On the carpet he did it, if only it hadnt been on the reading rug,
impossible now to use that little patch of colored squares
shed worked so hard, called so many stores to scrounge, just so
kids could hear stories, get the fuzzy feelgood rhythm of school
and not have to sit on cold bare terrazzo, cause who knew,
despite requests, how often the caretakers actuallybrought round the mop, not even a wet but a dry one, to swab
down the snit-spot of infant three-four-year-olds whose only
entry duty was toilet training, no admittance to Junior
Kindergarten without the basic social skill this lad hadnt quite
managed, and the evidence was now spreading through the
unknown fibers of the rug and the only thing to do was marchall tots out to the hall, call the parent and hope to get through to
a caretaker if one could be found in the hundred thousand square
feet of space they mopped daily in school, theyd informed her
earlier . . . perhaps to fend off exactly this summons. Later,
the father collecting his boy was most abject, but surly somehow
to be taken from real duties, forced back here to deal with this,when even his own wife had to work, and surely this must be
Teachers responsibility, hmm? this handling of pupils
needs? This is a public school he kept saying, as though he
personally paid her wage to dry his sons butt, and indeed she
was mindful of this truly Canadian story, of hardships
in leaving home to immigrate, with infants yanked from theirfirst culture, from extended families who would if they could
help, support their efforts to earn, rise up and exist in two worlds,
give and gain with each, and he was young and she grieved for
him as she did for most of her sons generation, the ones who
wanted all and couldnt settle, nor could they pay. You know
Im most surprised by all this he tolled, voice raisedagainst the din of fledglings whod been rounded to the hall to
jangle loudly as doors slammed through the general wipe-down
and finally collected back and calmed and herded to
a new activity, a standing exercise even more grabbing than
sitting on plush and listening, and then Teacher had to be
distracted at the door, kept from them by this other blunder,the man whod not leave but linger saying My wife has no
problem with him, knowing he could neither expunge nor
deny the liquid evidence that hed lied, covering fears
his boy would ever be excluded, a collective shame
their helplessness, and so he persisted, flashing search-light
smile and crinkly eyes on her face, while aside shecould see and sense the other kidlets escaping from her, the class
getting lost from where she was leading them now on the brainy
and pushy path of tutoring tiny tots, twenty-nine more
than the one abject little fellow firmly being pulled by the arm
as his father finally receded, calling over his shoulder, See, he
does know how to pee in the toilet . . . ? In Punjabi he can do it?