Failing Mr. Fisher

 “Does this scare you?”  The tall man asked as he gestured across the desert landscape as the July heat created shimmering images in the basin located a few miles south of the newly built high school.

“No,” I answered, scanning the sparse terrain.  “I grew up in the desert of southern California, so sand and sagebrush are nothing new to me.  Besides, the heat I experienced in the Imperial Valley was about 25 degrees hotter than it is here.”  A warm breeze blew and felt refreshing against my brow.  Both of us were wearing ties and long-sleeved shirts, but I noticed sweat starting to trickle down the tall man’s face.

He continued the tour of the school.  It was almost completed with the exception of the gymnasium.  The hardwood floor had yet to be laid, and the various classrooms looked as if a dump truck had backed into each room to deliver the necessities of desks, cabinets, and tables.  We ended up back in his office with an invigorating blow of air-conditioning swirling around us.  He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the moisture from his brow.

Ted Crowe was tall, thin, and very tanned.  He obviously spent a lot of time outdoors and looked to be in tremendous shape.  I figured he was at least a decade older than I, but the sun had given his skin a leathery quality making him look quite a bit older.  His most prominent feature was his head because he shaved it skin tight and it was almost flawless.  There were no age spots or marks of any kind on his scalp, and it reflected the fluorescent lights in his office like a mirror.  I knew my own hairline was rapidly receding and wondered how I would look if I shaved my head like that.  I just wasn’t sure I wanted my scalp to be a reflective surface like Ted’s.  He must have caught me staring at him because he cleared his throat, which brought me out of my stupor. 

“My main concern,” Crowe continued with his interview, “is the high number of Hispanics and Native Americans that teachers are going to have to deal with at this school.  Have you ever dealt with these types of students?”

I had recently completed my student teaching in a rural Wyoming town where the high school was populated by the sons of daughters of white ranchers and farmers.  It was a rare occasion when I bumped into a Hispanic family, and the Native Americans tended to stay on their reservations.  I knew this wasn’t the answer he was looking for, so I tried to draw from my personal background.

“I haven’t had much experience dealing with students of those types,” I said, “but I grew up in a small California border town called El Centro.  My high school had more Hispanics than any other ethnic group and most of my friends growing up were Hispanic, so I’d like to think I have a bit of an understanding of their culture.”