Third graders have always been my favorite. They're inquisitive and honest and so oblivious to the world but they're so innocent and the innocence is just always so beautiful. I'm the third grade are teacher at Archerbahn Grade School in a small town of little sound, Ohio. I've been here for about four months as the school's art teacher, my girlfriend and I moved here as soon as I got out of college. There's nothing special about me really. I'm an average looking 28 year old man. I have a strong passion in all that I do and I hope one day to be able to become a world famous fashion designer and I'm taking classes at a community college in order that I may get a fashion degree and can apply for a job at Guess and Calving Klein. It's a frivolous goal but it's something to work towards. It's not like I don't love the job I have ; I love these kids and they're extremely important to me, but at the same time, I have girlfriend and I really want to be able to have a stable job when I *finally* pop the question.
But I mean, I love these kids they are my life and being an art teacher i'm a lot more lax and chill than most of their other teachers and all the children seem to genuinely enjoy being in my class. Grading the assignments is pretty easy, I mean it is art and they're only third graders. Most of the art classes are spent making little trinkets to take home to their parents and ornaments for Christmas time.
It was around Father's Day and we were making nice pictures that we were all going to give to our dads. I felt that kids learn by example so I had drawn a picture of my dad and me making a tree house back when we actually used to talk. I walked around the room and looked at everyone's drawings. I stopped by to talk with my favorite student, Alice. Alice was very talented and often talked about becoming an artist when she got old. And as most of you know those words are music to my ears and she often stays after class to ask me questions about what I did in grade school and how I became such an "amazing" artist. But today Alice had a different question for me.
"Do you have any kids?" she asked.
I smiled and said "no, Alice, I have a girlfriend but we're not ready to be married."
"Yet" if think while my mind wanders about the almost two thousand dollar wedding band sitting on my night shelf.
I was thinking about it so much that I almost didn't hear what she says next.
"That's too bad. Do you know how I know you would be a good dad?" she doesn't wait for me to answer.
"You never hit me."
I slowly come to realize what I am hearing and I look at Alice and I see that she is staring right at me her little eager eyes staring right back at mine.
I choke up but then swallow my pity and I thank her and say that no father should ever hit their children.
Alice looks at me very confused by what I said.
"But daddy says it'll help me grow strong" she replies
It's that look of confusion that hurt me the most. This is a child. That's the kind of thing that makes it absolutely heartbreaking. A kid casually talking about that kind of thing because they have no idea how unquestionably horrible it is. For them it is just how things go, and that hurts so much. No child should feel that way. She doesn't know that what's being done to her is wrong; it's the only life she knows. I want to ask more, to know all the details but I just can't go burying any deeper into this with a little girl.
I look down to see her drawing something truly mortifying. It's a picture of her sitting in the tub with her dad and at the bottom in neat purple crayon letters she wrote "bath time with daddy". Now I understand that little children may need to take a bath with a parent in order to keep them safe, but a child. A small innocent little girl who couldn't tell that what was happening is wrong. The bell startles me put of my confusion and I go back into teacher-mode.
"Alright class, hand in your papers as you walk out the door, have a nice weekend."
As the class files out the door giving me smiles and pretty pictures I see Alice come down the line last, as usual with questions bubbling at her lips. But this time instead of asking me one question after another she just says one thing and stops.
"Is my Daddy a bad person?'
I try to form words but nothing will come to my mind. I want to tell her yes and that she should run away or come stay with me but I'm afraid for her and I'm afraid for myself. Of course, she might be lying but the way she looks at me and the matter-of-fact way she stated her father physical abuse really worries me. She looks at me disappointed.
"That's okay"
I smile.
She smiles back. "Have nice weekend Mr. Kerley!"she runs out the door before I can reply.
I go through the rest of my day on auto pilot giving very mechanical responses and barely touching my lunch. After school I walked to the house we had bought (living about two miles from school, it usually easier for me just to walk.) it's fall so the leaves are changing color and there isn't much of a chill. All the time I was walking all I could think was "Someone who got the privilege of being father to one of the nicest and most beautiful eight-year-olds I had met would hit her when he got mad and then being the pervert he was lay in the bath tub with her and do ,god knows, what else. It was like a part of me died that day and I fully understood the secret that there are people in this world that are total and irrevocable shit.
I reached my front door and I was barely able to turn the knob let alone push that wood paneled door open. I get inside and see the boxes stacked around my house, most of them opened with a few unneeded items placed around the house. Carmen, my girlfriend, won't be home for another hour. I closer the front door behind me and drop my bag with the kid's art work on the floor. Several different papers fall out ; one of them being Alice's drawing; I pick it up and move to the couch.
I just sit and stare at it. It so wrong what this man can and will do to someone who is his own flesh and blood. It's so sad how much Alice's life will be affected by these events. She'll probably marry some older guy; she'll never truly find that guy who treats her right. That's what a dad's job is for his daughter. To teach her exactly what it means to be loving, and caring and charitable. I feel tears streaming down my face and I put Alice's drawing to the side so it doesn't get tears on it. I cup my face in my hands and I sob, I sob more than I did when my brother died, I sob more than I did at my sister's wedding , I sob more than I have when I found out my best friend Andrew had died in a plane crash. I've had all these tragic events happen in my life but I always had a dad who would help me deal with them. I always had a mom who would protect me if my dad was too rough on me or wasn't being too sympathetic. It made me wonder what Alice went home to: it made me wonder what I could do.
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The next day was Saturday and I woke up groggy and exhausted. I looked over on the bed to see my girlfriend sleeping soundly. Her short blonde hair was covering her eyes and she had a smile on her face. When she had gotten home last night; I was still on the couch and Alice's picture was still on the ground. She came over and sat next to me on the couch. She didn't say anything; she just laid her head on my shoulder. After a while, she got up and grabbed my hand. She lead my down the hall to our bedroom. I sat down on the edge of our bed and took off my tie and collared shirt. My mind was still reeling with thoughts of how someone could do those...horrible things to another human being; a child. And then I fell asleep. I hear Carmen turn on the shower. She is such an amazing woman. Someone I could see myself spending the rest of my life with; Now all I need is the courage to tell her that. She turns off the shower and I hear her blowdrying her hair and getting ready for the day. I look over at the clock 11:57. Shit. I had dinner reservations at Jag's for 1:00 and I still had to stop by school.
I throw the sheets off my bed and hurriedly look for clothes to throw on
