Saturday, June 04, 2005
Opening Pandora's Box #10
This story starts here.
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Fugue, that we are going to have to insist that you take your daughter to counseling,” Sister Ann paused for a brief moment to wait for a response before continuing.
Despite Mrs. Fugue’s silence, Sister Ann continued the arguments she’d planned anticipatorily an hour ago. “I’m afraid this is not subject for discussion. If she doesn’t go into therapy, we will have to expel her from our school.”
Mrs. Fugue remained quiet, still trying to wrap her brain around the idea that her thirteen-year-old daughter had had sex. She absent-mindedly ran her fingers over the rosary bracelet around her wrist.
Sister Ann continued, “You understand this is a Catholic middle school and this type of behavior simply cannot be accepted here.”
Mrs. Fugue’s chest felt heavy. She momentarily wondered if she was having a heart attack. She thought back to images of her daughter from last year at her husband’s company picnic. Mr. Fugue had been proud to introduce his daughter to his co-workers. At that time, their daughter was still a straight-A student. Mrs. Fugue had been half-amused and half-endeared by her daughter’s timidity as she peaked out from behind her mother at her father’s co-workers during introductions. Her daughter had sounded out a barely audible, “hi.” The hand she held over her mouth muffled her voice as she took a momentary break from chewing her nails to force out the obligatory greeting. The soft “hi” was barely sufficient to qualify as a socially acceptable response to meeting someone for the first time. Her daughter had been twelve then and her mother tolerated her daughter’s awkward behavior on the grounds that she still viewed her as a child.
But who was this daughter who sat with her today in the principals office? Could this be the same young girl?
Mrs. Fugue felt her panic rising.
Mr. Fugue sat in the living room and watched as his daughter came into the house from school. His wife had called him at work and had told him about the visit to the principal’s office, so he’d decided to come home early and meet his wife and daughter at home.
For the first time, as his daughter approached him in the living room, Mr. Fugue noticed that she had developed breasts. The loose white cotton uniform blouse was pulled taut across her front. Why hadn’t he noticed that she was growing up? What if he had paid better attention? Could he have done anything to prevent all this from happening? He decided that the peter pan collar of her uniform blouse had somehow allowed him to continue believing that she was a child. He thought, ‘The school should change the uniform shirt as the girls approach adolescence as a warning sign to the parents that their children are growing up.’ He wanted to blame anyone but himself and his lack of involvement in his daughter’s life.
(to be continued)
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Fugue, that we are going to have to insist that you take your daughter to counseling,” Sister Ann paused for a brief moment to wait for a response before continuing.
Despite Mrs. Fugue’s silence, Sister Ann continued the arguments she’d planned anticipatorily an hour ago. “I’m afraid this is not subject for discussion. If she doesn’t go into therapy, we will have to expel her from our school.”
Mrs. Fugue remained quiet, still trying to wrap her brain around the idea that her thirteen-year-old daughter had had sex. She absent-mindedly ran her fingers over the rosary bracelet around her wrist.
Sister Ann continued, “You understand this is a Catholic middle school and this type of behavior simply cannot be accepted here.”
Mrs. Fugue’s chest felt heavy. She momentarily wondered if she was having a heart attack. She thought back to images of her daughter from last year at her husband’s company picnic. Mr. Fugue had been proud to introduce his daughter to his co-workers. At that time, their daughter was still a straight-A student. Mrs. Fugue had been half-amused and half-endeared by her daughter’s timidity as she peaked out from behind her mother at her father’s co-workers during introductions. Her daughter had sounded out a barely audible, “hi.” The hand she held over her mouth muffled her voice as she took a momentary break from chewing her nails to force out the obligatory greeting. The soft “hi” was barely sufficient to qualify as a socially acceptable response to meeting someone for the first time. Her daughter had been twelve then and her mother tolerated her daughter’s awkward behavior on the grounds that she still viewed her as a child.
But who was this daughter who sat with her today in the principals office? Could this be the same young girl?
Mrs. Fugue felt her panic rising.
Mr. Fugue sat in the living room and watched as his daughter came into the house from school. His wife had called him at work and had told him about the visit to the principal’s office, so he’d decided to come home early and meet his wife and daughter at home.
For the first time, as his daughter approached him in the living room, Mr. Fugue noticed that she had developed breasts. The loose white cotton uniform blouse was pulled taut across her front. Why hadn’t he noticed that she was growing up? What if he had paid better attention? Could he have done anything to prevent all this from happening? He decided that the peter pan collar of her uniform blouse had somehow allowed him to continue believing that she was a child. He thought, ‘The school should change the uniform shirt as the girls approach adolescence as a warning sign to the parents that their children are growing up.’ He wanted to blame anyone but himself and his lack of involvement in his daughter’s life.
(to be continued)
Comments:
I can still rememeber the day my mom looked at me with diffrent eyes, I was coming down the stairs, surly and angsty-teenagery-needing to be slapped (as usual) and she popped off with. "You're kidding right? Where'd my daughter go? Who the hell are YOU?" She still insists that I snuck up on her and snapped her little daughter up in my maw, like the big bad wolf.
To this day that makes me laugh, sad as it is, it makes me laugh.
To this day that makes me laugh, sad as it is, it makes me laugh.
i like how you wrote Mr.Fugue's thought on how they should update the uniforms so that he'd know when his kids are growing up.
it was great to read of Mrs. Fugue's thoughts as well.
another catholic school girl myself for 12 years. last 4, all girls school.
anyhow, enjoying the story :)
it was great to read of Mrs. Fugue's thoughts as well.
another catholic school girl myself for 12 years. last 4, all girls school.
anyhow, enjoying the story :)
Some change in this post because we are hearing what others are thinking...switching from memoir to novel form. Curious to hear your thoughts about the change. Experimenting? Anyhow, great writing!
G - I suppose that's true.
FRA - I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one whose parents were shocked by a seemingly overnight change. ;-)
Jax - I agree it was ridiculous for my school to require me to go to therapy. Though I think the problem was neither the school nor my parents knew how to meet my needs - which at that time, were learning how to make responsible decisions about sex. Something the therapists never taught me either. Though they probably would have had better luck than the teachers and my parents had they tried.
Tesco - Cheater! ;-}~
Lorena - Thanks for the compliments. I hope Catholic school was more palatable for you than it was for me. ;-)
JennyNYC - I had my writing group read parts of this story last year. And their main complaint was that it was too one-sided. They wanted to hear from my parents. That and the fact that my sister thinks that I *haven't* given any thought to what my parents went through made me decide to post this. I tried rewriting my autobiography as a novel and this is from that work-in-progress. I still can't decide which I like best. I prefer the first-person of the autobio, but I like the added depth and complexity of giving voice to the "other characters" from my life story. What do you think? I will play with this more in the next few posts - attempting to blend the two. We'll see.
Transcience - Oh, yes. I remember rolling up my skirt at the waist and/or taping the hem with scotched tape once I arrived at school. My parents would never let me out of the house with the skirt too short, so I always had to do it on the sly. ;-)
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FRA - I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one whose parents were shocked by a seemingly overnight change. ;-)
Jax - I agree it was ridiculous for my school to require me to go to therapy. Though I think the problem was neither the school nor my parents knew how to meet my needs - which at that time, were learning how to make responsible decisions about sex. Something the therapists never taught me either. Though they probably would have had better luck than the teachers and my parents had they tried.
Tesco - Cheater! ;-}~
Lorena - Thanks for the compliments. I hope Catholic school was more palatable for you than it was for me. ;-)
JennyNYC - I had my writing group read parts of this story last year. And their main complaint was that it was too one-sided. They wanted to hear from my parents. That and the fact that my sister thinks that I *haven't* given any thought to what my parents went through made me decide to post this. I tried rewriting my autobiography as a novel and this is from that work-in-progress. I still can't decide which I like best. I prefer the first-person of the autobio, but I like the added depth and complexity of giving voice to the "other characters" from my life story. What do you think? I will play with this more in the next few posts - attempting to blend the two. We'll see.
Transcience - Oh, yes. I remember rolling up my skirt at the waist and/or taping the hem with scotched tape once I arrived at school. My parents would never let me out of the house with the skirt too short, so I always had to do it on the sly. ;-)
