Free Alpine Icon by Mary Daheim Page A

college scholarships. A love of learning that will sustain our students throughout their lives.”
    In other words, by eighth grade, they'll stop wetting their pants, I thought to myself. As the mother of a fourth- or fifth- or whatever-year college student Adam might be by now, I had no illusions. “Immediate goals?” I queried, trying desperately to look interested.
    “Well.” Ronnie placed a long, thin hand against her high forehead. “The curriculum, of course. We're already addressing math. But science is a priority. And computer technology. The equipment we have now is obsolete. The school got it through one of the timber companies before I arrived. It's strictly Dark Ages, not at all what our students need to get a sense of the real world. My dream is to hire someone who can write grant proposals. Greer Fairfax has volunteered, but…” The thin hands sketched an arc.
    “Math, science …” I ticked off on my own ordinary fingers. “What about history, geography, English, and … religion?”
    “History.” Ronnie seemed amused by the concept. “My feeling as an educator is that cultures are far more important. Geography—if you want to use that outmoded term—is factored into ethnicity. English is important, of course, but traditional reading and writing teaching methods are—to be frank—worthless. Again, I feel thatwe can give students a richer understanding of the world around them through books and writing assignments that are of a more global nature.”
    In my head, I tried to translate the principal's rationale. Instead of Dick and Jane and Sally, it sounded as if first graders were going to get a dose of M'Bawa and Abdul and Yu Ling. Maybe that wasn't all bad. “But what about religion?” I persisted.
    The patronizing smile that Ronnie bestowed on me would have rankled a more sensitive soul. “Social issues, that's the wave of the future. What is religion, but the cornerstone of organized interpersonal behavior and relationships?”
    I was dumbfounded. “I thought it was more … spiritual,” I said, unable to keep from glancing at Our Lady of Mount Carmel. The plaster statue looked ticked off, but no doubt I was letting my imagination get the best of me.
    I felt myself shrinking in the plastic chair, getting smaller and more insignificant by the moment. No doubt countless parents sitting in my place had felt the same way. “What about preparing them for the sacraments?” I tried not to cringe as I awaited the principal's response.
    But Ronnie surprised me. “Absolutely,” she asserted. “First penance and the Eucharist are still important.” She continued speaking, apparently oblivious to my expression of qualified relief. “They symbolize the Church's involvement in humanity.”
    They symbolized a lot more to me, but perhaps this wasn't the time to say so. Somewhere along the line, my original intention of letting Ronnie offset Ursula Randall's abrasive remarks had been lost in a sea of educational hyperbole. Desperately I tried to salvage something from the interview.
    “Are you saying that Catholics should work with the rest of the community?” The question sounded half-assed at best.
    Again, Ronnie nodded in that sage manner that wasbeginning to annoy me. “Definitely. We need to teach our children so that they lose a sense of self without losing self-esteem. It's tricky, of course. But statistically, Catholic-educated students are going to become America's leaders. The public schools are finished. It won't be long before they can't produce pupils who can survive higher education. The graduate programs in particular will be filled with privately taught students. Obviously most of them will be the products of Catholic schools. Everyone else will— alas—fall by the wayside.”
    “So,” I said in a faint voice, “you expect from the expanded school board … what?”
    “To uphold our mission statement,” Ronnie replied without hesitation. “Actually I'm drafting a new