Page 108 of Napkins and Other Distractions
“I’ll see him tomorrow night. He’s supposed to have a few more days at Lear to tie up loose ends before moving on to the next school. I’m not sure if they’ll stay longer now. That’s probably up to the board. But we’re good.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she says. “At least you didn’t lose your job and your guy.”
I chuckle at her calling him “my guy,” but she’s right.
“I didn’t lose my job.” I squeeze her shoulder. “I resigned.”
“Noted.” Sweetums has gone belly up, and Gillian massages his stomach while he paws at her sleeve. “You know I took an allergy pill for you,” she says as Sweetums stares up at her.
The ringing of my cell phone, which sits on the coffee table, startles us, mostly Sweetums, who darts off toward the comfort of his food bowl.
“Are you ready for Lia to start kindergarten next year?”
“Dad, your phone. Aren’t you going to answer it?”
Shaking my head, I give a slight shrug to show my indifference. It’s oddly satisfying, ignoring my phone. Gillian picks it up, gives it a quick glance, and then presents the screen to me.
“It’s Vincent. Calling you. Answer it, or else I will.”
Recalling how he left my office, my heart aches to hear his voice. I slide the blinking arrow at the bottom of the display and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
Gillian cocks her head and squints.
“Kent. You have to hear this,” Vincent whispers. “Listen.”
The echoing sound of Dr. Cutler’s voice in the cafégymatorium. Her amplified voice bounces off folding chairs and the gym floor. Vincent’s at the school board meeting. Alone. I close my eyes and focus on Florence’s words.
“ … after Mr. Lester explained his error with the Hopscotch data, we discussed the idea of failure. I’d like to tell the board about this ‘failure’ and why Kent Lester, Lear’s principal, is to blame.”
I attempt to swallow, but the saliva gets stuck in my throat, and I cough instead.
“What, what’s he saying?” Gillian asks.
I put my hand up and yank the phone away from my face, quickly jamming my thumb on the little icon to switch it over to speaker.
“I once gave a commencement speech for my alma mater … go Bears … where I urged the students to go out and fail. Fail big. Fail often. The successes we achieve. The big ones. The wins with trophies, prizes, and awards are all the fruit of our failures. Installing software like Hopscotch is a massive swing. And sometimes, when you swing, you knock it out of the park. This was not one of those times. This was more of a … what do you call it?”
“A whiff,” a voice from the crowd yells.
“Yes, a whiff. But it’s from those … whiffs that we learn. And those whiffs, those trials and errors, and yes, complete failures, that’s how we learn who we truly are. What we’re made of. What we’re good at.”
Sweetums returns from his temporary panic, Gillian picks him up, and scoots over. Snuggled up next to me like she did when she was smaller, I wrap my arm around her. Sweetums now drapes over both our laps, fully content to anchor us here with the phone in my hand.
“And Mr. Lester, with this failure, revealed more of who he is. What he’s made of. What he’s good at. Friends, would you please come up?”
I hear rustling, some commotion, and then a new voice fills the room.
“My name is Ruth Parrish. I’m the PE teacher at Lear, and I’m here to tell you what Hopscotch can’t.” My stomach drops. Ruth has the capacity and desire to read the entire board to filth. “I’m here to tell you how much the teachers and students adore Kent Lester.” Clapping begins slowly before erupting into applause. A tear falls from Gillian’s right eye, and I use my thumb to catch it. My chest swells, hearing my friend’s voice.
“Mr. Lester is here before the crack of dawn and always one of the last to leave,” Ruth continues once the noise subsides. “He puts his whole heart into making Lear a special place for everyone. It doesn’t matter if you’re the school custodian, the secretary, or one of the hundreds of children who come to school daily; Mr. Lester takes the time to be present. To listen. To care.”
Moisture prickles the corners of my eyes. Giving praise has always been a strength of mine, but taking it? Not so much.
“And there’s one more person who’d like to say something,” Ruth says.
There’s noise: metal and feedback.
