Tuesday marked the start of the tutoring year. Zoey and I had been scheduled to meet at 6 p.m. Based on the last two years, I can say she is an eager student and a person who strives to excel academically. I’m happy to push her hard.
In these respects, Zoey is different from the other students I was exposed to before the tutoring program paired us together. In fairness to the others, we probably were not together long enough for me to fairly assess either their abilities or their level of personal commitment, as they had abandoned the program nearly as soon as it began.
However, I assign no blame to these young students. Rather, if any blame were to be assigned, it would fall upon the parents, who, for unknown reasons, chose to forego a wonderful educational resource for their child. For these kids, most of whom are labeled underachievers by their schools, academic failure is a predictable, but sad, outcome.
***
I was looking forward to seeing Zoey again. By the end of last year, she had been accepted into a competitive and quality summer school program. I was anxious to hear about her experiences in this program. I also wanted to see for myself how she had changed since we last met together. Zoey is in the seventh grade and at an age where observable changes can occur rapidly.
I did contact Zoey once over the summer to inquire about the type of book she would like to study this year. Last year, we were reading the Jules Verne novel, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Although it generated some fine discussions, unfortunately, the book proved too long for us to complete during the school year. Apart from utilizing Verne’s imaginative story to sharpen her reading skills, I used our study sessions to prompt Zoey to think about several adjacent issues, including, to my own surprise, the parochial, dare I say, racist sentiments of a French author writing for a white, European audience in the mid-1800s.
In response to my question, Zoey told me that she still enjoyed fantasy. After giving this matter some thought, I selected a book called The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman. It’s the first book of a trilogy entitled His Dark Materials, which HBO later turned into a series. This time I first assured myself that we could cover the entire book within a school year, yet, hoping to give Zoey a jump start, ordered two copies (one for me) of the first book last month. Then, one recent Saturday afternoon, Robyn and I drove by Zoey’s address to drop off her copy, but found the gate locked and ended up tossing the book onto the front porch. Fortunately, I had included an accompanying note with the book, offering my study directions but also requesting Zoey to confirm receipt. However, I didn’t get any type of acknowledgment, which at the time I thought was a bit out of character for Zoey and her father.
Meanwhile, in preparation for the school year, I began reading my copy, intending for us to hit the ground running this past Tuesday.
***
On Tuesday evening, I logged onto Zoom, where a program coordinator welcomed back old and new participants. After a few remarks, she sent us to our respective virtual breakout rooms for the first session of the new school year. I arrived first, but after several minutes, Zoey still had not “arrived.” At first, I thought nothing of it because there are many students, and it can take time to assign them all, especially on the first night of tutoring. However, when I still didn’t see Zoey after five minutes had passed, I became mildly concerned whether I would see her at all. When she didn’t arrive after ten minutes, I sent an email reminder to her father.
A few minutes later, one of the program coordinators came into my virtual room. She looked very young, and for a moment, I couldn’t be certain it wasn’t Zoey, suddenly appearing all grown up. She must have detected my puzzled look because she quickly volunteered that she was not Zoey.
By program policy, I dutifully waited thirty minutes before signing out for the night, disappointed that Zoey had not appeared and that her father did not acknowledge my email. After signing off the Zoom meeting site, I sent a follow-up text to the dad. By then, I was seriously concerned, since I’m quite certain that Zoey’s father is a foreign national and we are living in strange, hostile days. My discomfort only increased when I didn’t hear back from him.
Fortunately, hours later, before going to sleep, I decided to check my messages one last time. There was an apologetic message from Zoey’s dad, who assured me she will be present next week. I was still disappointed that we had wasted valuable classroom time, but also relieved to learn that she’s okay.
