Lori Clinch

Are We There Yet?

I’d like to state for the record that our school principal is a great man. A real happy-go-lucky sort of guy. Always there with a “hello,” anxious to assist with the door, and quick to snap and point whenever I get out of line.

I just don’t like to see the man heading in my general direction.

Whenever I pick up the children and notice he is coming my way, I know that it’s going to be bad news. He never strolls by the vehicle just to see how I’m doing. He never raps on the window of the car to shoot the breeze, and has never, not even once, stomped up and down in the middle of the street for no reason.

So when I see him approaching, I can be rest-assured that something has become rotten in Denmark.

I hate getting into trouble with the principal. It completely ruins all the efforts I’ve put forth to establish a reputation as a model citizen. I can take the kids to church, practice good discipline and follow Dr. Hasnokids’ Seven Steps of Bringing Up God’s Creatures. Yet, all of my hard work goes out the window the instant that one of my precious dears pulls a prank.

Although our children aren’t common criminals, they have been known to cause a minor disturbance now and then. They have disrupted snack time, picked on classmates and, heaven forbid, have been caught chewing on a wad of gum big enough to choke a horse.

I’m quite certain that this happens because they take after their adoring father.

When I saw the principal walking my way the other day, I quickly picked up a church bulletin and buried my face in it. I was just coming off a long afternoon of paperwork and errands, and I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say.

As he knocked at the window, I abruptly cranked up the music on the radio and simply pretended he wasn’t there.

Yet he was persistent in his knocking.

“Lori,” he said firmly, “I know you can hear me; now roll down the window.”

Feeling that I had no choice, I slowly rolled the window down about 2 inches.

“I’d love to chew the fat with ya, but turns out something screwy has happened with the solar system, and according to my horoscope, I’m to avoid all authority figures today.”

“That’s very interesting,” he said in a tone that indicated he thought otherwise. “Did you receive my phone call this afternoon?”

“Would I be here if I had?”

“I need to talk to you about your son.”

“Are you sure it was my son? You know, if you put enough mud and dirt on those boys, they all tend to look alike.”

“I’m quite certain that it was your boy that I summoned to the office today,” he said, looking quite serious.

I gave him my God-knows-I-did-the-best-I-could look and said, “Will we need legal representation?”

“No,” he replied, “we have a new boy who is looking at our institution, and we’d like one of your boys to accompany him for a day.”

I couldn’t believe it. I darn near choked on my breath mint and said, “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Of course our precious child would be happy to show this young man our school. He could take him around, introduce him to his friends, and if you’d like, we could even have him show this lad a few of his tricks.”

“Let’s not get carried away. I’d just like your son to make him feel welcome.”

A week or so later the principal showed up at our front door. By that time, I’d forgotten all about the touring day. So when I viewed his stern look through the peephole, my stomach jumped into my throat.

“We’re not in right now,” I said after I’d opened the door a crack, “but if you’ll leave a message, we’d be happy to get back to you.”

“Are you done?”

“That depends. But I don’t think my boys did it this time. We’ve been having them eat all of their vegetables, they’ve been getting good rest and saying prayers daily for worldwide peace, amen.”

“Good, I just wanted to tell you that your son did a fine job for our school yesterday. He showed great social skills, was kind and considerate, and really came through. We’re honored to have him as a student.”

I’m not fully convinced it was my kid he was talking about. But I tell you this, if the child that he spoke of was mine, then one thing’s for sure: He totally takes after me.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” Her e-mail address is lclinch@charter.net.