Thursday, April 09, 2009

The aggrieved policeman

When the policeman entered my kitchen, the first thing he asked was whether I was related to a man with the same last name who taught at Bayonne High School. Since both my parents grew up in Bayonne and still had family in the area, this was not an uncommon question. When I informed him that my father's cousin had taught at the school and asked if he was a good teacher, I didn't get the immediate response I had expected. When he hesitated, I thought I could gain his sympathy by informing him that he had died a couple of years ago, in his fifties, of cancer (I didn't really know the man; I only met him a couple times at family funerals). This didn't really register. Instead, he looked away from me, traveling back in time to the high school class my father's cousin had taught. "Yes, I had him as a teacher," he said, "No, he wasn't a good teacher." He didn't go into details, but it seemed important for him to get this off of his chest even after I had told him that he had died. I could tell by the look on his face that he had been hurt back then (perhaps he had flunked a class) and it was still with him and that this, at last, was his revenge.

6 Comments:

Blogger Malogna said...

But why was the policeman in your kitchen?

8:21 AM  
Blogger BayonneMike said...

Ah, good question, Malogna. Keep reading!

9:23 AM  
Blogger Gina said...

there's a moral to this segway, isn't there?

10:21 AM  
Blogger Gina said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

12:22 PM  
Blogger Gina said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

12:45 PM  
Blogger Gina said...

Mr. Dweebler, our HS English teacher, had that same negative effect on me in 1980, after accusing me of, of all things, plagerism. Sadly, I had heard years later that the man had died, far too young, of a heart attack. Of course I felt badly, having harbored this awful resentment every time he crossed my mind.
Come to find, many years later, that the man is NOT dead, but very much alive and well, and sitting in the company of his family, within a few feet of me, at Scooters restaurant in Howell. In a mix shock and delight, I marveled at his generally healthy appearance and hair color, and thanked God for this wonderful opportunity to forgive him in person. Oi vey. Of course, rather than make a scene, I kept it all to myself, forgiving him privately. Several years after that, I needed a realtor to help me sell my house. Lo and behold, if it wasn't Mr. Dweeb's son. I am sure he caught that far away look, as I traveled back in time. "Tell your Dad that I resented him for years, and thought him dead, until I saw him in Scooters alive and well. Nevermind the false accusation. Water under the bridge, God love him. "

It was like a weight off my shoulders, Mike. Maybe the policeman will also begin to heal having had the pleasure of your meeting.

12:51 PM  

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