Melvin Scoun found himself in the principal's office for the third time in a week. Tuesday he had hit a game-losing home run and gotten in a fight with his teammates. Thursday he had scored a perfect 100 on his English test. And today, he scored not one, but two goals in a football match during gym.
Through the door, he could hear his parents and the principal talking.
"Mrs. Scoun, it's not just that your boy is slow. No, I think the events of the past two days are instructive. He has a learning disorder of sorts, and we should remove him from the main population of the school for a time."
Melvin heard his mother cry. He knew his dad would simply sit there, stone-faced, and say nothing. Melvin's dad had graduated second in his class, and was the hero of his high school basketball team, with a school-record 979 passes his senior season.
"Please, Mr. Cuzzins, please don't put my baby in with that crowd," she implored. "I know he hasn't been applying himself, but with the move and all, well, I think he's just a bit upset."
The principal adopted a firm, yet understanding tone. "Mrs. Scoun, we both know that Melvin has shown this tendency toward failure since he first started school. It would be best for him to get him into a more accepting environment."
"You're gonna put him in the retard class!" she bawled. Melvin hated to hear his mother cry, and he hated it even worse when he was the reason for his mother's distress. He had tried hard to play football well, though, and he still scored those goals. And he couldn't bring himself to miss the appropriate number of answers on his English test. He knew that he was doing the wrong thing, but he didn't seem to have the knack for getting things right.
"Mrs. Scoun, we don't like to use terms like retard," the principal said. But Melvin knew this wasn't true. The principal had asked him just yesterday, "What are you, some kind of retard?" Names like retard, freak and jerk had been thrown at him since kindergarten, and they just didn't bother him anymore. He was what he was, and if everyone thought he was a retard, then so be it. Melvin knew better. And that was his big problem.
"Retard tends to stigmatize the children," the principal was saying. "Most of these kids have had it tough enough without adding insults to their plights." At his old school, Melvin had spent the last month of the school year in the retard class, and he didn't like it any better than regular class. Sure the teachers never hassled him about knowing too much or about playing games to win, but he could feel the teacher treat him like a social dead end. He knew why: kids in the retard class would never be a part of society. They wouldn't be able to get into college or hold down jobs.
Melvin knew another secret: There are retards, and there are retards. Some were kids like him, who couldn't seem to keep an even keel. And some had serious intelligence deficits. He had befriended Melinda at his old school. She was one of the slow retards. Melinda was very sweet. Melvin liked talking to her because he always felt better after doing so. Everything was "happy day" with Melinda. And even at the age of eight, Melvin knew he wasn't going to have many happy days.
"We prefer the term learning disabled," the principal said. My teachers are the ones who are disabled, Melvin thought. He understood why 75 was the best possible grade, and he envied his father for his 74.9 aveage throughout high school. He envied his father's ability to fail to score at every game that he played. But he also knew that it felt good to score, that it felt good to actually know the answer, to show that he knew the answer, even if it brought ridicule and shame. That was his problem, and Melvin knew he wouldn't be able to get out of the retard class until he could demonstrate that.
"Let them get in with their own, and maybe he'll be able to pull out of this rut. The biggest problem, you see, is that his behavor is disturbing the class. We just can't continue to put up with his antics if we are to teach kids the correct way to act. The proper way to be good citizens."
Melvin heard his father murmur some assent, and his mother calmed down somewhat. He heard the door open.
"Melvin, honey," his mother said. "We have some good news. You're going to be in a new class from now on. How does that sound?"
"If that is what is requied for me to be an exemplary student, then so be it."
The principal shook his head.
"We have so much work to do."
Jon Worley would like to emphasize that in no way does this situation fit his current job search. Nope, not at all.