Best Interest of the Child

“JAMES THALL!”

A question barked in the form of a demand.  The first sound I had heard in hours.  

The violent removal of the sack from my head revealed the enraged visage of a gigantic ogre of a man leaning over the table securing my handcuffs.  The fuming mien of this furious behemoth was the only thing I had seen other than burlap since this morning.  All else was unadulterated pitch darkness, concealed by the piercing light emanating from a desk lamp targeted straight at me, creating an inferno in my eyes which had remained unacclimated to light.

“Whu? Wh… Wha…. Huh?”

“JAMES THALL!”  He blared again, echoing his thunderous inquiry and leaning forward to within an inch of my face.

“I… I…. I…”  Stammering.  Stuttering… Spluttering.  It’s all my frenzied brain would allow.

“You are Mr. James Thall… Yes?”  A cooler tenor oozed from the dark behind the colossus.

I tried taking a calming breath but only drew in the exhalation of the giant bearing down on me, a sickening mixture of coffee-induced halitosis and insufficient deodorant.

“Yes, I am Jim Thall. Yes.”

I heard the scratching of pen on paper from the void.

“Thank you, Mr. Thall… and you are married to… Let’s see… Mrs. Jeannine Lilith Thall?”  The pleasantness of the voice in tone and courtesy was a violent incongruity to the goliath who remained perched over me, bearing his teeth and not breaking his dominating stare straight into me.

“Yes, that’s my wife. Um… she goes by Ginger.  Ginger Thall.” 

Again, the scratching of the pen from the darkness, followed by an intimidating silence, the only sound the occasional shuffling papers and the angry bursts of breath sucked in and then blown into my face.  After an eternity of this agony, the desk lamp was swung around to reveal a standard windowless interrogation room, no bigger than what was required to house three chairs and the table dividing us.  I immediately knew exactly where I was.

My heretofore unseen inquisitor was sitting nonchalantly back in his metal desk chair, holding an overloaded clipboard in one hand and marble fountain pen in the other.  He maintained a saccharine grin of ersatz sympathy thinly disguising an unmistakably thrilled arrogance.  In any other setting, this would be the standard “Good Cop vs. Bad Cop” routine, but Education Center didn’t play it that way.   With them, the routine was “Cop Whose Questions You Are Compelled To Answer vs. Cop Who Is Legally Entitled To Extract Your Brains With A Crowbar If You Piss Him Off”.  

“… and you and Mrs. Thall live together at 89 Forrest Road in the Town of Stonehill in the State of New Yor…”

“Yes, we do.”  I unintentionally interrupted. 

“Ehem… The State of New York, United States of America, Zip Code 86491, where you have resided since the second of September of last year?”

“Yes.  Yes, sir… Sir.”

Good Cop checked a box and made a notation on the clipboard, strategically positioning it away from my view. 

“And you and Mrs. Thall have a daughter by the name of Margaret Emeline Thall, age four years….”

“Yes, Maggie.”  I once again interrupted without thinking.

“MARGARET…. EMELINE…. THALL…. Age four years, four months, and twenty-three days. Correct?”  Good Cop was losing his patience.  Not a good thing.

I waited a beat to ensure he was finished.  “Yes, sir.  We call her Maggie.”

Another scratching of a notation on the clipboard. 

“Do you know why you are here, Mr. Thall?  Why Education Center was required to escort you here to Consultation with us today?”   

He was referencing the two men in gray suits that had accosted me on my walk to work, shackled me, threw me in the back of a beige minivan and hooded me with a burlap sack tied around my neck. All the while, they delivered kidney blows and headshots, yelling that I knew what I had done.  I had no idea then and still didn’t.

“I have to assume that you think I did something wrong or that Ginger did, but I can’t imagine what it could be…  We do everything we’re supposed to… Just like we’re supposed to and we follow all the rules in Guidelines and we check on the changes every day just like we're supposed to and we do everything we’re supposed to….”

The angry emission of a low growl from Bad Cop cut me off.   Articulation to completion of the spewing stew of rambling drivel of my response was not going to be tolerated.

“MR. THALL!  Do you understand the legal standard of ‘Best Interest of the Child’ and your obligations in regard to such legal standard?”

“Yes, of course.  We do everything… Everything we’re supposed to do according to Guidelines.”

Furious scratching on the clipboard followed. 

“Now Mr. Thall.  Before we go further, I must inform you that Mrs. Thall currently resides in a room very much similar to this room and that Mrs. Thall is currently being asked questions very much similar to the ones that you are being asked.  I am sure you understand that it is the duty of Education Center to ensure that the answers that you provide to such questions agree with the answers that Mrs. Thall provides and that there are no…. ehem…. discrepancies between the answers provided.”

I was terrified but prepared.  Ginger and I knew that this was coming some day or other and had drilled with each other down to the most granular minutiae conceivable, coordinating our answers to every question imaginable.   We agreed on every detail: every book Maggie had ever had read to her, every crumb she had ever digested, every exercise she had ever engaged in, every song she had ever been sung,  every explanation for every trivial scratch or minor bump or bug bite she had suffered, even every bowel movement she had ever taken.  We stayed up hours every night reviewing and re-reviewing everything about our daughter’s life.  If we were going down, it wouldn’t be because of inconsistencies in our respective stories. 

“Ok…  Then let’s start from the beginning.”  Good Cop resumed as Bad Cop pulled back and sat down, spinning the desk lamp back into position to target my eyes, rendering my two inquisitors once again invisible.  

“We know that you want to be the best parent you can to young Margaret.  You wouldn’t feed her anything harmful, would you?”

We were religious about Diet, ensuring that every calorie Maggie consumed complied with the its exacting regulations.  We even checked blood nutrience levels every morning to ensure that her metabolism hadn’t played some dirty trick overnight, putting her outside the advisable bands of some nutritional requirement.  If she ever deviated by more than half a standard deviation from Diet’s recommended mean levels, we had supplemental paste to cloak the deficiency from the inevitable blood nutrience tests she would receive later in the day.  So I knew they couldn’t have caught us on a digestive issue unless someone at Education Center had observed something in Maggie’s stool that she had somehow snuck past us.  I answered all their questions on Diet precisely and assuredly, confident that Ginger was giving the exact same information in whatever room she was being held.

Then came the questions on Fitness Physical; in the same pedantic manner that we logged Maggie’s calories in, we monitored and tracked her calories out.  We’d even confirm our estimates on her wrist tracker throughout the day.  They weren’t going to catch us on that either. 

Next came questions on Fitness Emotional, Fitness Social, Media Consumption Screen, Media Consumption Non-Screen, Habitat Safety, Habitat Safety Advanced, Support Familial, Support Cultural, Support Peer, Self Estimation… on and on and on.  For every one, I volleyed back the answers I knew they were seeking. 

The truth was that we really had tried to do “all the things we were supposed to do” - everything we could possibly do to comply with the thousands and thousands of requirements set forth in Guidelines.  The problem was that all the rules and regulations and expectations and standards were all over the place.  Sometimes they would say the same thing in five different ways in six different places, but more often than not, they would contain ambiguities and contradictions.  The calculations set forth in Diet would dictate 80 milligrams of Thiamin daily while the nutrition sub-schedule in Fitness Physical would require 110 milligrams.   Most of the time, you could work through regulatory discrepancies by staying within a standard deviation of the population average and devising a justifiable statutory rationale for any divergence… Give your kid 110 milligrams of Thiamin and work backwards by manipulating some of the inputs into Diet’s optimal nutrience formula.

The irreconcilable snags arose when the contradictions were off by an order of magnitude or more.  What were you possibly supposed to do if Fitness Physical required 12,000 steps a day, but Fitness Emotional prohibited more than 1,000 steps a day?  It was simply impossible.

And all these difficulties arose even before you factored in that Guidelines changed almost daily or even throughout the day.  At noon, Diet would require the consumption of 50 grams of organic carbohydrates daily, but at dinner time, it would caution that no child should consume more than 10 grams a day.  You can’t get your kid to un-digest nutrition required earlier in the day or to un-walk previously required steps or un-read previously required books or un-learn previously required facts. 

Everyone knew there was just no way to comply with Guidelines and all of its complicated, contradictory and ever-changing requirements.  As parents, we were all just a bunch of fakers, trying to put on as good a face as we could on the clearly inadequate jobs we were doing.   Everyone had violations that could easily be reported by a vengeful acquaintance or jealous parent and any such report could land you in Consultation.

But thus far, my interrogators hadn’t let on as to what had gotten me there and their questioning hadn’t yet caught me in an unintentional admission.  I wracked my brain for something someone might have seen or heard that would have thrown us out of compliance.  Was there some neighbor or relation that Ginger or I had pissed off enough to report us? 

“So…. Do you know why you are with us today, Mr. Thall?”

“No sir.  We do everything we’re suppo…”

“WHAT…. do you understand the legal concept of ‘Parental Choice’ to mean?”

“As a parent of a minor child, each citizen has the choice to either satisfy the legal standard of the ‘Best Interest of the Child’ as set forth in Guidelines including its ancillary, supplementary and interpretive material or to face the consequences of making the choice not to satisfy such legal standard.”  I recited the exact statutory definition; I had memorized all four-hundred-eight pages of the definitional supplement by rote, including the two addenda and errata added last weekend.   

“…but, sir, we are dedicated to making the right parental choice.  We live our lives by Guidelines.”

“Alright then. How would you characterize Margaret’s academic progress, Mr. Thall?”

“Well, she knows all age-appropriate material in Curriculum.  We review it with her every night and fulfill the requirements of the pedagogical exercises every night and test her on Curriculum every night.  We make sure she understands new material and reviews existing material.  We check Curriculum throughout the evening to make sure that nothing has been added.  We do everything we’re suppo…”

“How would you assess her development in mathematics?”  Good Cop set a laminated color-coded grid on the table.  It looked like the Age-Category-Achievement Summary Chart from the April version of Curriculum’s Mathematics Addendum.  Ginger and I had memorized the chart the night the revision had been enacted and referenced it most nights to make sure Maggie was still on track.  

“Mathematics?  We comply with the age-appropriate requirements of Curriculum in mathematics.  At 52 months, Maggi… Margaret is expected to know addition and subtraction one through twelve… And I’m sure she knows them…  We have the flash cards and the screen-based testing and the non-screen-based testing and the cognitive checks and the pedagogical software and the…”  I was rambling again.

“MR. THALL!”  Bad Cop had remained silent since his initial intimidations, but was now bursting forth with a menacing word-by-word staccato: “We… Understand… She... Can… Add… And… Subtract.”

Good Cop jumped in. “We have invited you to Consultation today in regard to a question…. perhaps a very subversive question… that Margaret asked of her Education Facilitator yesterday, the Eleventh of February of this year at or about 1:15 in the afternoon.   At that time, Margaret asked…”  

A number of pages on the clipboard were flipped as Good Cop searched to reference the exact quote.

“Uh…, let’s see… During yesterday’s arithmetic pedagogical review, the following dialogue occurred.” 

He began reading from what I assumed was a transcript:

“Education Facilitator: Three plus two? 

Margaret Thall: Five.

Education Facilitator: Three plus three?

Margaret Thall: Six.

Education Facilitator: Three plus four?

Margaret Thall: Excuse me, Education Facilitator, may I ask a

question?

Education Facilitator: Yes, Margaret.  What is your question?

Margaret Thall: Education Facilitator, what is three plus three plus three?  Can we add three of them?”

I gave a confused look squinting to see past the lamp’s blaze and vacillating between the two of them for any indication of the significance of the question or how it could possibly be seen as subversive.

“Mr. Thall, there are crucially important reasons that Curriculum exists in the form it does.”

“I don’t understand.  She knows everything she’s supposed to know in Curriculum. She does.”

A deep sigh from the darkness.

“You understand that Education Center does everything it does for the good of your daughter and the other Education Participants?  Yes?  Can you imagine how you would feel if Margaret were to be left behind other children academically?  The magnitude of the failure that her being left behind would evidence against you and Mrs. Thall?  The effect that such failure would have on the reputation of Education Center?  The legal consequences of such failure?”

“Yes…. Absolutely… I understand.  I do!”

“Do you understand that Curriculum ensures that Margaret isn’t left behind, Mr. Thall?”

“We would never ever let that happen.  I swear to you we do everything we’re sup….”

“I understand that, Mr. Thall.  And I assume from your answer that you would believe it to be quite unfair if another parent were to do something to cause Margaret to be left behind?” 

“Of course, sir.  We would never allow it.”

“…and that you believe it would be quite unfair for you and Mrs. Thall to do something that would result in another child being left behind?”

“We would nev…”

Bad Cop cut me off.  “Listen, asshole!  What you did is gonna get every other kid at Education Center left behind!”

“No, no, no.  I wouldn’t.  We wouldn’t.  Of cou….”

“MULTIPLICATION, MR. THALL!”  Bad Cop spat out and then repeated himself in venomous staccato. “MULT… TI… PLI… CA…TION!”

I immediately understood what had alluded me for hours.  I couldn't count the number of times I had sternly warned Maggie never to wander off Curriculum or to verbalize expansions beyond it.

“I… I… I… can explain.  It’s not what you think!” I sputtered, desperately grasping for a way out, but I knew we were caught, betrayed by the innocent musings of a four year old.  Multiplication didn’t start until sixty-three months and she had been caught in a confused muddle between the intersection of addition (which was clearly in Curriculum) and multiplication (which most certainly was not).  

“Mr. Thall, Curriculum exists to make sure that your child doesn’t fall behind.  But it is also there to ensure that no other Education Participant is left behind.  Every aspect of Curriculum is scientifically calibrated to introduce academic concepts at the precisely correct point of pedagogical and cognitive development.”

He drew a breath.

“Having your daughter run ahead leaves every other Education Participant behind. Imagine if every other child at Education Center went off Curriculum.  Imagine if all of the other parents were to teach their children advanced algebra or quantum physics, so that everyone knew it other than Margaret who didn't.  Wouldn’t you agree that such action by such other parents would have the effect of Margaret being left behind?”

It was all over. I knew it and they knew I knew it. 

“Yes, sir.  It would be.  It would be quite unfair.”   I bowed my head and stared downward like a guilty schoolchild.  Despite all our best intentions, all our tireless efforts to remain compliant with Guidelines, all the sleepless nights of recitation and memorization, all the admonishments to never ever ever go outside Curriculum, Maggie had violated the most sacred tenet of Education Center.

“Mr. Thall, society is based on equality of opportunity for all citizens... It is the only way meritocracy works.  If Education Center were to graduate some Educational Participants equipped with multivariable calculus and graduate other Educational Participants equipped with only simple arithmetic, would you not agree that society would be cheated out of that meritocracy?  That Education Center would have failed to provide equal opportunities to all Educational Participants?  That the parents who caused such a result would be responsible for such failure and should be held legally responsible for it?”

“Yes sir.  I understand.”  I was finished.  Ginger too. 

“Thank you, Mr. Thall.  I thought that we may reach accord on that point. Which leaves us only as to how to proceed forward in the most… ehem... productive manner.”

An ugly pause hung in the room as I waited for the axe to drop, the certainty and severity of the consequences of Maggie's violation now unavoidable.

“Mr. Thall, I do believe that you will find… and that Mrs. Thall will find… that the rules, regulations and expectations of Education Center are quite similar to those of Re-Education Center.”