 |
The tiny sound of fire alarm battles valiantly against the
red-hot dragon breathing smoke and fury for the control of my hand which now hovers
over the receiver.
I visualize about two dozen other parents of the
5th grade students at this very moment receiving the same letter,
the red-hot dragons breathing down their necks while the voices of their
children are wailing in the background.
Through the fog and smoke I somehow manage to remember that
every time in the past I allowed the red-hot dragon to win and its noise and
heat to drown the quiet, persistent sound of fire alarm, things didn’t turn out
that great.
But there is a magnetic field drawing my hand towards the
receiver. I tell my legs to move away but they refuse. I order my legs to move away but they feel like they are made of
lead. Nevertheless, I somehow manage to move them a millimeter away from the phone. The millimeter
feels like a mile.
I consider suggesting that the school adds an anger management
class to the core curriculum… for students AND for parents. But, that is not going to help me this very
moment.
I drag my feet for about 347 miles in the opposite direction from the
phone and collapse in a heap on the floor.
I still feel the burning heat but the fog clouding my thinking isn’t as thick.
I spend a restless, sleepless night in prayer to the
Almighty God alternating between reciting Psalms of unmitigated fury and
meditating what I wish I could do to the person who signed the two letters and
her supervisor. By the time the dawn
cracks on the horizon, I am so exhausted I fall into fitful sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment