It was January of his fourth grade year. Charlie was playing quietly in his bedroom, just he and his mother at home.
He heard his father come home about 9:00 p.m. Charlie knew from the amount of noise his father was making that he was either drunk or well on the way. Charlie had learned over the years that when his father was sober that Charlie was to be seen and not heard. Charlie also knew when his father was “on the sauce” that Charlie could most likely make all the noise he wanted.
But there was something different about that particular night. Charlie instinctively knew that he needed to maintain his distance. Charlie somehow sensed danger in the air, and that feeling emanated from his father.
Poor Charlie’s mother was never so fortunate. His father always made his mother a one-person audience for his drunken performances. Charlie kept quietly playing in his room, but he was listening.
And tonight Dad was in rare form. His personality always manifested differently depending on his degree of intoxication. Tonight’s performance was “The Drunkard’s Sermon”. The longer the sermon continued, the louder.
Charlie finally poked his head out of his bedroom and looked into the living room. His poor mother was sitting in the center of the room in a swivel chair, and his father was circling her, spewing his inane and, at times, incoherent version of inebriated gospel.
About a minute after Charlie looked into the living room, his father pulled out a gun and aimed it at Mom’s head. Charlie, having grown up in an alcoholic environment, frequently got nervous at what his father did when he drank, but never excited. Charlie’s goal was to stay out of Dad’s way, so Charlie didn’t become the object of attention.
But Charlie had never seen his dad pull a gun on his mother. This did indeed excite and terrify Charlie. He ran through the living room, into the kitchen, and out the back door, yelling at his mother, “Let’s get out of here!”
As Charlie crossed the back porch and started down the steps, a gunshot sounded. Charlie barely had time to think, “Oh my God, he’s killed her!” before the screen door flung open, his obviously unharmed mother literally sailing across the porch and down the steps to grab an astonished Charlie by the arm. They ran together into the safety of the dark January night, neither of them with a coat as their departure was abrupt and unplanned.
Shivering in the cold, Charlie’s mother guided him to the neighbor’s house across the road. Their kind neighbor drove Charlie and his mom to a cousin’s house where they spent the night. Mom found a flake of green paint from the living room ceiling that had fallen into her hair when Dad shot above her head as she was fleeing the house.
They returned home the following morning, not knowing exactly what they might find. They found Dad passed out in bed. He roused up and demanded to know why Charlie was not in school. Dad cursed and declared that he would drive Charlie to school. That terrified Mom, and concerned Charlie, but not for long. As Dad tried to rise from bed, his hangover manifested itself in a tremendously disgusting display of illness that placed his father once again flat on his back in bed, leaving poor harassed Mom yet another mess to clean.
Charlie did not make it to school that day. His class learned long division, and Charlie could not divide when he returned to school the following day. Charlie burst into tears, alarming his saintly teacher, who questioned why he was crying. “I can’t do this stuff!” he blubbered. The teacher replied, “Ah, that’s nothing to be upset about. Cooke, get over her and show this boy how to divide.” Charlie’s classmate taught him how to divide in record time, and Charlie’s academic worries were over for the day.
Charlie confided to his teacher why he had missed school the previous day. Like the wise sage she was, she listened, nodded with understanding, and didn’t make a fuss. Practically everyone in the community knew that Charlie’s father was an alcoholic, and many people kept a watchful eye, doing their best to ensure that Charlie’s needs were met at school and church. Charlie was, after all, a well-liked, respectful child, and his community loved him and his Godly mother and helped them when they could. Charlie’s teacher ensured that Charlie had many opportunities to be successful and feel loved by her at school.
But Charlie wondered what to expect when he got home at the end of his day back at school after the only day he had missed during the entire year. Dad was sober and regretted what he had done. Once again, he told Charlie what he would say over many times throughout the remaining few years of his life, “When you grow up, don’t do the things I’ve done.”
Charlie grew up to be a successful and respected member of his community, though the odds were against it. Dad’s intoxication had resulted in medical conditions that rendered him disabled. There were no opportunities for Mom to work, and Charlie was what was termed a “welfare baby”. When his Dad died while Charlie was in high school, Charlie and his mom were even more poverty stricken. At one point there was no household income at all. Had it not been for the church they attended and family helping out on occasion, Charlie and his mom would have been homeless.
Both Charlie and his mother survived, thanks to the love and attention from others.
This is a true story that happened half a century ago, but like the old television show Dragnet, the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Sadly, many similar or worse stories could be told of several children in our schools today. It is easy for educators to delude themselves into thinking that all children are being raised as they were, and it would be wonderful were this true.
Sometimes it’s hard to help the Charlies and Maggies—often it seems that nothing can be done for them. At the very least, a kind word and a warm smile go a long way.
Educators, remember as students return to school this week that you very well might have several Charlies and Maggies in your classes. Remember, there is possibly no greater love than kindness you can share with them. Charlie and Maggie may never remember one thing you taught when they look back on their school days; however, they will remember how good you made them feel.
Teachers, teach, so that one day you won’t have to say, as I have so many times, “Forgive me for not being better to the Charlies and Maggies in my classes.” Teach to make this your, and your students’, best school year of all.

ANSWER TO QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 27
What happens when chemists die? ANSWER: They BARIUM.
QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 28
What country’s capital has the fastest-growing population? (See next week’s article in historicunioncounty.com for the answer.)