Signs of Life (11 page)

I call on Matt. “So what this article is saying is that if we
come from a low-income home, we’re already doomed from the beginning.”

“Do you think that’s what it is saying?” I ask.

“Well, I don’t think it’s right, but that’s what it says.” He throws his hand toward the overhead screen.

“But let me ask you this. This is a
statistic
. What does that mean anyway? What do we need to take into account when we look at a statistic?”

Several hands go up. The usual look of apathy has escaped their tired eyes.
How interesting
, I think to myself.

I call on Julia Scott. She is very bright and can usually articulate ideas that the rest of the class struggles with. And we haven’t heard from a girl in a while.

“It doesn’t mean that that’s what will happen to everyone. It just means that this author studied a group of low-income students and high-income students and that the low-income students had a harder time being successful in school.”

Daniel Stevenson’s hand goes up again. He starts talking before I can call on him.

“What if you only have one parent? Then your family income is automatically lower than families with two parents.” He smiles a little as he says this. He wants to be discreet in asking the question, but if there is one thing that ninth-graders are completely incapable of, it is being discreet. I know that Daniel lives with his mother. His father is out of the picture, though I don’t know why. Adam Dolman, who sits two rows in front of Daniel, lost his father two years ago when he was in the seventh grade; his mom told me about it at Meet the Teacher Night a few weeks ago. I am certain that there are other students in the room who come from truly single-parent homes. Not where there is a mom during the week and a dad during the weekend—although those students struggle for different reasons. But Daniel
is certainly not the only boy in the room who is raised or will be raised exclusively by one parent.

I put the lid back on my overhead marker and stand up from the stool.

“Daniel, that’s a great question. I think the answer is not so much to get an answer but to rethink the nature of our questions about statistics.” I cross my arms and take a moment to think about how I want to say this.

“First of all, the short answer to Daniel’s question is yes. It’s obvious. If you have one parent working and taking care of children, then there is less money than if there were two people—in most cases at least. And think of how this could affect these budding vocabularies. If only one parent works, then clearly he or she can’t stay at home, so the child has to have some sort of alternative supervision, whether it is day care, a grandparent, or someone else. So arguably, these children who come from single-parent homes where the single parent doesn’t make a lot of money might have quite a difficult time in school. Statistically the odds of them being high achievers is slim.” I wait a moment and look at the audience. Daniel’s hand goes up again. I know what he’s thinking. Adam Dolman gives me a perplexed stare. I motion for Daniel to put his hand down and I continue.

“But I’m going to be a single mom. My house will only have one income also. I don’t know if my son and I will qualify as a low-income family, but I don’t really care what we qualify as. And to be honest with you, I don’t really care what the statistics say. I know that statistically things are not exactly in our favor. But because I am aware of the statistics, that means I will be even more conscious of how I raise him. We’ll read a lot together in the evenings when I get home from work. I’ll make sure he doesn’t become a vegetable in front of the television and that he doesn’t get addicted to video games. In the summer we’ll
spend a lot of time outdoors. I know that other parents won’t have to work as hard as I will because there are two of them. And I know that he may not have it easy because he won’t have a dad around. But that doesn’t scare me and it certainly does not make me believe that my son will be a low achiever. I think statistics are just that—statistics. Numbers that represent a study that someone performed on a group of people. But they certainly are not my destiny, nor are they yours. So if you come from a low-income house and you look at this article and it makes you mad or it makes you think that you are going to prove it wrong, that’s good. That’s amazing, actually. That means that you are already a step ahead of the game and that you probably will be a high achiever, despite what this article says about you. Because, remember, it’s not even talking about you, it’s talking about people like you. Only you can decide what you’re going to do.”

The room is quiet. For the first time all year I think every single ninth-grader in this room just heard what I said.

“Daniel, do you still have a comment?” He shakes his head. I can see him smiling just a little. He just wanted to make sure he could do it. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t telling him that his dream of graduating from high school and college, maybe even his dream of becoming a doctor or an architect, wasn’t as far off as he thought. It isn’t.

It’s odd how I connect with students now that I have this tragedy attached to me. Students just seem to be different around me than they were last year. Neil Michaels was in my ninth-grade English class two years ago. He was a mean kid. During our
Lord of the Flies
unit, I had to send him to the principal’s office a few times for calling a chubby kid in class “Piggy.” By the end of the first marking period, Neil had a 13 percent in the class.

During Neil’s sophomore year he got himself into so many fights that he was kicked out of school. Shortly after that, his
parents discovered that Neil, not even sixteen, was heavily into drugs and alcohol. They sent him away to a rehab facility for eight months.

For this school year, Berkley High School let him have another shot. On the second day of school Neil stopped by my room. He had a completely different temperament about him; I could notice a change just by watching him walk through the doorway.

He told me he heard about what happened to my husband this summer and he was so sorry. He asked about the baby and if I was nervous about being a single mom. He then told me all about rehab, the various problems he had along the way, and that he was so happy to be back at Berkley. He was relieved he’d been allowed back in. I told him it was good to see him and he nodded. He paused for a moment and I could tell he wanted to say something, maybe another comment about my situation or maybe an apology about being a jerk to me two years ago. But I cut him off. I didn’t need to hear either comment from him. I knew he felt both.

“Neil, we all have something, ya know. We all have something we’re trying to get through. It sounds like you’re on your way to a better year. That’s awesome.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I hope things turn out all right for you and your baby.”

“Thanks, Neil.” He waved and walked out the door.

Last year I had nothing in common with Neil Michaels and I had nothing of value to say to students from single-parent or low-income homes. Certainly I tried to motivate students who had challenges, but it was difficult for me to connect in a profound way with students whose lives were so drastically different from my own. I had a great life with no real obstacles ahead of me. Despite a few minor issues, my life was easy.

Four months after losing Josh, I know that my life will never
be as easy as it was. I can’t say that I’ve reached acceptance, but I understand the reality of what has happened to me. I know that there are people who have to deal with real issues, real problems that statistically set them behind or below others. I am now one of those people. And although I’d rather not be, although I would do anything and give up anything to go back to how it was, I know that I can’t. So I’ll do my best from down here. Daniel Stevenson, Adam Dolman, Neil Michaels, and I are going to do our best with what we have. The one comfort that all of us can take is that we are not the only people on the planet who have something to swim against. We are not alone in our battle to disprove a statistic.

•  •  •

One of the big things I’ve realized in the last four months is that I am unable to do anything without detaching it from the fact that I am a widow. I can’t watch television, listen to a song, drive a car, see a movie, or do anything without having the death of my husband as the primary thought in my head.

For example, I just finished watching
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
. I used to think that Ty Pennington was really the only man on the planet who could be compared to Josh. Ty seems like he could fix anything around the house, he knows how to build stuff, he has really good design ideas, and he looks like he is an incredibly generous and caring person. I always thought Josh could be the host of this TV show. He would be just as charismatic and energetic. At one point while job hunting, Josh and I actually discussed if we could somehow get him to be the next Ty Pennington. After Josh died, I had this vision that I would get Deedee’s house on
Extreme Makeover
. They would just gut the hell out of it and turn it into a million-dollar home.
While filming, Ty would see my selflessness in wanting the best for my mother-in-law and he would hear my story and be moved by my courage and strength as a mother. He would develop a secret love for me and in one of his confessionals on the camera, while he was making some sincere comment about the strength of the family—you know how he does that—he would say, “And that Natalie. Wow, she sure is something.” Weeks later he would call me and say that he built a hand-crafted bassinet or something for the baby and the next thing you know we’re on
Oprah
being interviewed about our relationship and Sears is remodeling our kitchen for free.

But tonight I realize two things while watching the Brown family run and scream through their new house.

1. Deedee could never be on
Extreme Makeover
. The part where they let the families run through the house is really the best part of the show because we realize how grateful the family is. They cry and clap their hands and say endearing things like “We’ve never had a
dishwasher
before!” The little girl who dreams of being a ballerina runs into her room and sees her new dance studio and starts to cry and you really think, wow, these people really deserve this. And you’re happy for them. At least I’m happy for them. But with Deedee, it would get to this part of the show and it would be a disaster. She would be doing the walk-through and she would get to the kitchen and she wouldn’t be able to hide
anything
. She would say something like “You know I really envisioned
oak
cabinets in here. I mean, I like the white. The white is nice. I had just
pictured
oak.” Then they would take her into the laundry room and she would have a whole new washer and dryer set, a beautiful storage system, closets for linens, and she would say, “Oh.” Pause. “Oh, you painted over my stencils on the wall. Okay.” Pause … pause (the pauses would
really throw off the cameramen). Then: “No, I like the lavender. It’s just that, do you know when I painted those stencils? I was pregnant with Chris, right up until the day I went to the hospital, and I was on the ladder finishing those stencils.” And she would stare at the place in the wall where the stencils used to be. “But the lavender looks fine. No really, it’s fine.” The whole thing would be incredibly anticlimactic because with every room you would be able to feel her disappointment.

2. Ty Pennington uses too much hair product for my liking. I am quite certain that he goes tanning on a consistent basis. I could never date a guy who uses too much hair gel or who goes tanning. It would never work out between us.

Every single thing I watch is like this—I can only view the world through my widow lens. I can no longer be entertained. I only think about how it compares to my loss and my current state of grief. For example, Halle Berry is on
Oprah
. She begins by talking about her pregnancy and her superhot model boyfriend. I immediately roll my eyes as Oprah inquires about their happy life together. I remember a week after Josh died I was watching
Oprah
and Faith Hill was on. It was absolutely the wrong thing for me to watch. Faith Hill went on and on about how amazing a husband Tim is, about how their sex life is great, about how beautiful their three daughters are. It was disgusting. There she was sitting on stage, tall, thin, talented, wealthy, married to an equally attractive, talented, wealthy man. And there I was, single, pregnant, and about to go from $1,130 every two weeks to $398.

Faith Hill smiled as she confirmed that Tim was everything he seemed to be—considerate, kind, a good father, and completely sexy. The audience gave their typical
Oprah
audience high-pitched scream and applause at any mention of their sex life. I’ve
always found this to be totally bizarre, and if you’re a regular
Oprah
watcher, you know that this happens often. When Halle Berry starts talking about “trying” to get pregnant, the audience does the proverbial “Whooooo!” and claps. How awkward that must be for Halle Berry, although Faith Hill did not seem to be bothered by it.

Halle Berry is on
Oprah
to promote her new movie called
The Things We Lost in the Fire
. The movie is about a woman who has two kids. Her husband dies and she finds strange comfort in her husband’s best friend, whom she previously loathed. Basically it would be as if I lost Josh, and Doug Heinz, Josh’s longtime neighborhood friend whom I have always suspected to have Asperger’s syndrome, helped me raise my baby. What a horrible, horrible idea.

The interview is a little frustrating because Oprah, of course, is asking Halle about what it was like to
play
a woman who had experienced so much. I am annoyed by this. This is where I go from liking Halle Berry to becoming frustrated with all that she is associated with: “Oh, Halle, tell us what it was like to
act like
you were a woman who lost her husband. What was it like to play
pretend
widow and then go home to your gorgeous boyfriend? Oh, Halle, that must have been so difficult, I mean to play dress-up for a whole day, to actually convince other people that you had lost your husband and get paid millions of dollars for it and then go home to a beautiful man who loves and adores you. What a challenge. Was it difficult to balance the emotional burden of playing a widow and then go home and have sex all the time with your supermodel boyfriend? [Audience screams and claps]. Well, I think we know what the
audience
wants to talk about!” Blah, blah, blah.