Free Naughty by Nature by Judy Angelo

his.  He’d been joking with her, accepting her ribbing and even getting
in a few jabs of his own.  They’d laughed together like always, and if you
didn’t notice that Lydia Spencer’s face pulled to one side when she smiled, no-one
would know anything was wrong.  On the surface they seemed so jovial.
    But inside, behind
the brave façade, Wolf was mourning for his mother.  How could this have
happened to her, a strong fifty-six year old woman who exercised every day, ate
the right foods and had never smoked a single cigarette?  Strokes were for old
people, weren’t they?  His mother shouldn’t have had to fear being touched by
such an attack, not until she reached about seventy.
    But here it was,
an otherwise healthy woman knocked on her back by a sickness without rhyme or
reason – at least in this case.
    And it was not
just his mom who was suffering.  His dad was, too.  He looked over at the man
who stood on the other side of the bed looking down at his wife with a mixture
of bewilderment and concern.  With the shock of his wife’s illness he now
looked a lot older than his sixty-three years.  He looked lost and helpless, a
man who’d always been so dominant and bold now reduced to a state of confusion
and fear that his vibrant wife would never recover.
    Wolf knew that he
had to be strong for both his parents and so, whatever he was feeling inside,
all they saw was the smile on his face and all they felt was the firmness of
his grip and the warmth of his hug.
    “By tomorrow
you’ll be back in Canada,” he said as he squeezed his mother’s hand.  “I know
the doctors here have done a lot to stabilize you but now I want you home where
we can do more tests and get you the therapy you need.  I want you home, Mom,
where I can be there for you.”
    “You know that’s
not necessary,” she said, smiling. “I’ll recover, whether it’s here or back in
Canada.”
    “Mom, you're
coming home with me and that’s final.  It’s time to stop playing the tough girl
and let Dad and me take care of you for a change.”
    “I agree.” 
Previously quiet, Ruben Spencer now spoke up as if awaking from a daze. 
“Listen to the boy, Lydia.  He can talk good sense sometimes so we have to
listen.”
    Wolf gave his
father a look.  Sometimes?  But he didn’t have the heart or the strength to
tackle him on that one.  So he simply said, “Then it’s settled.  Two against
one.  We leave tomorrow.”
    ******
     
     
    “In analyzing this
poem what are some of the literary techniques we can employ?” Tessa’s eyes
skimmed the faces of her twenty-four eleventh grade students.  Her gaze settled
on one who had his head down, fully absorbed in what looked like a graphic
novel.  “Franklyn?  What do you think?”
    “Huh?” The boy’s
head shot up and he gave her a guilty look.  “Er, what was that, Miss Tyndale?”
    Tessa frowned,
then without releasing him from her glare, she said, “Class, can you tell
Franklyn what my last question was?”
    “Literary
techniques," some said.
    “How to analyze
poems,” one piped up.
    “Yes, Franklyn,
today’s class is about analyzing poems.”  She walked down the aisle to his desk
in the seventh row and plucked the book from his fingers.  She ignored his
scowl.  “Now, can you tell me some of the literary techniques used for
analyzing poems?”
    The sullen boy
clamped his mouth shut, looking like he didn’t plan to say a word that day. 
Finally, when Tessa folded her arms and stood staring down at him, he seemed to
realize that she wasn’t going anywhere.  He licked his lips then a word came
out, almost in a groan.  “Personification?”
    Tessa continued to
stand by his desk but her face softened into a smile.  “Very good, Franklyn. 
See, participating isn’t that hard.”  Then she held up the graphic novel. 
“I’ll keep this for you until after school.”  As she was walking back to her desk
at the front of the class she glanced around