Chapter 1
When he heard the girls singing, Peter McDonnell swiveled his desk chair and looked out his window. He loved where his desk was and that he could leave his work for a few minutes, turn and look out at his kids. It was exactly the way Peter felt about the students in his school. He knew all their names and had an open-door policy if students needed to speak to him.
Donna Harris and Sybil Levine were two yards from his window playing “Patty Cake.
I haven’t seen kids play that in a long time, Peter thought. He smiled and watched the girls’ hands flying as he heard them sing:
“Patty Cake, Patty Cake, baker’s man,
Bake me a cake as fast as you can;
Pat it, prick it, and mark it with a B,
Put it in the oven for baby and me.”
Peter hadn’t heard any of the kids play that hand game…for years it seemed. There were some newer ones that involved very complicated hand jive, but “Patty Cake,” had apparently had a revival. He smiled and remembered that as a boy, he had only ever played that hand game with his cousin Annie. Annie loved “The Wizard of OZ,” and when she was eleven, she had grown her brown hair long so she could part it in the middle and wear it in long pigtails like Dorothy’s hair in the movie. She always asked Peter if he thought she looked like Judy Garland. Peter had learned to say, “Yes.”
Annie taught Peter the first verse that Donna and Sybil had sung, and they had played it for a very long time. Peter recalled how Annie’s pigtails flew about as they did the hand clapping as they sang.
Donna and Sybil had started singing again as their hands flew back and forth. Peter felt a tightness in his throat. They were singing a new verse; he had never heard these words before.
“Patty Cake, Patty Cake, witch’s pin,
Find a pretty neck and press it in,
Turn it, and twist it, until you see the red,
In less than a minute she will fall…down…dead!”
They immediately sang it again, but this time, the words were just slightly different:
“Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Witch’s pin,
Find a handsome neck and press it in,
Turn it, and twist it, until you see the red,
In less than a minute he will fall…down…dead!”
Peter McDonnell was out of his chair and heading toward the door of his office. Didn’t any of the teachers hear that? That’s not appropriate, and where did they get that from? Peter passed his secretary, Mary, who looked up from her typing as he headed left the office and headed out of the building to speak to the girls.
The elementary school he administered had a four-acre campus and a garden plot that each class could tended one period each week. There was also a grove of trees with a clearing in the center. It was big enough for a single classroom to gather in there for the reading period or story time. They’d had a contest to name the area, and the name “The Enchanted Book Forest,” had won the majority of votes. Sometimes, when he worked late, and was leaving his office to talk to the parking lot, he gazed at “The Enchanted Book Forest,” and in the growing dark, Peter thought it looked less enchanted and more as if it might be called, “The Haunted Forest.”
Donna and Sybil were talking to their teacher, Helen Shaeffer and the three were giggling about something. “Hi,” Peter began. “Donna, Sybil, do you mind if I speak to Ms. Shaeffer for a minutes?” The girls shook their heads and went giggling down toward the playground area. Fourth grade was almost the end of the giggle period. After spring recess, you never heard a fifth grade girl giggle.
The girls in the fourth grade had decided that Ms. McDonnell and Ms. Shaeffer were a romantic couple. Peter and Helen knew this and were careful not to do anything to add to the myth. In reality, Helen was seeing one of the P.E. teachers outside of school, and as far as anyone knew, Peter wasn’t currently seeing anyone. Peter was seeing someone, but he hadn’t shared this with anyone at school.
“Helen, I heard that new verse the girls were singing. When did that start?”
Helen looked puzzled. “New verse?”
“The one about the witch’s pin,” Peter said.
“I was right here the whole time they were playing. I didn’t hear anything new, just the same old baker man bit.”
“I was sitting at my desk, and I heard the girl’s sing a second verse that I never heard before. It had something about jabbing a witch’s pin into someone’s neck and then they feel down dead,” Peter said.
Helen recoiled, “Oh, my God, are you sure?”
“I was sitting at the desk; I heard every word. Do you mind if I talk to Donna and Sybil?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t want to scare them,” Peter reassured Helen. “I just want to discuss why we don’t sing about people hurting other people.”
“Of course,” Helen said, but then she bit her lower lip and repeated, “Be careful, Peter. As I said, I was right here, and didn’t here them say anything about pins or people falling dead. I wonder if you didn’t hear it coming from somewhere else.”
Peter suddenly felt slightly awkward and confused. If Helen said she was standing there, then that’s where she was. Still…he’d heard it plainly.
“I’ll be careful,” he said.
Donna and Sybil were still sitting on the railroad ties that bordered the sandbox that a surprising number of grades actually played in. They were whispering but stopped when Peter sat down next to them.
“Hi, Donna. Hi, Sybil. How are you both.”
“We’re good, Donna said. “She was a very pretty Black girl whose family came from the Haiti. Peter loved the way a slight creole crept into her English. Sybil smiled and said, “Yeah, we’re good. How are you?”
“I’m also good and curious. I think you girls were having a private conversation,” he started, “and I’m sorry for interrupting, but can I ask you something?”
The girls nodded and got serious. After all, the principal wanted to ask them something.
“I was in my office and enjoying hearing you play ‘Patty Cake.’ And I was very interested in the second verse you sang after the Baker’s man verse. Where did you get that from.”
“My mother knew the Baker man verse,” Sybil said.
“Oh,” Peter said smiling, “she probably played it too. Yes?”
Sybil nodded.
“But I’m talking about the verse you sang after that?”
The girls’ looked at each other and had furrowed brows.
“I don’t know a second verse, Mr. McDonnell,” Donna said.
“Me either,” said Sybil.
“The one about the witch’s pin?” Peter asked. He forced a smile as he said it. I don’t want to scare them, he thought.
The two girls looked genuinely confused.
“How does that go?” Sybil suddenly asked. Now she looked more interested than confused.
“I don’t remember all the words,” Peter said, “but it was pretty unforgettable.” He thought quickly about whether he should repeat the violent part, especially as the girls were saying they didn’t know it. He tried a different tact. “Do either of you know if there’s a second verse to ‘Patty Cake?”
“I never heard one, but I bet we could write you,” Donna said. She looked at Sybil. “Let’s write a second verse.”
“Yeah!” she was excited. “After we write it, we’ll make you a copy, Mr. McDonnell. Do you want us to put a witch’s pin in it?”
Peter smiled and forced a little laugh, “No, you don’t have to do that. Just write it the way you want and I’d love to see it when it’s done.”
Peter got up. He thought that if the girls had sang that verse about the pin and people falling down dead, it would either never appear again, or it would appear and then he could discuss it with them. He’d done his job.
“I’ll be eager to see what you creative genuises come up with,” he said, as he got up off the railway tie. Automatically, he scanned it to see if it was getting splintery. Every six months, the people who made the ties came out and they closed the sandbox, as they treated the wood with some chemical that prevented splintering. It’s fumes weren’t harmful, but the pre-k and kindergarten licked things, so it was wise to give it 24 hours with covered with a protective tarp.
Peter walked back to Helen Shaeffer. She had a whistle in her hand, because the recess period was ending. She held off blowing it. “What did they say?” she asked.
Peter shrugged, “They didn’t seem to know any second verse.” He paused and smiled, “but they decided to write a second verse and show it to me when it’s done. Let’s see what they write.”
Helen nodded and blew the whistle as Peter stepped aside. The kids who hadn’t seen him before, grinned and waved and many called out, “Hi, Mr. McDonnell.”
Peter grinned and shouted, “Hey, kids! Enjoyed recess?”
A boisterous shout of blended, “Yeah!” with “Ooh!” and other sounds of positivity.
“GREAT!” he shouted back and waved as he went into the building as they lined up before Helen and the other two fourth grade teachers.
As he walked into the office, Mary looked up from whatever she was typing, probably one of the drafts of a report he had done on safety procedures at the elementary school. “Are you okay, Peter?” she asked. She looked genuinely concerned.
Peter and his secretary were a mutual admiration society. She was an incredible worker handling anxious parent calls with such skill that by the time he took the call the parent was far less anxious. She faculty loved her and treated her like a combination friend, sister, mother and confessor.
“I’m okay,” he said, and he shared the story of the now mysterious ‘Patty Cake’ second verse.
“Trust those amazing instincts of yours,” Mary said. “If you heard it; you heard it. Those are very sweet girls, but even darling little ones love scary and even violent songs. After all, it’s not like it isn’t on the news every second.”
Peter nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He quickly told Mary about the girls volunteering to write a second verse.”
“Brilliant,” Mary said. “That will either put an end to it or give you something you can talk about with them.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” he said. “I just don’t understand how Helen Shaeffer didn’t hear it too.”
Mary shrugged. “It’s so noisy at recess, she might have been distracted at the time.”
“Very possible,” he started back to his office, when Mary stopped him, “Sorry, you have that observation in Jim Kellen’s class. How’s he doing? Any better?”
Jim was a sixth grade teacher, and he underplanned his classes and was terrible at returning homework and tests in a timely way. They had rules about that, and Jim was always pleaded amnesia.
“He’s putting on all the face expressions of someone who is working hard and doing the right thing,” Peter whispered, then he shruggd expressively.
“That’s too bad. Well, good luck.”
Peter nodded, and rushed into his office to grab his laptop, then headed to the sixth grade wing of the school. The building had two floors with wings on each. The first floor had the Pre-K, K and grade 1. The second floor had grades 2, 3 and the library and the third floor had 4, 5 and 6. There was another building that had the gym, the music classes, and the art classes.
The minute Peter entered Kellen’s classroom, his stomach tightened into a knot. Jim was busy on his laptop and the kids were reading their copies of The Devil’s Arithmetic by Jane Yolen. It was the holocaust novel that the kids read when they got to that part of the history curriculum. However, because of the often intense content, it was a book that the teacher read with the class. Peter sighed, not only wasn’t he following protocol for the book, but it was way too early in the year for Kellen to have gotten up to World War II and the holocaust.
He knocked at the door, even though it was opened, and Jim looked up, shut his laptop too quickly, and came over to greet Peter. Peter took a deep breath. He was feeling decidedly confrontational, but couldn’t be like that with the kids in the room. Besides, most of them had stopped reading and were looking up and smiling at Peter. He turned from Jim for a moment and smiled back at the kids. Some went back to their books, but about half kept looking at what was going on.
“Hi, we talked about this visit,” Peter began. “I was coming to see you teach a lesson.”
“Yes,” Jim said, grinning in a way that actually raised Peter’s blood pressure. Jim was one of those people who wrote poison pen letters. He had written several about Peter ‘harrassing’ him and sent them to the union representatives. He’d met with Judy and Cliff and was careful not to disclose any information about Jim except that he was working with him which included observations. Judy and Cliff were good people, but they played their role and asked how many observations. Peter had calmly answered, “As many as I think are needed.” And added, “My goal is to support Jim. If he’s a success we’re all successful.” That seemed to satisfy them.
“Why don’t you have a seat,” Jim said, pointing to a vacan chair in the back, “and I’ll get on with the lesson.”
Peter sat down, and Jim told the class to close their books. He went to the blackboard and wrote: The Devil’s Arithmetic on the board. Then he said, “So, let’s share what you’ve read and what you think about it.”
The entire rest of the period was the kids eagerly talking about what they read int he fashion of all students who know that if they talk for a long time the period will be over and they won’t have to listen to the teacher. This seemed fine with Jim. When the bell rang, for change of class, he praised the kids for their ‘excellent reading skills,’ and sent them on to music. He hadn’t focused on any of the significant themes or written anything on the board but what the kids had offered.
As the children left, saying, “Bye, Mr. McDonnell,” as they headed out the door, Peter continued to sit. Jim looked a little damp as he came over to Peter.
“Aren’t they terrific?” Jim said. “They get so much from their reading.”
“Jim, they were very good, but there were also many comments that showed a lack of understanding. It’s hard to wrap your head around the things the Nazis did to children in the concentration camps. Many of them didn’t understand the shower scene and how they could put naked children in a shower and gas them, and you said nothing.”
Jim’s face changed. He still looked damp, but now he also looked angry. “They were sharing the book from their perspective. I didn’t think it was fair, at this juncture, to step in and tell them they were mistaken.”
“I don’t think you need to say their ‘mistaken,’ at all. I think you needed, for openers, to have a pre-reading discussion to guide their thinking. Then, as we all agreed, the teacher is supposed to read with the kids. This is a very heavy book; they need adult support with many parts of it, especially today.” Peter took a very big breath. “What was so important on the computer?”
“What?!” Jim wasn’t trying to hide his anger.
“Class time is not time for you to work on the computer…whatever you were doing.”
“What do you mean whatever I was doing? That sounds an awful lot like harrassment, Peter?”
Peter calmed himself and said, “I want you to be successful, Jim. I truly do, but it’s not going to work if you decide that anything you do that I question is me harrassing you. I’m going to write up what I saw, and I’m going to come back tomorrow. I expect to see a teacher leading his class in a valuable lesson.”
Peter got up and headed for the door, but Jim hurried in front of him. “Are you giving me an ultamatum?”
Peter was now so angry, himself, that he had to stop, stand still and wait before he answered,“Do you have difficulty understanding my words? I said I expect to see you lead the class in a valuable lesson. That’s what I expect of every teacher in this school including myself. Excuse me.”
Peter had to actually brush against Jim to get to the door and leave. He could feel Jim watching him and then hurrying to his desk. No doubt to write a memo to Judy and Cliff.
Chpter 2
(to be continued)
Looking forward to the saga continuing. Good stuff and timely Halloween fun. Well written. I can smell that elementary school.
🌹🌻🌸💐💚💜❤️🌼😍🥰