An Idiot Says What?

First things first.

Hil wants me to tell the counselor, Mrs. Nilan, the purpose of her intended visit the next day.  She wants to be the first calamity of the day, bar none.  And she wants me to tell Lars, if he has to know.

I tell her he does need to know. He is her Dad, however lame. If the shoe were on the other foot (as on his hobbit foot and not my pointy black patent slingback pumps) then I would surely hope that he'd tell me all the details. As her parent, I need the whole scoop, not just the cherry on the top. 

And besides, she'd be returning to his house that day. If she needed his support, his guidance, his beefy, doughy shoulder to cry on, he should be in a position to truly be there for her, to the extend that he is emotionally capable, which is somewhat nebulous.

She does not want to have to tell him herself. 

I agree to the following:

I will call Lars privately and so that Pat does not overhear. And I will text Mrs. Nilan so that she has time to prepare for what she is about to deal with.

I call Lars. It is 9 pm so there is probably a lot of sludge in his system by now. I carefully relate the details of the event and the name of the culprit, and how Hil is reacting, and what the plan is to handle.

"OK," is all the response Lars can  muster. I think the cat reacted more dramatically. 

I imagine my mother telling my Dad the story. And I imagine my Dad chucking his newspaper and dashing out the door to cream the other kid's old man.  Or in all likelihood, turning off the Lawnboy and mopping his brow as he puffed up his massive chest to go call the guy out of his house in his booming I-WILL-BURY-YOU voice.

But not Lars. No pulse. Either because of a good buzz or the fact that nothing that happens to Hil actually matters. I am not even sure which one to hope it is.

And I compose a lengthy but factual text to Mrs. Nilan. And then I delete anything that sounds like I might be gnashing my teeth.  She is an excellent support for Hil. I need to not threaten her by looking like the one that flew over the cuckoos nest.

My tasks accomplished on time and with precision, I braid Hil's fresh-from-the-shower hair and tuck her into bed. She considers sleeping in my bed with me but says she is brave enough not to. I see myself to bed after kissing Pat good night and nod off confident that the wheels of Middle School justice will be turning by daybreak.

In the morning, I make a comforting breakfast, pass out notes and allowance, and offer to walk into school with the kids.

Pat still has no idea what has happened so he makes a face.  Like I'd just suggested he wear a brassiere on his head to class.

Hil assures me that she is A-OK. She is going to get three hall passes and gather up the other two girls so they can go to visit Mrs. Nilan together.  My brave little Katniss-girl. I am so proud as I watch her march into the school to take care of business.

But on my drive in, as I bob and weave through heavy rush hour traffic complicated by sun glare and that wretched Zoo balloon, I get a call from Mrs. Nilan. 

Evidently the wheels of Middle School justice can turn in many directions.