Daily Doses

On a beautiful sunny morning I could tell all wasn’t good as Mrs Otta traipsed across the sandy field head fixed towards my class with somewhat a Goliath’s gait. She and I had been good friends for a few years, but any time she shows up in my class, apart from break periods…………….it wasn’t a good thing. The look on her face today wasn’t good at all.

Mrs Otta, as the students’ call her has an official title of student counsellor, and within her duties she helped students with a range of things: subject/career choices, university admissions and any another in-school difficulties a child faced. Outside her duties, she was warm-hearted, kind and willing to listen to any issue a kid might have. At times it involved simple issues as arguments between friends. Other times the issues were weighty as an unplanned pregnancy. Nevertheless, she went above and beyond her job description to help them.

“I’d love to see that every troubled kid have a perfect life,” she will reiterate on many occasions. “It’s my dream. Although, no matter how much I try some seem unfixable,” she added with frustration behind her beady eyes, “most times I let God take control.” But she had never given up on an issue; small or large, students bring to her.

Today was no exception, as she entered into my classroom, and whispered into my ear, “I need Theodore Kantiok, then added, “and you.”

Surprised, I looked up to where Theo, being the abridged version students call him, was seated and called. Theo, could you come here.”

The tall, slender boy with knotty hair and dark bulgy eyes had only resumed my class last term, and I really didn’t know much about him. I heard his dad had enrolled him into the school and was rarely seen, but he never for once skipped school or delayed in payment of his fees. He has also never spoken about his dad, mum or siblings either. He was always by himself, rarely associates with other kids. Although, not an “A” student, his grades never suffered. Your archetypal nondescript personality who you wouldn’t give much of a passing to, however, there was a etched sadness in his eyes and smile, which made me wonder what might have caused it. Which was why when I’d call his name, with a stout faced Mrs Otta close by, myself and the other kids who heads were now turning to each other with asking eyes, “what has this quiet boy done?”

Mrs Otta drew in the chalk dust filled air before speaking, “We’ve a problem, Mr Theodore. It’s your dad.”

Theo stiffened; a sudden fear crept into his eyes. “Is he alright?” he asked. “Where’s he?”

Mrs Otta sighed, “He’s in my office.”

Theo grimaced, his shoulders dropping. “Oh,” was all he said.

We followed Mrs Otta to her office, and when she opened the door, I didn’t need to see the problem. I smelled it.

An older and taller version of Theodore who was seated on the visitors’ chair tried to stand up, stumbling awkwardly. When he spoke, his breath retched of alcohol.

“Th…you forgot your….” then he held out a pair of white P.E short.

Theo in an instant was at his side, helping him back into the chair. “Daddy,” he whispered, his voice filled with pain.

“Why’re you here. You shouldn’t be driving in…..” He raised his eyes towards us. “Forgot to hide the keys this morning,” he said.

“You mean this happen often, Mr Theodore?” Mrs Otta queried gently.

The older man looking perplexed asked, “Have I done something wrong?”

Lifting a comforting arm on his dad’s shoulder, Theo bowed his head, nodding, “……just the drinking, not the driving,” he said. “I often hide the car keys when he’s drunk. He hasn’t sobered up since mummy died,” tears cascading underneath his large white eyes.

Mrs Otta breathed deeply, Well, it won’t be nice to put him in a taxi all by himself and I don’t know how to drive,” as she turned to me with begging eyes. “Would you?” Hesitating for a moment, “I will be glad to drive Mr Kantiok back home,” I finally said, “but you would have to cover my class till am back.”

“Not a problem,” Mrs Otta said with a thankful smile.

Sheer relief scrubbed Theo’s sweltering face, as he apologized relentlessly, when we helped his dad into the back seat.

“He took to drinking heavily after my mom died in an accident,” the involuntary matured child told me, “…..but he’s good and looks out for me.” Wiping his forehead with the back of his palm he added, “he lost many of his contracts, but…”

The words were drained off my tongue, as I could only mutter a catholic phrase wishing Mrs Otta was here with her soothing words, “You shouldn’t give up on him…he needs you to pull through. You’re his blessing.” He sighed half-heartedly, so I guessed he must have heard different versions a thousand and one times like a broken tape. “One day he’ll realise what he’s doing, and get back his wits….”

“That’s my prayer daily. I dream of such a day,” Theo said with a whisper, a smile gratefully playing on his lips.

We pulled up in front of a sun washed green bungalow, and together assisted his dad unto the sitting room’s large three sitter sofa. I handed Theo the car keys, which he proceeded to hide behind a stack of old newspapers.

As we boarded a public vehicle to school I marvelled at Theo’s love and patience. Most grown-ups would have given up on such a situation Theo faced daily.

“Wishing you luck,” I told him as we approached the school gate. “I will pray for you and your dad.”

“Thank you,” he said, “for everything. I’m so grateful.” His eyes were reddening again, and against all the rules of student/teacher handbook, I leaned and hug him.

Then I smelled what bonds sons and father. There was alcohol on Theo’s breath. I drew back in an instant and stared remotely at him, not knowing what to do or say. He stared back at me and I thought I saw remorse in his eyes, but no it wasn’t, just a plain and ugly fixated stare.

“It helps me through the day,” he said and walked through the opened pedestrian gate.