More Than I Could (81)

She knows she can handle the situation better. She just didn’t know how.

There’s not much I can say to her because I don’t know how she should’ve handled it either. But it’s tough to be heard and listened to—two completely different things—if the audience doesn’t want to listen. And, in this case, Mrs. Falconberry doesn’t want any part of that.

“So how do you think Dad will handle this?” she asks, nibbling on her bottom lip.

I blow out a breath. “Well, he’s logical and loves you more than the world. So you have that going for you.”

“It’s a three-day suspension. I think his logic will dissolve pretty fast.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s not going to be thrilled. But I'm sure he'll understand once we tell him what happened.”

She grins. “When we tell him what happened? Does that mean you won’t make me do it alone?”

“Were you trying to get me to say that?” I ask, pretending to be shocked.

“Maybe.”

I smile. “Yeah, I’ll help break the news.”

As I look at her across the table, I notice she’s sitting a bit taller. More confident. And I wonder if finally squaring off with Mrs. Falconbury and being heard helped her establish boundaries that make her feel safer.

I know it would’ve me. Because when I had to do it—when I had to risk more ridicule and draw even more attention to myself to be taken seriously, it helped.

Even if it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

“Ken, I’m proud of you.”

“Why?” She smiles mischievously. “Are you a rebel? Do you think I’m a boss because I got suspended?”

“Absolutely not.”

She laughs.

“I’m not saying you handled this whole thing the right way,” I tell her. “And I’m not condoning skipping class or getting into verbal altercations with the teachers, nor do I think getting suspended is great.”

“Noted. Let’s get to the proud of me part.”

I make sure she knows I’m unamused. “It’s not easy to confront people when they aren’t treating you the right way because you don’t always have to be polite. You don’t have to—you shouldn’t—allow yourself to be another person’s punching bag. You don’t have to pay for their bad days or moods. Stand up for yourself.”

“That should be easy, but sometimes it’s not.”

“I know. As wild as it sounds, sometimes taking the beating in whatever form it’s coming in is easier than putting up boundaries.” I lean closer and look her in the eye. “But I don’t give a shit if someone is your teacher, your boyfriend, a judge—whoever, if they are harming you—speak up. Because if you don’t use your voice, you’ll never be heard.”

She grins. “Got it.”

Great. “Want a drink?”

“Sure.”

I get up, wishing I could pour a rum and Coke, but grab two glasses of water instead.

“Do you know what I don’t get?” she asks.

“What’s that?”

“Why is my teacher so mean? What did I ever do to her?”

I hand her a drink and sit back down. “Honestly? Who knows?”

“It’s unfair.”

I take a long drink, letting the water cool me down before I respond.

“You’ll never be able to figure out why people act as they do,” I say. “Mostly because it has nothing to do with you.”

“Of course, it does. She acts that way to me. It’s all about me.”

“It’s not,” I say, chuckling. “Think of it this way—you say that I treat you differently than your dad. Right?”

“For sure.”

“Okay. In each situation, what’s different?”

She furrows a brow.

“You are the same person. The situation is the same. So what’s different?” I ask.

“Well, it’s you and Dad.”

“Right.” I point at her. “Your dad is a single dad. He must keep you alive and healthy. You are his whole, entire world. He worries about you every single second of every day. He’s not just thinking about this event—he’s wondering how it’ll affect you a year from now. A decade from now. When you’re retiring from your job and collecting Social Security.”

Kennedy laughs. “No, he’s not.”

“I assure you that he is. But me?” I shrug. “You’re a friend’s kid, so I don’t have the same concerns for you that he does. But I had similar situations growing up, so instead of worrying about how this will affect you in high school, I’m thinking about how you feel today. Same problem. Two different angles.”

“Oh. Okay.” She nods as if it makes sense.

“So how we react to what you do has nothing to do with you,” I say. “We react the way we do because of the things we’ve experienced. Do you see what I’m saying? How people act comes from a place of fear, pain, or worries you could never know because you haven’t lived their life.”

“I’m using that in reverse. ‘You don’t even know my life.’ I’m going to say that to the next person who suggests I should be a morning person or that a party isn’t the place for me.”