The Call

I tutor a seventh grade student in science and math on Saturday mornings. He is a student I used to teach who now goes to a different school and whose mother and I have always had a good relationship.

He is a smart kid, but one who doesn't have a lot of patience for learning all the silly stuff in his math and science books. He’s your typical “Why-do-I-need-to-know-this?” kid, and his mother has had quite a time making him believe that he actually might need to know something about fractions and decimals out there in the real world. So, instead of fighting with him on a daily basis about it, his mom pays me to do that for two hours every Saturday.

I have a great relationship with this family, and I think that, while she seems overwhelmed most of the time, the boy's mother is doing an incredible job. She, however, isn't so sure, and she requires a lot of reassurance from me. If I were a lawyer, I could bill her for the hours I spend responding to her emails or listening to her talk through the phone. But, as it is, I am just a lowly tutor, and I get paid for exactly two hours on Saturday mornings, regardless of the number of phone calls I take from her during the week...

Which is why, when I saw her calling my cell a few days ago, I rolled my eyes and let it go to voicemail. I’d had a long day and was finally nearing the end of it. And besides, I already knew what she was going to say: "Do you think he'll be ok for his math test tomorrow? How do you get him to study? I just can't; he won't listen to me! Oh, please tell me what you did on Saturday will be enough because I can't make him study more tonight. He doesn’t listen to me. I don't want to fight with him. Oh, Charlotte [or Chaw-lotte, as she tends to say], do you think he’s ok?" And on and on and on...

I do appreciate where the mother is coming from, and she only wants what is best for her child. Yes, she can be high-maintenance, but oh, how I wish every parent I have the pleasure of dealing with throughout the school year were as concerned as she is about her child's success! What a difference that would make. At the same time, though, I am paid to be her child's tutor for two hours on Saturday mornings; I am not an on-call therapist (although I'd take it as a paying job if she were offering), and, while I definitely like her, I am not her friend.

So yes, I let the call go to voicemail, and then I didn't even listen to the voicemail. I would do it eventually, just not right that moment. Well, not an hour went by before I saw that she was calling me again. Once again, I rolled my eyes, but this time I picked up. I figured I’d better just get the call over with; it was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not.

I tried to say a cheerful hello, but the mother wouldn’t have noticed if I’d said something nasty or vulgar; she was already talking away – fast, loud words that I couldn’t make out as angry, scared, or excited. I couldn’t decipher her tone at all. I just heard her saying: “Chaw-lotte, oh my gawd! Oh! My! Gawd! He got a C minus! A C minus, Chaw-lotte!!!

I took in her words, and by the time she took a breath and I’d had a moment to consider all I’d been through with this boy and his mom, I’d realized that she wasn’t angry, scared, or excited. She was thrilled – absolutely beside herself with joy. In her brief pause, I expressed my own joy at the good news. Then, all of a sudden the mother got serious. “Chaw-lotte, let me ask you something,” she said, almost in whisper. “I’m not crazy for being so excited about a C minus, am I? I mean, I know it’s not a good grade, but this is the first test he’s passed all year!”

I laughed to myself because the fact is, I do think the mother is a little bit crazy. But it’s not because she was excited about her son’s C minus. I was excited about her son’s C minus too! But I was even more excited about the fact that she’d wanted so desperately to share it with me. And to think I hadn’t wanted to answer her call. But ever since, I’ve been picking up.