October 30, 2003

A Village

He sat by the side of the school, waiting. He and the clusters of other students that milled around, some raucous, some aimless, some like him carefully timing their entry into the line of students waiting for a parent to pick them up. He had learned to time the line. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes he failed miserably. Even when he was very young, he had known which parents he liked, and which he did not. By the time he was ten, he had begun to try to get picked up by the parents he preferred. Now, he had been watching the patterns for years. He could feel the flow of them. He had his favorite parents. He knew if he timed it right, he could spot the car of a parent he liked as it rounded the turn coming up to the school. He had to keep track of the cars as they appeared and disappeared approaching the school. Keep track of the place in line of the ones he liked and the ones he didn't, then match those places with the line of students. It was a more difficult puzzle than anything school ever presented. On a good day he would go home with a parent he liked. Somedays it didn't work. Somedays he ended up being picked up by some one he didn't like, or worse, by someone who hated him. If you timed it wrong, when you got to the front of the line, you still had to get into the car that was there. But, he had been around a long time. The bad days were rare. He had learned the parents' patterns and he played them. Sometimes he worked the line sending his friends home with the good parents. It wasn't supposed to happen that way. It was supposed to be random. Each parent taking home whichever child was first in line at the time they arrived. After all, it takes a village to raise a child.

Posted by anne duncan

Why Bother

All Hail Freedonia!
Google Giggles
Literacy and Its Discontents
Old and In the Way
On the Road
Pretty Vacant Video
Readers Notes
The Climate Suits My Clothes
The Net Takes You Nowhere
Time Keeps On Ticking
Weapons of Mass Distraction
Why indeed?


Recent Posts

Conjunctive Points
Hallowed Halls
Love Songs (2)
Love Songs
Data Has No Right to Integrity
a gift
A Village



The discourse of patriarchy: necessarily varied, protean
The discourse of patriarchy: necessarily varied, protean
The discourse of patriarchy, though unified in its devaluation of women and women's experience, is necessarily a varied, protean thing. Were it merely a reflection of inequitable distributions of economic and social power and prestige, the discourse would....
from Henry Miller
Creative Commons License
This weblog is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Copyright © 1998-2013
Why Bother | WhyBother.org