This post by CAROL ANN
Hello, sweet peas, This is Auntie Carol and today was our first day at Pequot School. Alors! I must say it resembled a prison with its bars on the windows and bolted down desks and absence of any posters or charts. The books were locked into a cherry wood hamper so the students could not destroy them. How do they expect them to get an education in such a barren, Doestevsky like atmosphere?
I felt rather professional in my crisp, navy blue suit and black patent leather pimps. Excuse me, pumps. Lady Lynda was attired in a pink linen sheath and opened toed stilletos as is her wont.But I thought it risque as it showed her womanly form. One must not tempt lustful youth! And her pretty pink toes protuded out of her shoes and resembled ten, tiny, round headed babies. She lets that abominable cad, Seymour Toze suck on her toes! Yes, it’s true, dears, but I digress.
When the first student arrived, Lady Lynda drew him aside and said, ” Dear, do you know you underwear is showing?” His pants came below his waist line and the crotch was at the knees.
He roared with laughter and said, “Sister, is you serious?”
Lady Lynda replied that she was a serious as an open grave, and that she would not be addressed as “sister”. We were to be called Miz Carol and Miz Lynda. She gave him her most dour look.
He guffawed and said, “A’ight, and blew a pink bubble which popped on his chin.
She further directed him that he could not chew gum in class and that we were to be treated with respect.
Then he said he would respect us if we respected him. We have never encountered such a queer attitude. In my day, children knew they were children and that they didn’t know anything. We knew our place.
And this sauntering rapscallion had the nerve to demand our “respect”. Respect must be earned not conferred.
I said, “No, no, no, my dear. You are still a child and children do not deserve respect as they have done nothing to earn it, other than just being themselves.”
He said,” When I came in here I had more damn money in my back pocket than you two bitches make in a year. You old fuddy duddies! Don’t tell me about respect cuz money is respect.” He then turned his red baseball hat around backwards and sat down in his chair like a sack of potatoes.
Lady Lynda weighed in at this point, and oh, was she hot. She said, “We shall not be addressed by that vulgar word, young man. And a gentleman always doffs his hat in the presence of a lady when she enters the room.”
By this time the whole class had taken their seats and the students were laughing uproariously, and giving each other that annoying high five sign. Lady Lynda looked like a very annoyed, wet, white Persian cat.
Then the principal, Mrr. Pequot, liesurely strolled in and inquired how we were doing. I whispred in this ear that we were doing like just this side of Hades or were stuck in Dante’s seventh level of hell and that they were malicious, ill-mannered hooligans. I might add that Mr. Pequot resembled in every way a plucked parrot.
He called us out in the hall and said, “Are you sure you want this job, ladies? These boys are the worst of the worst. Broken homes, fathers in prison, crack whore mothers, poverty, crime, life in the projects. Some even have felony convictions. These are very bad boys, ladies.” His voice was high and irritating like a fingernail on the blackboard yet he was a truly, nice man. In short, a perfect gentleman.
“My Lord,” intoned Miz Lynda, “they are denizens from hell!”
I said it was all the more reason we should save them. It was our Christian duty. I proclaimed.
Mr. Pequot smiled and looked at us like we were two demented, southern aunts out of a Tennesse Williams’ play or Christians thrown before the lions in ancient Rome.
“Ladies are made of lace and steel,” said Lady Lynda. “We are up to the task, Sir. Who is the leader of the group. We’ll work on him first.”
“The boy named Francisco in the red cap. He’s Puerto Rican and lives in the projects with his alcoholic mother and nine little sisters with multiple fathers.”
“Oh, the poor, unfortunates,” said Lady Lynda. “Auntie Carol, put on your suit of armor like the Great Jean D’Arc. We have work to do.”
“That, I will,” I said.
And we marched back into the classroom ablaze with purpose and courage.
“You ladies look pretty pissed off,” said Francisco with a huge grin on his fine, Latin face. It was a face right out of a Roman frescoe paintings and I was also reminded of the description of the devil in the book, “Faust.”
“We are not overjoyed, young man, but we shall lead you onto the path of moral rectitude,” I said.
There was again laughter throughout the classroom and a black boy with dark, fierce eyes, and low slung blue jeans, named Tyrone said,”Why you wearin’ them lil’ white gloves? Ya think we got cooties or some shit?”
Lady Lynda explained that a lady never leaves the house without her dainty gloves, a tube of pink lipstick, a violet sache for the vapors, mascara, and light turquoise eye shadow. And, oh yes, a bottle of tasteful, aromatic cologne.
“Is you serious, Lady? What century you from anyhow. You aint know shit ’bout real life.”
“Yes, but we know what real life can be, and how to attain by hard work and applying yourselves! exclaimed Lady Lynda.
“Whatchu can tell me ’bout my damn life?” asked Tyrone.
“Nothing, at present. But we shall pull your records this eve and go home and study them,” said Lady Lynda.
“We’re just a stack of files to you, bitches. Societal rejects,” said Francisco.
“You said, societal rejects, Francisco.” I said.
“Well,” He said shamefacedly, “I do read sometimes.”
I asked what he read and he sullenly answered, “Hamlet. But don’t get any ideas. I don’t even like the guy.”
“Oh, damn, he readin’ ’bout that crazy fuckin’ Dane.” said Tyrone.
“Well, you must have read it, too, Bitch. How else you know his name, pussy,” retorted Francisco.
Tyrone was at his neck with a switchblade, saying, “You aint call me bitch or pussy, motherfucker.”
Lady Lynda jumped right in and forced the blade away from Francisco’s neck.
“Young man we do not countenance murder in my classroom. Give it to me before I trounce you,” said Lady Lynda. “And I’ve half a mind to wash your mouth out in soap. Such vulgarisms issued from your mouth!”
The boy gave up the knife, goodnaturedly, and asked Lady Lynda what she intended to do with it, and what did “trounce” mean.
“It means to have fisticuffs with you,” I said. And Lady Lynda said she would use it to uproot weeds in her garden and that the incident would go no further than the classroom.
“That’s right white of you, ma’am,” said Tyrone softly. A grin passed slowly from his face.
And that comprises our first day of school. We would try to inniate proper speech in them, find out where they were academically, discover their home and environmental problems. Naturally, this took more than one day. But, of course, Rome was not built in one day, my darlings. Auntie Carol over and out.