Object of Your Love by Dorothy Speak

Author:Dorothy Speak
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466891845
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

THE SUM OF ITS PARTS

TARA SAID, “That Irmgard!”

“That Irmgard!” she said one Saturday afternoon at the kitchen table where she was doing her homework.

Franklin was opposite her, sorting his hockey cards.

“That Irmgard! I just love her!” Tara was in the co-op program at school where they go out half-days into the community and work in some job situation to get an idea of different walks of life. Harlan had got her a placement at his school, with the kindergarten teacher.

I said, “Irmgard, Irmgard.” I was washing up the lunch dishes. “When will we stop hearing about Irmgard?”

Tara said, “Irmgard’s wonderful. Isn’t she, Dad?”

Harlan, reading nearby on the family-room sofa, looked up. “She’s a very fine teacher,” he said neutrally.

“She knows every one of those kindergarten children inside out,” Tara told us. “She listens. She understands. She loves them like a mother. She sees their faults and yet she doesn’t criticize. She brings out their strengths instead. They adore her.”

I said, “You’ve turned her into a saint because of her wooden leg. Would you canonize me if I had one?” I heard Harlan sigh from the couch.

“Irmgard is strong and deep and good,” Tara said, her voice quivering with admiration.

I said, “And, of course, I’m not.”

“Why are you so insecure? Why do you take everything personally?” Tara asked bitterly, her eyes blazing at me. The hatred of teenagers is so pure. Pure as the wind. It takes your breath away. Sometimes Tara looked at me with such loathing that I had to wonder who it was she was seeing.

“Did you hear what she said, Harlan?” I demanded, looking to him for support, always a mistake.

“You do seem to be threatened by other people’s strengths,” he said with gentle honesty.

“Do you think that, Franklin?” I asked, looking at our son, who gave a little, torn smile. He was an expert at skating around conflict.

“I don’t suppose we could go down to the store and buy me some more hockey cards?” he said, his voice like a sparrow’s song. He was at that golden age of childhood, which seems to fall between the ages of ten and twelve. Children at that age are blessed in a way that they never will be again in their lives. They are full of optimism and naivety and such deep trust in life that it breaks your heart in a way. He played goalie on a bantam team. It was enough to make him happy. Life could be that simple.

Tara said, “I want to model myself after Irmgard. I’ve decided I’m going to be a teacher.”

I said, “A teacher! You’re going to throw yourself away on a pack of brats like your father did?”

“What do you think I should be?” asked Tara. “A waitress?”—which of course was a dig at me. Then for an instant she looked so like my mother. It was not just the thick black hair falling against the fine bones of her face, but something more—in her expression I saw my mother the

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