``You can do this,'' she said on the first day of class. ``It isn't easy but you can do this.'' And she read in their faces the message they were receiving- ``You can't do this. You are not smart enough.''
They were all women except one man who dropped out after the first week. They were mostly in their thirties - veterans of the matrimony wars, their only gain being troubled children and houses they couldn't afford. They were women who had dropped out of high school and needed to make a living. At least two couldn't write.
``They are all honor students,'' the co-ordinator said.
``All? Two can't write!''
``They are all honor students!'' the co-ordinator repeated, ``It is very important to them. They expect A's.''
``I cannot give A's on an essay quiz to a student who cannot write!''
``Then don't give essay quizzes. We have always used multiple choice.''
The woman sensed terminal disapproval.
The class was for medical assistant students. They had to know a lot. Front office, back office, X-ray, lab. She was teaching lab. A little theory a lot of practice. She taught them to draw blood. Read a urine dipstick. Recognize red and white cells and bacteria under the microscope. They attempted the shaky basics of two simple stains. She tried without success to explain the philosophy of standards and controls.
For the sake of anonymity they pooled donated urine into a sort of cocktail and she was surprised and in some way pleased to see the variety of microscopic life that flourished among them. Bacteria, sperm and yeast proliferated. Occasional trichomonas swam about in confusion. They had fun for a while, those women, peering down the ancient monoccular scopes.
She liked to make them laugh.
The cheating bothered her. At least half of them cheated - maybe all. She lectured them.
``The A's don't mean a thing,'' she said, ``its what you can do when you get a job. You need to leave this class saying ``I can do this!'' And they listened and nodded and went on cheating.
After a year she quit the job. ``I'm not cut out for this,'' she said.
Years later she was out running before light on a Christmas morning. A woman was getting into her car with a Big Gulp in her hand. She smiled and half waved as she ran round the woman.
``Hey!''
``Hey what?''
``Didn't you teach at Merlin C.C.?''
``Long time ago.''
``I remember you! I still remember that class. You made it fun. That's the only class I remember. You made us laugh!''
``So what are you doing now?''
``Not much.''
``OK...''
``OK...'' Another half salute.
The long ago student drove away sucking on her Big Gulp and waving to the rear view mirror. Quite suddenly she made a sharp U turn across all six empty lanes. Attempting to balance the Big Gulp she performed a figure eight on the empty highway, her old car lurching and rocking. One more wave and she was gone.
The long ago teacher ran on.
``How about that?'' she thought, and in her reflective running shoes she retraced the figure eight. Still no car in sight.