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She was at the correct room; Mr. Bright’s room. She hesitated to open the door at first, because she didn’t know exactly what she was going to say to the man’s face. There was no face to put on the person she had heard about form her son. That was probably what was hardest to face.
Opened the door, she did, and walked into the open classroom. The walls were blank and the chalk-board was un-touched.
“Good after-noon. Are you Mrs. Smith?” He said with a smile. Weird how he smiled at her, when just the night before Mrs. Smith was screaming at him over the phone. In fact, the bright smile frightened her.
“Hi,” she spoke slowly. He was at his desk, watching her as she made the way down to his desk. He was leaned back in his chair, resting his head on the knuckles of his fist. Mrs. Smith sat down at the chair opposite end of the desk , to where he was sitting.
“So, what is the problem?” Mr. Bright asked, raising both his eyebrows high. Only one of her brows raised in confusion, also with a frown.
“I thought I told you,” Mrs. Smith voice was harsh. Mr. Bright giggled a bit.
“Mrs. Smith, there is a difference from screaming and telling,” He said with a smile, on the right side of his face.
“I was not screaming,” Her brows caved in and she leaned forward.
“If I have to hold the phone away from my ear, I’d call that screaming,” The smile stayed on his face. She stared at him, and then leaned back in her chair. Mrs. Smith kept her lips tight together, and Mr. Bright looked at her with one eyebrow up, waiting. She looked down at her lap.
“What are you teaching these kids here,” she asked with quickness, then looked up at the teacher, “Mr. Bright?” He folded his lips in side his mouth and rested his elbows on the desk.
“I am teaching them to think.”
“How?” Mrs. Smith asked slowly this round, with her eye lids close together and head tipped to the side a bit.
“Mrs. Smith, I am a teacher,” His head bobbed a bit, “My job is not to make kids memorize ridicules facts. Rather, it is to make them think,” He ended off with his mouth hanging open by half an inch.
“What is ridicules is the stupid question you gave my child,” She then leaned forward and her eyebrows still kept caved, “‘Would you rather have a child of yours die as an infant, or at the age of five.’” He nodded with his eyes staring at the desk.
“Mrs. Smith, that is a real question. I could ask my students to write me a paper on something they had learned in our teachings. But that would be ridicules, because they would look at the facts and pick what ever is easiest to write about. They wouldn’t be thinking about it, just writing about it. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Smith, I don’t give a s**t as to how my students write,” He again leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and then held his knee with both his hands. Mrs. Smith eyes widened and the bridge of her nose crinkled.
“What,” She started to say.
“I am a human being, Mrs. Bright. I think I can say what I like to,” Mr. Bright interrupted, “Anyways. What I care about, his their thoughts. Their understanding of themselves, because that’s what’s important: the student knowing their on selves. For a question like that, Mrs. Smith, they have to get the answer from their own self, not from a text-book.” His words were fast coming out and with each word he leaned even closer to her; they blew back Mrs. Smith to lean back, again, in her chair. She swallowed and shifted her hands onto her lap, where she stared at them. Mr. Bright stood from the desk, and launched his hand out. She sat still. Soon after, Mr. Bright dropped his hand, then turned to face the open door. He waited a second more, then swiveled his head to see Mrs. Smith: “Have a nice evening Mrs. Smith.” Then, he walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.