Plucky Letters to US soldiers in Iraq

Friday, August 29, 2003


Dear Rob & Buddies,


We’re all back to school and it is just as hellish as last year, maybe more. At Bent School, the west side grade school where I work, the “Behavior Disordered” kids have grown in size and number. There are several new ones who have not been civilized at all yet. They are quite clearly the prison inmates of tomorrow and they make last year’s BDs look like angelic future Nobel Prize winners. The new BDs are uniformly surly, rude, hostile and ungrateful. They are not really Behavior Disordered; they’re just Bad Dudes. Their teacher, poor Mrs. B., looked like she wanted to send pipe bombs home in their backpacks today.

The new principal, Mrs. H., is cool, though. Very calm and collected. She expects the BDs to actually behave like morally virtuous human beings, which is a new concept at Bent. The former principal fully expected them to behave like the violent little reprobates we all know them to be. I wonder how long it will take for Mrs. H. to figure out that it is not her job to educate the BDs? (that is, sadly, not possible) It is her job to just ensure that they are not allowed to murder the other students.

Today, little Ben B. of the regular first grade came trembling to the kitchen to report that one of the new BDs called him a fucking motherfucker and said he would come to Ben’s house and kick his ass and kill his dog. Poor little Ben was scared shitless, of course, since the BD kid is probably a 14 year old fourth grader.
(It takes quite awhile for the BD kids to progress from one grade to the next since social promotion is no longer allowed and they now must suffer the inconvenience of having to learn to read.)

Six year old Ben was very cute when he said “fucking motherfucker” with his eyes screwed shut and his hand over his mouth in utter horror at having to repeat the dreadful Bad Words. I wish I’d had a video camera to save the Kodak moment for his mom and dad.

I told him not to worry because they always lock that big kid into his room at night and he absolutely cannot get out no matter what!
He said, “REALLY?” Big brown eyes filling with hope.
I said, “Oh, yes. You and your dog will be perfectly safe.”
“But what if there’s a fire?” Ben asked, doubt creeping back into his chubby face. “Will they let him out if there’s a fire?”
“Yes, Ben,” I said, “If there’s a fire they’ll have to let him out, but the firemen will be there and firemen know how to keep him under control at all times.”
“And ambulance guys,” said Ben. “There would be ambulance guys, too!”
“Yep. They might even give him a shot.” said I.
Ben thought about this for a moment, then said, “And I don’t even HAVE a dog!” And off he went to finish his lunch.

My work was done- another potential nightmare victim saved by the Lying Lunchlady. It’s all in the tone of voice. If you sound convincing, and you don’t overdo it, the littler kids will believe ANYTHING YOU SAY.

Many of them half believe that my head comes off. I like to casually announce, “My head comes off.” They say, “Nuh-uh! Show us!”
I say, “It’s really hard to get it back on. That’s why I can’t do it at work.” They snicker and say they don’t believe me. But I can see the little glimmers of doubt in their eyes. They WANT to believe that my head comes off, just like they want to believe in Santa Claus. Sometimes I tell them about the time I took it off and put it back on backwards and had to drive backwards to the hospital to get it fixed. They love that story.


There is a kindergartener, Michael O., who has proclaimed everyday this week at the lunch window, “I’m the new kid around here!” It’s hilarious since ALL the kindergartners are new kids around here.
I just love that kid. I think he and I are kindred spirits. Today when Michael said, “I’m the new kid around here!” I answered with, “Oh, yeah? Well my head comes off!”

Much love and unconditional support,

--An Army Mom