Part-time Role Model... Keep Your Normal Job

We have a standing tutoring appointment. He is 151 months old and not quite half as many inches tall. Hands that correspond to a pair of bare but promisingly sturdy puppy-feet knock on my door at least once a week, usually with homework in tow. This week it is a literature project – read the story, symbolize each character with a shape and color, and create a corresponding poster. Piece of cake. I kick into cool-grown-up mode and reach for the “role-model” hat.

The first snag comes with his need for color printing and my inability to provide. There would be more of these. There is nothing quite like the presence of a minor to pull ambient questionable morality out of the air itself and highlight it in fluorescent pink. Suddenly, at the pause of a 12-year-old, the word “crap” becomes edgy, Stevie Wonder is risqué, and I am painfully aware that the only piece of brown paper in my house is being cut by a young Muslim boy from the whiskey ad in a wine periodical. Meanwhile, where did I put that hat…?

The book is The Outsiders, of which I know nothing except that overall, the story is purple. This is less than useful, so during all the color-snipping and “Part-Time Lover” listening, I hunt for a synopsis to maximize my contribution for my young friend who is beginning to waver and cutting his poster in half to start over. I now know it as a coming-of-age novel written by an insightful young woman whose reflection on preteen boys in her town dispenses wisdom beyond her years. This does not change the fact, however, that I cannot hear the teacher’s instructions, see the classmates’ posters, or crawl into this 12-year-old brain to cure his swelling indecision or undo my corruption. I am a helpless outsider with no construction paper, and my scraps will have to do.

In hour two, we begin to turn a corner. Decisions are made and rubber cement comes on the scene, followed shortly by little brother from downstairs. His mission is the usual, I assume – convey his mother’s undue concern that my friend has outstayed his welcome and recruit him home – but I will never know. He swings the door open just long enough to catch two words in English on our TV, parrot them and exit, stage right.

“Jackass! Jackass!” Oh boy.

The project continues for quite some time, and though the work station moves downstairs, I remain on call for the remainder of the evening throughout several complete overhauls. While I assume the project is long over and graded, I have yet to hear a verdict, to spite my hankerings for closure. It is nice to believe you are a role-model – good, useful, and given an hour or two on Saturdays, able to turn out a fine product every couple years. Grade or no grade, though I am starting to wonder about my role-model cap. I don’t know if this is standard issue, but I think mine might be tall, thin and pointy with a big letter D on it.

Oh well, at least I now know where my good scissors have been.