Grief For France On A Scranton School District Bus
By Charles Orloski
15 January, 2015
Countercurrents.org
Friday, January 9, 2014, my bus parked in front of a Scranton public (charter) school, the heater turned-on full blast, I waited for classes to dismiss at 2:45 P.M., and the boarding of approximately 22-elementary students. On way to school, climbing the city's steep East Mountain Road, I listened to National Public Radio updated reports on the methodical killing of 12 people at Charlie Hebdo's satirical newspaper office which risked caricaturing the Prophet Muhammad. As an attractive teacher, who wore a beret, approached the bus, I pushed the switch which automatically opened bus door, and students began to climb four steps, take seats. As always, I politely told each entrant to “watch their step,” and cautioned students about icy road conditions on drive home, and vital need to behave. The kids were excited to get out of school for weekend, and as typical, older 7th and 8th grade students went directly to rear of bus, took seats, talked about exciting weekend plans, and of course kept eyes on cell phones and exchanged fun pictures with one another. In Paris, one supposes a more grim atmosphere prevailed on school buses, while the ancient bells of Notre Dame rang for dead cartoonists who dared fate.
Before air brake release, departure, I looked into bus large rear view mirror, shuddered – mythical appearance of a mad gunman, intent on taking hostages for some bizarre reason? In contrast to my dark mindset, laughter prevailed, and as F.M. Radio 98.5 played popular rap music, some kids danced in seats, except for one female 8th grade student, A, who always sat upfront, stayed aloof from fellow students.
A is very different from her school colleagues. Long brown unkempt hair, a pretty and thoughtful face, she did not dress in high Boscov/Victoria Secret fashion. A often told me about a male friend from Norway, and how she longed to quickly return home and “Skype” with him, get further acquainted. A told me how she tried attending Scranton Public School, but after years of enduring bullying and humiliation, A's mother enrolled her into the current Scranton Charter School, presumed to be more civilized, less cruel to students who failed to reach standards of being “cool.” The November weeks prior to Christmas 2014, A kept telling me how excited she was about getting her mother's gift of a new Halloween costume. She loved Christmas and loved snow which consistently threatened maneuvering my long Scranton school bus route. None of my business, and breaking bus company policy, I asked A about Christmas Day church services, and tried to determine her family participation in religious services common to the holiday.
“Before dad and mom divorced, I remember going to church a couple times,” A
replied.“I completely understand, A. I guess Americans, including my own family, don't
need Baby Jesus to get into good Christmas spirit.”“Yes, Chuck, my mom puts up a tree with ornaments, a wreath on front door, and every
Christmas Eve night, we get a tray of delicious Nearra's Pizza!”“Sounds fun, A. Nearra's Pizza is probably tastier than the pirogi, prunes, cabbage
and mushroom soup my family devours every Christmas Eve.”“My mom says they're killing Christmas by all the crazy gift buying.”
“Sometimes holy days get killed without firing a shot, A.”
“Yea, Chuck. My mom's marriage got killed by dad's loss of a job, no money for bills.”
On Friday afternoon, January 9th, students entered bus and took usual seats for the long ride home. As A mounted bus steps, tear in eyes, she immediately showed me a black ink tattoo, hand-drawn upon the top of her right hand, below knuckles. It said, “Jesus loves Charlie Hebdo and friends!” Students piled inside the bus, animated as usual, weekend relaxation and “sleepover” fun at hand. A took seat, directly to right and behind my driver seat. She explained how sick she became after learning about the French cartoonist murders on T.V. While in class, A told me how her mother kept sending text messages about French police manhunt for terrorists at-large. “My mom's good like that, she worries a lot about terror and all, and we cried the day Newtown happened.”
“By chance, A, did anyone at school talk about the Paris killings?”
“No... but I did learn about Crusades and Muslims, and the pretty dangerous characters
who want to kill Americans now, and make us worship Mohammed like them.”“Sounds like no teacher ever mentioned how our government got heavily involved in the
Middle East and made millions of Muslims very angry?”“No, not as far as I know. But one teacher here told us that American kids are much better
educated and smarter than crazy Muslims who always kill innocent people, flew planes
into World Trade Center and all. (Sigh) I can't stop thinking about poor Charlie Hebdo
and his dead friends, Chuck.”“Your feelings are beautiful, A, and the tattoo gives me hope. Maybe someday a
teacher will explain some truths about different ways people around the world think,
worship, and act? In January 1981, I toured Jordan, Egypt and Israel... learned things
unknown about Muslims and Jews. In fact, when I landed at Cairo airport, entered
the facility, I heard an electronic muezzin's voice, a call to prayer.... masses of people
stopped, dropped to knees, bowed heads to ground. My my, culture shock! I will never
forget the sight of an old man whose forehead was calloused from decades of touching the
ground in prayer.”“Yikes! Can't imagine anyone at rush in Scranton airport and Nearra's Pizza dropping to
knees to say prayers, Chuck!”“So true. My old Riverside High School teacher, Vic Maestri, used to call that people's
'individuality,' either good or bad, their unique understanding and peculiar life choices.
Kids considered Mr. Maestri weird.”“Are you saying Charlie Hebdo tempted getting murdered for only drawing funny cartoons
about Mohammed?”“Uh... well, yes. That's exactly what I'm getting at, A. May I add something else?”
“Please do so, I'm interested.”
“Of course you remember that bully with whom you attended classes in 6th Grade?”
“Yes, he was very mean, I cried and begged mom to not make me go to school anymore.”
“Not to reawaken bad memories, but I recall you mentioned he drew funny pictures of
you. Awful sketches depicting you with big head, pimples, crooked teeth, and how distressed
and embarrassed you became.”“Yes, yes, I remember. Once in class I threw a math book at him, and teacher sent me
to Principal, got a scolding. She told me I'm partially at fault, said I should have
complained more to my teacher. I insisted I did so, but no one at Sumner School listened, no
one cared.”“That's a hard but good lesson in life, A. The boy's awful drawings really hurt you
and resulted in your tossing a book at him?”“Yea, Chuck, although he stopped drawing pictures of me, he continued to harass me
every chance he got. That's the reason why I'm here, a passenger on your bus. I hate that
boy, but now mom got me to orthodontist, got braces!”“Very sorry, A. Glad that's behind you. In a better and more educated world, I'd
prefer cartoonists like Charlie Hebdo to be sensitive to the fact that what they create is
often unforgivably insulting to people's deep held beliefs, feelings. Unfortunately, we live in
a very sick society, and one's getting attention is most important.”“Yes, Chuck, a “sick society.” I don't even want to sit in the rear of the bus anymore... all
that noise. I'd rather sit up front, warn you when cats and dogs jump out from curbs!”“Try not being so hard with students who sit in the back. They might eventually think like
you. Why seven years ago, I drew a cartoon-sketch of my Roman Catholic company boss,
depicted him as a caveman! Came close to getting fired for that cartoon, could not rely on
free speech... I admittedly deserved firing,.”
'Well, Chuck, at least boss-man didn't hit you. I guess the moral of your story is to keep
praying for France and all the crazy Muslims out there?” .“Suppose that works, but I'd add prayers for people like the American kid who bullied you.
Maybe pray he does not grow older, gets into a powerful position where his bullying ends up
feeding processes which causes grief, ushers in Columbine and Guantanamo acts of
hatred and revenge?”“Columbine? I'm too young to remember much of that. And Guan... what's that?”
“O Guantanamo? It's a US military prison in Cuba, rhymes with Geronimo. We're out of
time, A, maybe we can take up Guantanamo some other day?”
At 3:30 P.M., arrived at A's North Scranton bus stop. She used to give me a hug, but due to appearances, propriety, I had to ask her to stop, bump fist at most. A dismounted steps, she looked back, smiled, began an icy trek north to her home where a Christmas wreath welcomed her to the door. Turned off 8-way light system, shifted bus into drive, put on National Public Radio, continued to next stop. A broadcaster spoke about gunfire and explosions in Paris, manhunt for al-Qaida linked brothers who wrought violent expression to their faith. Turned-off radio, began to realize I just took Montaigne liberty, gave a risky and condensed religious lecture to a public school student, A. Tonight, may the evening bells of Scranton Saint Peter's Cathedral ring for all who have very little in the bank, and have forsaken practice of harmful pranks.
Charles Orloski lives in Taylor, Pennsylvania. He can be reached at [email protected]
.
Comments are moderated