THE ENFORCER - Final segment (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     One of Miss Hatchet’s hobbies was hovering.  She was always looking over your shoulder to see how your work was coming along.   This is probably why she was always telling me to sit up in my seat.  I would sit so low, trying to avoid her, she couldn’t find my shoulders.  She would just stop and stare at the small mass in my chair.   “Is that you, Mr. Maberry?” 

     “Yes, Miss Hatchet.”

     “Well, you need to sit up, so I can look over your shoulder.”

     “Yes, Miss Hatchet.”

     Between her iron hand and hovering, she was an overpowering presence.  At night, I would dream of her hovering over me, holding dripping, wet math papers that she had rescued from the irrigation ditch, where they had gone on a joy ride.  “Mr. Maberry, look what I found, with your name on them.”  I would bolt upright, with my heart in my mouth.  “I’m sorry Miss Hatchet!  They must have slipped out of my notebook when I was walking by the ditch.  Next time I will keep them under lock and key.”  Then I would awaken, to the terrible taste of heart in my mouth, realizing it was just a horrible nightmare.     

     “Is your work done, Mr. Maberry?”   I don’t know why Miss Hatchet asked me such a silly question.  Mine was always a work in progress…kind of like your tax dollars at work.   She expected me to have my schoolwork completed by the end of the day.  The problem was our differing views on the definition of “the end of the day”.  Miss Hatchet’s “end of day” was the school dismissal bell.  Mine was anytime beyond bedtime.  Her day didn’t allow me enough time to complete my work.  My day would have allowed enough time if I would have remembered it before the next morning.
 

      To strengthen my memory skills, Miss Hatchet would keep me after school, and use me for sport with math problems.  “Try this one…try that one…here’s a nice problem"…and on it went.  After several sessions, I became restless and decided it was time for a break, as in daring escape.  I waited until she walked the school bus kids out to their bus.  As soon as she went out the back door, I shot out the front door, completely ignoring the possibility of finding my picture tacked to a utility pole, with a sizeable bounty on my head.  I ran like the wind for home.  Actually, I think I passed the wind along the way.  Arriving home, I ran inside and quickly slammed the door, making sure to push the couch in front of it, in case the Enforcer tried to break it down.  All of a sudden she appeared, like an apparition, hovering at the door, motioning for me to come out.  I closed my eyes, and then opened them again, to see if the apparition was real.  It was.  I figured I might as well save the door, and walk out under my own power. 

     Getting into her car, I told her Mom wouldn’t want me riding around town with a young girl. (I was hoping flattery would save my life.)  “I’m sure your mom won’t mind you riding to school with an old lady,” said Miss Hatchet.  “Now, let’s get back and finish those math problems that are patiently waiting to be solved.”

     I questioned whether I could survive this overpowering presence until the end of the year.  To your good fortune, I survived.

     After a year with Miss Hatchet, summer never looked sweeter.  Skies were bluer, the birds chirped louder, the days were longer, there were no assignments to complete, and my wandering mind had rejoined me for a summer of fun.  It was a wonderful time to be alive.

     Years later, when I became a teacher, and my students had wandering minds and difficulty completing assignments, my time in The Enforcer’s class had prepared me for it.  I just hope kids didn’t hear the scratching inside the wall in the cloakroom.

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THE ENFORCER - Segment 4 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     I always dreamed of reciting a sports score or sharing some fascinating weather trivia, but dreams never came true in Miss Hatchet’s class…just math problems that always seemed to need immediate attention. 

     ”Mr. Maberry, would you please work this problem?” asked Miss Hatchet, barely able to conceal her joy, as I stood alone at the blackboard.  My legs quivered, as my hands fumbled with the chalk.  I stared at the problem; it stared at me, refusing to leave the board.  Everyone’s attention was riveted on me as they waited for an answer.  I hated the riveting, but I had no answer.  While they waited, I prayed…for an earthquake…flooding…appendicitis…kidney stones…anything to avoid the menacing glare of the problem waiting restlessly to be solved.  If I waited much longer, I was certain it would start pacing back and forth, across the front of the board.

     Glancing at Miss Hatchet, I knew I didn’t have much time left.  I had to make a move.  I remembered the advice of an old math sage…”If you don’t know the answer, guess.  You always have a chance of being right.”  So I guessed.  Then I heard a voice in the math wilderness saying, “Very good, Mr. Maberry.”  It was the voice of The Enforcer.  I had guessed correctly.  Overcome with emotion, I grabbed a desk to steady myself.  Everyone cheered.  I felt like a hero.  I had gone to the blackboard and conquered my nemesis…a nasty math problem.  Returning to my desk, I hunkered down, and waited for my next confrontation with numbers.

     On occasion, a student would bring an apple for Miss Hatchet.  I couldn't understand that.  Why would you bring an apple to someone who was always running you to the blackboard at the most inconvenient time; when you were staring out the window, trying to enjoy the great outdoors.  That's why I preferred bringing a bone.  With my life always in the balance, I figured if The Enforcer became too upset with me, I would just throw the bone into the middle of the room, and hope she went after it, while I was fleeing down the hall.

    


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THE ENFORCER - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     “My dad said I’d better behave for Miss Hatchet because she rules with an iron hand,” Jimmy informed us.   

      “Wow, I’ve never seen anyone with an iron hand,” said Tony.

      “Neither have I,” Billy chimed in.  “Maybe she’ll let me borrow it for show and tell.”  

     “I’m sure we’ll all get to see it,” I said, nervously looking over my shoulder.    

     I didn’t know why Miss Hatchet needed an iron hand.  Her piercing eyes were enough to make you grab your heart, for fear it would burst through your shirt at any moment.    

     Hanging up our coats in the cloakroom, we could hear faint scratching inside the wall and wondered if it was a student from last year, who hadn’t completed his work.    

     Reading, writing, and math were Miss Hatchet’s priorities.  Having spent considerable time with Gramps, I thought she should be instructing us in how to schedule doctors’ appointments, fill out medical forms, and how to get our pillboxes in order.  She wasn’t interested in my priorities.  According to the Enforcer, my sole purpose in fourth grade was to read, write, and figure out numbers.  It was obviously more than I could handle.  School was a long seventeen months that year.

     If Miss Hatchet left the room, no one moved, because she had a way of appearing without notice.  If you got out of your seat while she was out of the room, she would appear like she had just slipped under the door.  We never could figure out how she got the iron hand under the door, but there it was, looming over us.  You had to scoot over in your seat when she walked by, so the hand wouldn't hit you in the head and knock you unconcious.  It silenced any talk of mutiny.    

    Miss Hatchet had one student who was the apple of her eye.  No, it wasn’t me.  I was the bait.  She would feed me to the blackboard, where I would be devoured my math problems.

     I tried to stay out of her sight by sitting behind the biggest student in class, but The Enforcer would hear the beads of perspiration dripping from my forehead and splashing on the floor, creating a small pool.  “Mr. Maberry,” she would say sternly, “would you please come to the board.”  I would remove myself from inside the student’s shirt in front of me and slither to the front of the class. 

    

THE ENFORCER - Segment 2 (Scroll down for opening segment)

     It was ten o’clock in the morning.  I had been sleeping soundly, preparing for the fourth grade, when I was rudely awakened by my mother.  “I talked to your new teacher this morning,” she said.

     “Who was that?” I asked, holding my breath in anticipation.

     “Miss Hatchet,” mom answered.

      All my breath packed up its bags and fled out the window.  I would be spending my entire year with Miss Hatchet, better known as “The Enforcer,” a partner in scare tactics with the “Intimidator.”

     I remember riding my bike around town.  I would pedal by Miss Hatchet’s home.  Viewed from a distance, she seemed like a normal person…working in the yard, sitting on the porch, reading the newspaper, smiling and waving as I passed by.  But somewhere between the porch and school she underwent a metamorphasis, appearing in the classroom as Attila the Hun.  I was certain, if I went in in her basement, I would find kids from last year, chained to a desk, doing math problems.

     She was a rather large, but sturdy, old maid; someone who had never married.  She had dedicated her life to scaring the wits out of little kids. 

     As Mom escorted me to school that first day, I felt like a fourth grader being drug to slaughter.  As it turned out, I just needed a couple of bandages for two skinned knees.  Once the bandages were applied, I didn’t think Mom would leave me.  This was because I had a death grip on her leg, restricting blood flow, and almost causing her to black out.  She managed to grab hold of a chair to steady herself, then shook her leg until I broke free, leaving only my hands still firmly attached to her ankle.

     “Wake is a little nervous about the first day, “she said.  “Do you think he will be alright?”  Before I could answer the question, the Enforcer interrupted,” Don’t worry, Mrs. Maberry, I’ll make sure to keep an eye on your son.”  I was just thankful it wasn’t both eyes. 

     Quickly, I glanced out the window and saw slides, swings, and monkey bars, with kids playing and laughing.  With my acute sense of discernment due, in part, to my previous years as a P.O.W. (Prisoner of Washington grade school), I realized immediately that this was probably a diversionary tactic, leading me to believe there would be time for fun.  Then my eye caught the razor wire encircling the playground, and I knew I couldn’t escape.  I was just hoping to get time off for good behavior.

     As other kids started filing in, I began getting insider information.  I would have to wait until recess to get outsider information. 

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