An American Tragedy
Some families experience unspeakable violence.
As a high school principal, I often call the local police. They would come at my request to handle
student fights, and petty theft and small drug deals. But when they called on me, it was because of
something much more serious in nature.
So when I see a police officer making his way to my office
this morning, I held my breathe. Did I
lose a student to death? Who had been arrested?
Was there a terrible accident? The
officer enters the main office and acknowledges me with a facial gesture; I
wave him in to my office. I close the
door and he draws a breathe. “Steve Norton’s mother is dead, we just found her and
I need to talk to him right away.”
Each year, I have a ½ dozen students who lost parents to
death. But the police were never
involved. So this is very, very unusual.
“What about the father” Where is he?” I ask.
“Sorry, I can’t talk about him. We are under investigation.”
That is enough said.
I understood the police think the father murdered the mother. I call my assistant principal in and apprize
him of the situation. I instruct him to call for Steve’s guidance counselor and
then I want him to go and get Steve and escort him to my office.
Gary too asks about the father and I don’t hesitate to tell Gary
of my suspicions. “The father may have murdered the mother.” The police officer neither confirms nor
denies this accusation but he flinches. Maybe because he had not been secretive
enough and now the cat is out of the bag. Or maybe he is relieved that I spoke
the truth and he wouldn’t have to be so evasive.
Within minutes, the guidance counselor is at my door and I
don’t recognize her. I forget that Denise
left today on maternity leave and we have a substitute in for the next 12 weeks.
There is no time to ask for her name which I knew last week but right now I completely
forgot because the door opens up and in comes Gary. Steve is trailing right behind. I ask Steve to take a seat and he is intimidated
by all of these adults in the room. The
police offices had his back to Steve and this perplexes him.
“Did I do something wrong? “ Steve asks worriedly.
I look to the police officer but he doesn’t turn
around. It is clear to me that I am
going to have to deliver this awful blow to Steve.
“No Steve, you aren’t in trouble. Have a seat, sit down. I
have terrible news to give you.”
He sits down and I blurt out the news, nervous and saddened that
this boy has to hear this from strangers.
He is shocked, speechless. He
doesn’t cry. He just puts his head in his hands and shakes his head in disbelief. He rocks himself. And we just stand there,
dumbfounded.
I continue to mumble on because I don’t think I could take
the silence. I tell Steve how sorry I am but my words seem so shallow. I tell him he can come to any of us for help
and I begin to introduce his new counselor, but of course, her name has not yet
come to me. And so I stumble over this
introduction with an awkwardness that appears thoughtless, insincere.
Then Steve asks me, “What about my dad. Does he know?”
The police officer does not respond. I ask Steve if he knows where his dad is.
“He should be at work”, Steve quickly replies.
“Where is that?” I ask nervously.
Steve gives the name of the company where his dad works. The police officer writes this down.
“Steve, do you have a cell number for your dad.” I ask.
“Yea” and Steve whips put his cell phone. “I’ll call him
right now.”
“Wait”, I tell him.
“Why?” He is confused.
“Steve”. I draw a
deep breath, “I think the police think your dad may have caused your mother’s
death.” I can’t believe these words are
coming out of my mouth. I want to throw up. No one else speaks and we are all
silent. Steve is stunned. He doesn’t know what to do or say. He just wants to get out of here.
The police officer finally tells Steve that they are
gathering his younger brother and sister and bringing them to the police
station. There is another sister, who
was sent home from school earlier today, due to illness. She was the one who found their mother, dead,
straggled, on the floor. She is already
at the police station.
The police officer wants Steve to come with him to tell the
younger siblings. He is not really coherent; he isn’t crying but he is visibly
distraught. He doesn’t want to leave
school in a police car but he wants to break away from here. So Gary offers to take him. He wants to go to the middle school and get
his brother. So Gary and Steve take
off. The police officer finishes up
scribbling notes and then he leaves.
Casey, the counselor, and I are left alone and we don’t know
what to say to each other. We are filled
with sorrow and horrified by the ugliness of what just happened. After a few, long, painful minutes, I say to
her, “well, welcome to Springfield.
Nothing like a baptism by fire.” It is all I could come up with. I have no words of comfort for her, this
stranger on my staff. We sit in silences
for a few more minutes and then she nervously excuses herself. I tell her she can go home for the day. She
doesn’t go home but I check on her later in the day. She is numb and I tell her
that tomorrow should be easier. But she knows I can’t guarantee that. And I just hope that she will return
tomorrow.
Within the hour, the story broke and I am getting phone call
after phone call from reports. I do not
speak to any of them. The Nortons live
a block from the school. So by the end
of the school day, the house had been corded off with police tape. Reporters and their trucks are stationed
right outside and the house had an eerie, deserted look to it already. All of my students charge over there and
start their own investigation. And
everyone is abuzz about this family’s misfortune.
By the end of the day, the father turns himself in. He is filled with regret. They had been fighting again and he had had
it with her. So he started to chock
her. But he claims he never meant to
kill her. Now he is terribly, terribly
sorry. He cries into the television
cameras.
To add to this drama, one reporter went to Mr. Norton’s
father. With no shame, no thought of his
grandchildren, Mr. Norton Sr. claims that the mother deserved it. ”She was a real bitch”, he thoughtlessly says,
“She drove him nuts.’
That night, I spend the evening, alone, in the darkness,
dazed, trying to comprehend what happened. I berate myself for not having been gentler.
For not having the right words to comfort this child in my care. But I know that there are no right words for
this ugly kind of tragedy.
Yesterday, four children lived in a home with two parents
who fought all of the time. Today, they
lost both parents: one to death, the other to jail. They also lost their innocence, their sense
of security, stability, their home, each other and a multitude of other
emotions which will haunt them forever.
