Meeting the Parents

Principal Kinney closed the passenger door for Amanda, already seated and buckled in. Treat ‘em like a gentleman, that’s what Mammy always said, he remembered.

Similarly, Kinney would never just drop off a student he had detained.

Of course this wasn’t really “detention” per se. On the contrary, this was the result of his having enlisted the help of Amanda, their losing track of time, and the eventual missing of the bus that would have taken Amanda home.

Rather than disturbing Mrs. Singer, or requiring Amanda to explain — in her own words — why she missed the bus, particularly on this first day of school… . Well, it was the only courteous thing to do.

Courtesy. Meant to be reciprocated. Amanda was most courteous. Accommodating. She did him a favor. Offered her opinion on the three uniforms. Purchased, with his own funds, mind you.

Amanda was his first, but by no means would she be the last. Modeling the options. Trying on each one.

Amanda was one of his former students. He had been principal of Springfield Elementary for five years. For the last three, he was principal of Springfield High. Amanda was a freshman. This was the first day of school.

Principal Kinney always thought of himself as more than “school administrator.” When it came to the kids, he preferred a role he thought of as “therapist.” Single, no kids, these were his kids.

This far in his successful career, he had figured out some keys to success:

Always Befriend Parents. Enlisting the support of parents is critical, especially for initiatives that might be unpopular with students. Become their friend so they back you up when junior complains.

Build Trust. Getting children to do what you want them to do requires establishing trust. As school principal, I am the authority figure in the one place they spend the majority of their waking hours. Small things—a stick of gum, the chocolate milk from my tray—establish trust and turn it into an outpouring of love and respect.

Capitalize On Complications. Children have complicated relationships with their parents and each other. Offer students sanctuary and simultaneously undermine parental authority by indulging every possible instance of umbrage and perceived injustice that any student is willing to confide.

Private conversations. Held in confidence. Shrouded in secrecy. Principal Kinney’s shoulder to cry on. Soothing rubs turned tickles. Clean hankies. Hugs. These same students, in elementary school, hopped onto his lap. From an arousal and contact perspective, that was the best.

Today was special for a different reason. Today, Amanda Singer changed in his office. Of course, he did not peek. Not even once. He did fully appreciate her in the outfits that she modeled. The school uniforms. He could not tell if she was genuinely warming to the idea of the uniform or just humoring him. But, it did not matter. He would make this a democratic process, one in which certain of Amanda’s classmates – young ladies – would have the opportunity to participate.

Kinney had also learned along the way to praise the child effusively in any parent’s presence. He even had a sure way of measuring his performance, an indicator that never failed.

Within ten minutes, they pulled into the Singer’s driveway. A classic four bedroom, two and a half bath, colonial, attached two-car garage. Kinney parked at the walkway, blocking ingress/egress. Amanda went to open her door. Kinney let her try it once, locked, then pressed the unlock button and said, “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary.”

“Nonsense! I would not have it any other way. Word of advice, young lady. Don’t date any young man who does not do the same.” He turned and walked, hands in pockets.

“Your car is really nice.”

“Thank you, Amanda. High school principals, as a rule, do not make a lot of money. I thought of this as my one indulgence.” Principal Kinney had deliberated for many months about what his choice of new car would say about him to the community after retiring the Toyota Corolla he’d had since college.

Visits to every dealership within a fifty mile radius culminated in the decision to buy a 2023 Cadillac CTS. Earliest delivery of the next model year. Men in the community will respect that it was made in America. Women will find it luxurious, inside and out. And, for his part: It’s sporty, albeit a sedan, not a convertible.

Kinney, shoulder to shoulder with Amanda, matched her stride. Together, they walked up the front steps. Amanda opened the storm door and felt the latch. “It’s open.” She started to walk in.

“Amanda,” Principal Kinney stood on the top of three front steps. The breeze blew, and the air felt cool.

“Yes, Principal Kinney?” She straddled the threshold. “Oh, sorry. Where are my manners? Thank you for the ride!”

“You’re quite welcome. No, I was going to ask if your mother or father are home.”

“Dad’s not home yet. He usually doesn’t get home ‘til 6. Mom should be. Do you want to talk to her?”

“If she’s not too busy, I’d love to shake her hand and tell her what a great job you are doing.”

Amanda looked at Principal Kinney like he had freshly sprouted a new head then shrugged and said, “Okay.” She disappeared into the house. “Mom!”

Kinney listened for activity. He was used to being in this place, the front stoop of a house, going all the way back to when he would have to sell everything from Halloween candy to Easter flowers for every activities like playing in the band (Florida trip) and Boy Scouts (summer camp).

Mrs. Singer appeared, door ajar. Dressed in a skirt and heels, she pushed the storm door, which had see-through plexiglass, to speak. “Principal Kinney? Amanda said you wish to speak with me?”

“Hi Mrs. Singer. I don’t know if you recall me from elementary school. I was the school principal for the five years Amanda’s class was there, first through fifth grades. They went to middle school. I got assigned to high school. Now they’re freshmen. I’d be lying if I said I’m not excited.”

Mrs. Singer regarded Kinney with faint amusement, as though she might crack a smile, but then she nodded, and said, “Now that you mention it, Principal Kinney, I do recall you from elementary school. Congratulations on your promotion.”

Principal Kinney hung his head, sheepishly accepting this high praise. “Aw, shucks, you know, I think it was just, folks thought it was time.” His hands held high, as if framing Mrs. Singer’s face, he smiled, “Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to say that Amanda was a big help this afternoon.”

“Oh, really? How so?”

Hands down, he straightens. “Mrs. Singer, I have been thinking, ever since I became principal of Springfield High, that we run the risk of devolving into a general lack of order with kids this age. I am committed to strategies designed to avoid, to the maximum extent possible, that fate.”

“What are some of your strategies?” Her brow furrowed.

Principal Kinney paused, moved closer, to whisper: “Uniforms.”

“Uniforms?” She withdrew, her forehead cleared.

“Yes, uniforms.” He nodded confessionally.

“Well, I think uniforms are a splendid idea!” She smiled.

“You do?” He sighed, visibly relieved.

“Yes, I do. Would you care to come in, have a seat? I could make some tea? Or pour a cocktail?”

“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Not at all. Let me see if Amanda will join us. Please come in.”

Kinney entered, made a show of wiping his feet, then waited as Mrs. Singer held up a finger and called down the hall to Amanda.

Mrs. Singer knocked on Amanda’s door, who opened it.

“Principal Kinney is going to visit us for tea, or a drink, or something. Care to join us?”

“Mom! I just got home. I have homework to do.”

Mrs. Singer looked at Amanda’s hand. Amanda hid her phone behind her back. “So, that’s your homework?”

“No, I was just giving Alix a call.”

“It would be polite if you joined us.”

“I just spent a whole bunch of time with Principal Kinney!”

“He’s a guest in your house.”

“That you invited.”

“Five minutes, then join us. I want you to be a part of this conversation.”

Amanda rolled her eyes, feigned exhaustion, and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

Back in the front hall, Mrs. Singer said, “I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting, Principal Kinney.”

“Please, Thomas. Er, Tom.”

“Which is it?”

“Tom.”

“Sharon. Amanda will join us in a few minutes. In the meantime, what’s your pleasure?”

“You mentioned tea?”

“I did. But, truth be told, Principal Kinney, Tom, I was just about to open a bottle of chardonnay. Would you like a glass?”

“That sounds … lovely. You’re sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Not at all. I never know when Amanda’s father is coming home.” She walked into the kitchen, motioned for Kinney to follow.

“Amanda said he is usually home by 6.”

“Well, Amanda is usually in her room at 6 and doesn’t emerge until I tell her dinner is ready, so she probably doesn’t really know. But, yeah, I would say that is in the early end of the relevant range.”

“Are you a mathematician?”

“No, why?”

“Well, you talk like one.”

“Oh, because I said ‘relevant range’?”

“I suppose that is what I am reacting to.”

“Well, I did study statistics. I was a pharmaceutical detailer. Do you know what that is?”

“You sell pharmaceuticals? To the prescribers.”

“That’s a little blunt. But not too far off the truth. There are lots of rules around it. We don’t technically sell them anything, because they don’t buy anything. But they do prescribe. So we promote. Give them free samples. Take them to dinner. Things like that.”

“Did you like it?”

“Well, it was great when I was in my twenties and for most of my thirties, til I got pregnant.”

“With Amanda.”

Sharon nodded and handed him a perfectly poured glass of wine. “Cheers.”

“Thank you.” He sipped. “Mmm. Lots of pear. Very crisp. Nice cold temperature.”

“I hate warm chardonnay. Do you want any cheese and crackers? Like I said, I never know when–”

“--Mr. Singer will be home?” He was being guided by Sharon to the living room, where she motioned for him to have a seat.

“Yes. I’m hungry. Excuse me.”

Sharon returned with her glass and a small platter. “How does Gruyere, Gorgonzola, and … cheddar cheese sound?”

“Sounds like dinner to me!”

Sharon laughed. “That is not dinner. To be clear, dinner is shrimp scampi. But I can’t finish preparing until I’m ready to serve.” Her phone rings. “Excuse me. This is my husband.” She leaves.

You’re doing good, Kinney. Don’t fuck it up. Kinney sipped his wine. Slow down. You’ve downed half a glass!

“Sorry about that,” Sharon returned. “Oh, Amanda, how nice of you to join us. Would you like some cheese and crackers?” She pointed to the platter next to Kinney. “Also, do you want to get yourself something to drink?”

“I’m fine with water.”

“Actually, I’ll get some water with you.”

In the kitchen, Amanda grabbed a glass, pressed it to the refrigerator ice dispenser, then pushed a button and filled it with a stream of water. “Did Dad call?”

“Yes.”

“Is he coming home?”

“No. I mean, he won’t be home for dinner. He had something come up. Unexpected out of town client.”

“Oh. What’s for dinner?”

“Shrimp scampi. Are you hungry?”

“Sure, I could eat.”

“Well, in that case... How about we invite Tom to join us for dinner?”

“Who’s Tom?”

“Tom Kinney. Principal Kinney. Would that be okay?”

Amanda looked away from her mother. “Sure, Mom. Whatever you want.”

“It’s better than having the food go to waste, don’t you think?” Sharon whispered, but emphatically.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Amanda felt a pang, a sudden wish for her father. She was sure they would not be having this conversation had he been.

“See. That’s my girl. Be a dear and set the table. The dining room.”

“The dining room? Not the kitchen table?”

“The dining room, please, Missy!”

Amanda hated it when her mother called her “Missy.” But she did it anyway.

“Tom?” Sharon found Tom in her living room, not sitting, but studying pictures in silver frames on the fireplace mantle. He turned to her.

“Yes?”

“Would you care to join us for dinner? That call from my husband was him telling me he would not be home for dinner. Client emergency. Amanda’s hungry, and I am too, and so we thought we would invite you to join us for dinner.”

“You’re sure that Amanda won’t mind?”

“No.” Pause. “Why would she mind?”

“Well, you know, teacher’s pet, but worse, because I’m the principal.” He made air quotes with his fingers. “We wouldn’t want people talking, besides.”

“Mind your manners. She’ll get over it. I suppose that was it though.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“She hesitated?”

Sharon nodded, quickly, as if to make sure no one else saw. There was no one else to see.

“It’s natural, and I promise: ‘Mum’s the word.’ No billboards on the bus route.”

Sharon laughed— “Please, join us in the dining room.”— and looked at his glass. “More wine?”

Kinney followed behind. Close, but not too close. “Yes, please.”

====================================================

“Mrs. Singer––Sharon––this is delicious!” Principal Kinney sat at the head of the table, Sharon and Amanda to his right and left, respectively. Sharon lit a candle. He sipped his wine and raised his glass to the chef.

“I’m so happy you like it!” Sharon looked at her daughter’s plate, which was untouched. “Amanda, honey, I thought you were hungry.”

“I dunno. Maybe I wasn’t after all. Mom, may I be excused?”

“Wait one second. Let others finish first.” Sharon shot a glance to Tom, which he studiously pretended not to see, choosing instead to focus on twisting his pasta and popping the succulent forkful into his mouth as neatly as possible. After wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin, he made a point of smiling appreciatively at Amanda first, and then nodded, as if to say, “Delicious!” again, to Sharon, as he washed it down with a rinse of the chardonnay. It was truly quite good.

“Principal Kinney mentioned that he is thinking about uniforms for the high school,” Sharon decided to understand this better. Besides, she had her own view that she wanted to share.

“Yeah, we talked about it,” Amanda said, visibly squirming at the other end of her mother’s gaze.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Me? I don’t… I mean, initially I did not think it was a good idea. But Principal Kinney made some good points.”

“Really? What were they?”

“Well, he said that it was good preparation for professional life. Like when you have to wear a uniform for work.”

“I see. What else?”

“He said that it would be more professional at our school. A more professional environment. And our standardized test scores will go up. That’s why private schools wear them.”

“You are an excellent listener, Amanda. I am very impressed!” Principal Kinney encouraged her. “Do you remember anything else I suggested?”

“Oh,” she smiled for the first time since they had sat down and nodded at Principal Kinney. “He said we would have more money to spend on the clothes that we want to wear that aren’t school clothes, and we never have to worry about what to wear to school again. It’s only a weekend problem.”

“Good girl!” Kinney blurted out.

“I gather from the Principal’s reaction that you got everything he was arguing in support of uniforms.”

“I think so.”

“You did, Amanda.”

“Am I to understand you agreed on a particular uniform?”

“Well, I told Principal Kinney the one I liked best.”

“I see.” Sharon redirected, “May I see, Tom?”

“Unfortunately, Sharon, I did not bring them with me. Besides, I think I need to be able to provide the same opportunity that I have to Amanda to some of her classmates. I mean, I think that would be only fair.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Sharon looked at Tom, turned to Amanda, then back to Tom. “Isn’t anybody going to ask me what I think?”

“Of course, Sharon, I was dying to know but did not want to pry.”

“I was always a fan. I went to Catholic school, as Amanda may have mentioned.”

“She did not.”

“Nonetheless, if parents get a vote, I’m a yes.”

Just then, Mr. Singer walked in the front door and announced, “Could whoever has the Cadillac CTS move it so I can park in the garage?”

“I should go,” Principal Kinney stood. “This was delicious, Sharon. Amanda, thank you for being such an exemplary student, willing to pitch in on an ad hoc committee such as this for uniforms, and to go the extra mile, even if it means missing the school bus and having your principal drive you home!”

“Good night, Tom,”

“Good night, Principal Kinney. Mom, now?”

“Fine, Amanda. Go.”

====================================

“Hi, Mr. Singer, I’m Principal Kinney. Apologies for blocking the driveway. Let me move my car. I'm just leaving. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me, us, at Springfield High, with your most precious ‘cargo’.”

“Yeah, well, just keep the crazy shooters out of there and we’ll call it even.”

“Yessir, you got a deal. Nice meeting you.”

“Good night.”

=====================================

Driving home, Kinney had the following conversation with himself:

Could it have gone any better?!

No, you’re right, it went really well.

And that no-fail indicator of success…

What was that?

Dinner invitation.

====================================

That night, in bed.

Amanda, lay her precious head.

She had a dream,

Caught in a cage.

One of many,

A rose in a rage.

She tried to scream,

To raise her fist.

The words she saw:

The rapist.