall discuss our family situation in a moment. I was asking about your view of corporal punishment."
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I think that, occasionally - and only occasionally - it might be a useful corrective."
"In Tim's case?"
"Perhaps. But I am not at liberty to punish him in that way."
"Not in your official capacity as Headmaster. It's a shame the Board has tied your hands. I sent Tim to Wychwood because of the Academy's superior reputation for educating difficult boys, grooming them to become responsible young men who will go on to become outstanding citizens. I was hoping the Academy could instil some discipline in him, but apparently you've given up trying. I'm disappointed, Doctor Hill."
"With all due respect, Mrs. Robinson," I bristle. "It is quite unfair of you to blame the school for failures that are your responsibility! We can prune the tree, but we cannot uproot a wild one and transplant it as a domesticated species. It is the parents' responsibility to bring us a boy who is under control and has an elementary respect for authority. Unfortunately, Tim lacks that."
Margaret Robinson retreats in the face of my ire. "I'm sorry, Sir. Perhaps I should explain Tim's family circumstances."
"Yes, please do."
"Tim's father was the disciplinarian in the Robinson household. Six months ago, he up and left us."
"I'm very sorry to hear that, ma'am."
"Since then, Tim has gone completely out of control. He was always a wilful child, difficult to handle. But now he's become extremely impulsive and irresponsible - precisely the traits his father displayed in leaving us. If you look at the dates on Tim's Misconduct Reports, you can mark my husband's departure to the day. It was an unexpected and emotionally devastating blow to both of us. I've since found out that Jack left me for a bimbo half my age, and that he had secretly been seeing her for months prior to his leaving." Tears well up in her eyes; she gulps and stifles a sob. The woman is in anguish!
I go to her, crouching down beside her slumping figure and placing a comforting hand on her heaving shoulder. "I am so sorry, Margaret," I say, wishing there was something I could do to mend her broken heart.
Taking a moment to compose herself, she looks up, her moist eyes beseeching. "You're right, Doctor Hill. It was wrong of me to blame the school. I was hoping for a miracle, I guess. Tim needs a man in his life, someone who will love him unconditionally, lay down the law and discipline him when he needs it." Looking away, she mutters, "But then, so do I!"
My mind reels with the implication of her afterthought. Did it just slip out, or did she wish me to hear it? While I am now less inclined to discount such signs, I elect to ignore the aside and play it straight. "I do appreciate you explaining the situation at home, Mrs. Robinson. It helps account for Tim's sullen disposition at school and the fact that his repeated misconduct dates from your husband's traumatic departure. However, if you and I work together, I'm sure we can bring your son under control, keep him in school, and make his experience here at Wychwood a rewarding one."
"I'm gratified to hear you say that, Doctor Hill. But I can't help but feel that what Tim really needs is a man at home. As you just pointed out, that's where discipline begins." (For whom? I wonder.) She smiles wanly and wipes a tear from her cheek. "Would you care to move in?"
Unable to pretend I didn't hear that suggestion, I'm flabbergasted, at a loss for words. The quick-witted Mrs. Robinson rescues us. "There goes Maggie being facetious again. Naughty girl!" she laughs, giving her wrist another slap. "Now to be serious for a moment, I'm sure we can work together to improve Tim's attitude and conduct. Shall we sleep on it over the long weekend and speak again on Tuesday?"
"Yes, by all means," I reply, wondering whether that double entendre was also intended.
"Then I shan't take up any more of your time, Sir." She rises from her chair, preparing to leave. "Your secretary tells me you're busy working on a speech."
"Yes. I'm addressing the region's Headmasters' Association after our annual dinner this evening."
"A formal occasion?"
"Black tie and all."
"A large audience?"
"Well last year we had about two hundred in attendance."
"And your talk is entitled?"
"Educating the Whole Child."
"Ah yes. A sound mind and a sound body," she muses, reciting one of the oldest clichés in the educators' handbook while running her hands down over her hips, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. Walking out the door, she glances back over her shoulder and flashes me a dazzling smile. "Good luck, Doctor Hill. I shall be interested to learn how your speech turns out."
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