Enemies to Love

By Kathy Luder

Because the boys were all gone for some reason or another last night, my mom and I had dinner alone. We had quiche. My dad and brothers are too fussy to eat it, so it’s a bit of a treat, and it was fun. Afterwards, while I dried and Mom washed, we got into a little debate.

“Any homework?” Mom asked.

“Just this stupid assignment from Mrs. Pavlov, but I’m not doing it,” I said.

“Really?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah. It’s no big deal. She doesn’t read anything we hand in, and half the time she loses it. It’s just busy work. I’m just going to make it up during lunch and hand it in.”

Mom had stopped scrubbing the pan in the sink. Her face was frozen, eyebrows arched, lips pursed. She didn’t say a thing. She just looked at me.

I hate that. My heart started racing. I could feel myself getting nervous. I went on. “I’ve got it covered. The whole class knows it’s a joke. It’s not a real assignment. She’s just punishing us because Jason won’t do his homework. She can’t make him do anything, so she thinks if she is mean enough to us, we’ll pressure him into it.”

She turned back to the pot. “What’s the assignment?” she asked.

“She wants us to read a column from a news magazine or a newspaper and find four rhetorical devices or examples, like metaphors, and then explain them. It’s supposed to be one page. I can just make it up. She won’t know and doesn’t really care. I hate that class.”

“That assignment doesn’t sound that hard,” she said.

“But it’s not fair. I can’t make Jason do his homework. And she really doesn’t read our assignments anyway. She is the worst teacher I have ever had,” I said, stomping my foot.

“Who is the teacher?” she asked quietly. I kept drying. “Is she asking you to sin?” she asked.

“No, but she shouldn’t be a teacher,” I said. “She doesn’t like kids. My English is better than hers.” My voice was getting louder.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s the teacher. You’re not.This won’t hurt you.” Her voice was still quiet. She put the pot in the dish drainer and turned to me. “You have to do it,” she said.

“Mom, you don’t understand. She always picks on Molly and me.” I felt my foot stomp of its own accord as I backed away from the sink. “Even the principal thinks she’s mean and unfair. He told us at student council that she was in trouble with the school board.” Now I was pacing the floor. Mom stood still, her eyes following me. I stopped. “He told Molly that he’ll even change her grades if Mrs. Pavlov isn’t fair. He’s done it before.”

“It still doesn’t matter,” she said, taking my towel and picking up the pot.

I just stood there and heard myself whisper, “I hate her.”

Mom froze. “No, you don’t. Take that back.”

“She’s the worst. Okay, I don’t hate her,” I said.

“Good,” she said.

“But I really dislike her,” I added.

“Of course. You can’t help that. But you can be nice. And you can obey,” she said.

“Mom...” I started to protest.

Mom put up her hand. “That‘s enough. She’s a person. She has problems. One of them is the principal. Another is Jason. And you’re one too. Don’t you think she can tell how you feel?”

“But she’s mean!” I said.

“Maybe she is mean because no one is nice to her,” she said, bending over to put away the pan.

“But she started it.”

Mom stood up and twisted around, tossing me the towel. “Then you stop it. You show her what love is.”

“What? You want me to love her?” I asked.

“Yes. Love her. Respect her...even though she doesn’t deserve it. Being mean to a mean person never made him nice. And I seem to recall someone once saying ‘Love your enemies.’” She smirked as she walked out of the kitchen.

I grabbed the paper and a notebook and sat down at the table. I figured I’d just plow through it, but Mom came back in with a magazine. She sat down beside me. “I found one,” she said. Then we worked through the assignment together. Mom’s interest got me interested, and I was surprised how much essayists depend on rhetorical devices. We could have finished in ten minutes, but we kept finding better and better examples and really enjoyed ourselves.

When we finished, I said, “Mom, I’m sorry I was so snotty about Mrs. Pavlov. I really don’t hate her.“

“I know Kathy. The One who said ‘Love your enemies’ first loved us. That makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does,” I said, feeling the grin spread across my face.

“Kathy?” she said as she stood up.

“Yeah?” I said.

I saw that smirk return as she turned to leave and said, “That was a rhetorical question.”

Kathy Luder loves quiche and metaphors.You can e-mail her at kathyluder@ hotmail.com.