After Debra went home I remembered Mom going to see Mr. Levesque. Funny she hadn’t said anything to me about it, because I’m certain-sure she went because of me. I guess she figured she didn’t want to talk to me about it when my friend was over. So I went into the living room where Dad and Mom were sitting reading the newspaper. Well, Mom was reading the newspaper. Dad was lying on the sofa, snoozing.
Funny thing about Daddy snoozing. Mom always tells him don’t lie down on the sofa, sit up you’ll fall asleep. Dad always reacts like he can’t believe what Mom’s saying.
“Who, me?” he says, very indignantly. “I never fall asleep on the sofa. I’m reading and resting, that’s all.”
Well, he’s really funny, because here he’s got a book propped up on his chest, or the newspaper, kind of to hide behind I guess, and all of a sudden he starts to snore very softly, like sneaky. That’s some relaxing! He says he’s not sleeping, Mom says he is, and we laugh.
Parents sure behave as silly as they say we do, sometimes. Anyway, what he does, because he always wants to prove he’s not sleeping is, he wiggles his toes. That’s right, even while he’s sleeping. It’s like if he hears talk going on around him and even if he’s sleeping, he’s kind of aware of the voices, and he starts wiggling his toes like to tell us he’s awake, although he’s not. I guess he figures that if we see him moving, even wiggling his toes, we won’t think he’s asleep.
So I went downstairs, like I said, and there they were and I sat down beside Mom and talked softly so I wouldn’t disturb Dad who was resting, you know. “Mom”, I said, “How come you went to see Mr. Levesque this afternoon?”
“Oh”, she said. “I’d forgotten about that. Yes, I want to talk to you about it. How did you know I had an appointment to see him?”
“Well, it was announced over the PA., remember?”
“That’s right. I forgot. Well, when I got the call I didn’t quite know what it was for. I hadn’t even met the man before. It would appear, my dear, that your performance in French class could be considerably better than it is.”
“What did he say, for heaven’s sake? I try, I really try, it’s just that I must have a mental block or something when it comes to French. It’s boring and I hate it, and I can’t understand it, and I speak it terrible, and I don’t really like Mr. Levesque all that much, and really Mom, I KNOW he doesn’t like me and he picks on me all the time just to show the rest of the class how dumb I am in French, and I’m sick of it!”
“Whoa! Just a minute, please”, Mom said, holding her hands over her ears. How do you like that? All those words wasted. Now how do I know if I’ll remember everything I said, to tell her all over again?
Dad started to stir and propped himself up on an elbow, eyes blinking, and said, “What’s going on?” I hate it when people come in on the tail end of things. Mom let him in on the big news. Lovely, so now they’re both looking at me like I told the cat where the birds live.
“Let’s hear that again, Jen?” Ha-ha, Dad’s a poet, but I don’t feel like saying it all over again.
“What did Mr. Levesque say about me, Mom?” I asked, turning to her. “you tell me that first, then I’ll tell you what you want to know about me, okay?
“Fair enough. That, in fact, was what I had in mind, to begin with, before you started your little monologue of self-defence. Well Jen, he said he thinks you have the potential to be a better-than-average student, but you seem to be extremely disinterested. He said that you don’t contribute to class discussions, that you’re reluctant to answer questions. In short, that you’re not putting yourself out at all.”
“Well, all right. Now let me tell you this: I feel dumb in French, so I don’t like to talk too much. The rest of the kids are down on me enough as it is. Don’t forget, most of them have already had a couple of years of French instruction and this is my first year. It’s not that I’m not interested, really. It’s more that I don’t like it and I KNOW I can’t do good in it. And Mr. Levesque mimics me when I say something wrong. I do try, honestly! I guess I could try a little harder, but it’s a boring subject.”
“We all have to do things at times that we aren’t particularly interested in”, Dad said. “Do you think I feel like going out to work all the time, instead of doing other things I might prefer to do? It’s for your future that you’re being asked to learn these subjects. You’ve got to learn to discipline yourself so that you’ll perform well at tasks you dislike as well as those you have an affinity for.”
He has lots of practise at saying that, because it’s the same thing he says to Larry all the time. Next year maybe it’ll be Brian’s turn.
“Yes Dear”, Mom said. They were at me from both sides. It’s not fair. “We want you to have the same educational opportunities as your brothers. Without a sound education and the choice of occupation that comes as a result of one, your future may hold nothing more promising for you than housewifery.” I blinked at that one.
“But Mom”, I protested, “what’s wrong with being a housewife? You’re a housewife, and you’re smart.”
“True“, she agreed, modestly, “but you see Dear, I’m not really equipped with any kind of academic or technical expertise to be too much else. We’d like a different future for you. Or at least the opportunity for you to select any other kind of future occupation you’d like.”
“But what if I WANT to be a housewife?”
“Jen, don’t be silly! What’s so wonderful about staying at home day after day and stagnating? Don’t you remember Mrs. Bloom in North York, and all her friends, how unhappy they were, how they always complained?”
“Mom, why look at Mrs. Bloom? You’re happy as a housewife. You always say you enjoy doing things at home, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Be reasonable, Dear. No one is saying you might not be, but in the event that you would prefer in the future to follow another discipline than that of housewife, the avenues wouldn’t be closed to you. That’s why it’s imperative that you build the basis of a sound education now. We want you to be able to choose your future, not be streamlined into a traditional female role.”
“You’re just afraid that I might be better at cooking and stuff than you, that’s all”, I said, kidding her, even though I understood what she meant. Dad laughed, and Mom got mad.
Boy, you can’t kid about things like that with her any more, since she started what she calls consciousness-raising about women’s place in society. She reads all those books she gets out of the library, then she picks fights with Dad about things like he should do some of the housework for a change, then when he wants to, she won’t let him.
Dad always knows when Mom’s read another book because then she’s crabby for a while, until she gets over it. Anyway, I said I saw what she meant and I’d try to do better. Ha-ha. I mean I will try, but I KNOW it won’t do a bit of good. I mean I KNOW I’m just no good in French.
And anyway, Mr. Levesque doesn’t like me. I don’t know why, but he doesn’t.
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