Reading Buddy

For a number of years, I've had a Reading Buddy. For two years Trinity has been that Buddy. Now a 2nd grader, Trinity is a bright, cheerful, sociable, energetic, well-cared-for little girl. According to the assessment I was given some time ago, she is also behind on all four reading "targets." I'm mystified. The kid can read beautifully. Tell her something once, she remembers it forever. My personal, utterly unqualified take? She's bored out of her mind. You're probably thinking, "Well, just go talk to her teacher." Uh huh. Her teacher. The woman who, invariably, is screaming at the class every time I knock timidly on the door? Nah, don't think so.

Anyway, awhile back I dragged Hugh along with me during one of my reading sessions. Trinity was enchanted. She's asked about him constantly ever since. Well, of course. He's lovely and he was sweet to her. And he's black and she's black, and she's trying to figure out, how come this white lady has this black son.

Today, I was scheduled to pick up Hugh an hour later than usual: he had a detention because he had not worn a belt one day. (Ah, the obsession with uniforms. As a historian, I find it all a tad reminiscent of the fascist era, but hey, life's a matter of learning what rules are worth breaking. This one? Probably not. But Hugh has yet to learn that.) So, I had the schedule all planned: work at home, read with Trinity, drive out and pick up Hugh. Five minutes into my session with Trinity my cell phone rings. It's Hugh: "Mom, detention's been postponed. Where are you?" I explained that I was reading with Trinity and wouldn't be there for at least 40 minutes. Result: one pissed-off teenaged son.

At the end of our session, Trinity, as usual, tried to convince me to stay longer. I told her no, I absolutely had to go as Hugh had been waiting for quite awhile and was already furious with me. She stared at me, confused, and asked, "You mean he don't get no whuppin'?" It took me a few seconds to grasp the logic, and then I burst out laughing.

No. Hugh was not about to get "whupped" and he knew it. But in Trinity's world, a child who dares to show anger at a parent is a child about to get a whipping.

He was a total shit to me this morning. An unbelievable, utter shit. I dunno. Maybe Trinity's on to something.