The teacher stopped racking her brains and sighed. “Why did I have to be so good at my job?” she thought. “I could have just kept my head down like everyone else, but noooo… I was the fool who tried to be the best. And now I have to work overtime just to fulfill a small requirement of some stupid award. It’s not like I even believe in the whole thing anyway. Graaah…”
She turned back to the trilogy-thick stack of paper, which was somehow held together by a single reality-defying staple, and read the title again: “Superfluous Quantifiable Accolades: Chapter 16, Part IV, Section 32, Subsection 7f (iii), Rubric Prime-epsilon - A Child’s Place in Society.”
She flipped though the pages, searching desperately for some inspiration, but ten pages in, the introductory novel about educating children about their place in society ended and the endless list of individually scored rubrics and criteria began. Not wanting to go through that again, she put the booklet aside, thinking that “booklet” was not the correct term to use here; “tree’s corpse” would be more appropriate.
Twirling her pencil between her fingers absentmindedly, she thought about how all the credit for the task she had been given would be directed at the school in the end, or at least the entire staff in general, and how her individual contribution would be lost in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t make sense to her how the world could work this way.
“A Show-and-Tell, then,” she muttered to herself, picking up a second memo (which, at five pages thick, was quite long for a memo) neatly typed with the principal’s photocopied signature printed below the letterhead. “Show-and-Tell would be easy, and I’m sure the primary school students could cook up something spectacular if I tell them it’s assessed. Or at least their parents will. Who knows,” she muttered, “it might even turn out to be fun…”
She paused, with a look of incredulity on her face. Did she really say those words? No, she couldn’t have. She laughed lightly to herself, and went off to prepare the logistics.
* * *
On the day of the Show-and-Tell, the atmosphere was cheerful and expectant. The children, rarely having an opportunity for something outside the rigid curriculum, rose to the occasion magnificently, decked out in multicoloured costumes and clutching a number of homemade props.
The teacher was nervous. Seated behind the excited, chattering students was the principal, in his best suit and tie. He was attempting to initiate conversation to the assessor from the Board of Award Giving for Schools, who was sitting next to him. He looked stiffer than the principal, in a finely-cut black blazer, dark sunglasses and an earpiece trailing a wire from his ear. He looked more like a government agent than an assessor; but then again, he probably was a government agent to begin with.
“All right class,” she said loudly, “we’re about to begin. Remember, when I call your name, you come to the front of the class and tell everyone who you are and what your place is in society. Alright?”
There was a loud cheer of assent from the students. They couldn’t wait to begin. The assessor unclipped a pen from his pocket with a loud click, and, without even looking down at the notes in front of him, made a small mark on the paper.
“Now, who wants to go first?” the teacher asked.
Instantly, a hundred hands were in the air, bouncing up and down, with jubilant cries of “Pick me! Pick me!” echoing in the confined classroom.
“Emily, why don’t you start?”
The little girl squealed with delight, and skipped to the front of the classroom. She was dressed in a pure-white blouse with a trim white skirt. A stethoscope dangled from her neck, and a small hat with a red cross sat on her head, which never moved when she ricocheted across the floor. She was wearing thin rubber gloves, and holding a small wooden ice-cream stick in one hand and a portable flashlight in the other.
“I yam a dock-ta!” she proudly announced. “When people are sick-sicky, they come to see me, and I see what’s wrong with them, and then I use my med-shun to make them all betta!” She brandished her torch wildly as she said this. “That’s my place in so-shai-tee!”
“Thank you Emily, that was great,” said the teacher, glancing back at the assessor sitting at the back. He was still writing notes on the papers in front of him while staring straight ahead; she noticed that the principal was getting slightly freaked out by it.
“Who’s next? Umm… how about you, Robert?”
The boy stood up with much difficulty, since he was carrying a large briefcase which was almost taller than him. He straightened his tie and dusted off his pinstriped suit before dragging the case to the front, his polished black shoes making clack, clack noises as he walked.
“My place in society,” he said smartly, “is that of a businessman. Like my father,” he added. “We carry fortunes of money and important documents in a suitcase like this” - he pointed at his baggage - “and travel around the world, doing deals with other business men and making money. Oh, and boosting the economy, whatever that means.”
“Thank you, Robert. Err… Madison! Your turn!”
Madison was wearing a brightly-coloured skintight suit, complete with curled slippers and a plumed hat. A Shakespearean-style ruff circled her neck. “I am a stage actress,” she declared with a sweeping gesture, “an entertainer of the finest art, who will take to the stage and bring drama to the audience. My place is to perform, never to forget my lines while I… um, while I… uhh…” she fumbled in her pocket, pulled out a square of paper and unfolded it, and read: “uh, while I play the part and bring the house down.” She was blushing as she returned the sheet to her pocket.
One by one the students appeared at the front of the class, each one different, each one unique. Lawyer, policeman, game show host, impressionist artist, rock star, superhero; all forms were present and accounted for.
“Alright, Calvin, how about you next?”
He was the only one without an exuberant costume. He was dressed in a simple plaid shirt and jeans, nothing special. He remained silent when he reached the front of the class, and the students broke out into mutterings.
“Calvin? Go on with your presentation.”
He remained mute. The children, getting impatient, did what all children would do: start guessing.
“A cowboy without a hat?”
“A mannequin! With bad fashion sense!”
“Oh, oh, oh! You’re one of those emo pop stars!”
And Calvin began to speak.
“I am one who is cursed with selfless good nature. One burdened with a sense of morality less pliant than yours. In doing what I thought was right, I helped. I did my best to help anyone and everyone who crossed my path and needed assistance in one way or another, asking for nothing in return.
“And nothing did return. For a moment, a sliver of time, they needed me; then, once they had what they wanted or needed, I was discarded, thrown aside, ignored, left to fester in my own decomposing thoughts. I was useful in one thing and one thing only; not a friend, but an asset. Maybe because I am different. Nobody likes different people, because people can only relate when they are on similar frequencies. My assistance was all they needed; everything else was inessential.
“I wear no costume today because I am not one person. I am the stagehand behind the curtain, while the actress bows in front of the applauding audience. I am the squire to the chivalrous knight who shining armour blocks me from view. I am the insignificant name two minutes into the credits which nobody pays any attention to. Used, once, then ignored for the rest of eternity.
“Now, I must fade back into obscurity: inaudible, inconspicuous, invisible. I have broken the vow of silence that I imposed upon myself. Even now, criticisms are winging toward me, castigating my ideals, retorting that I should be the silent selfless philanthropist, who gives and gives until he has nothing left to give. Because that would be the right thing to do. That would be where they want to place me in society.”
The jaws of the three adults were hanging open, even the assessor’s. It was the teacher who recovered first. Remembering that her job was on the line, she said quickly, “Uhh, yes, well, Calvin, people like you, they’re… they’re essential. Necessary. Like - like gears, in a watch. You’re an integral part of society. Thank you; please sit down. Now, who’s next? Alicia, how about you…”
As Calvin wandered back to his seat, the hubbub of the children masked out his next few words: “Just because you are necessary doesn’t mean that you have any worth.”
-----
And everything in its place.
The Edna Man
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