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Jane Barton didn’t know quite what she had been expecting, but it was certainly not this. Little Jack Marston came to school every day in clean clothes with his hair neatly combed. He was a quiet boy, a little shy with the other students, but kind. He loved to read and understood books that most first graders wouldn’t even look at. He drew pictures of animals and adored the class bunny.
It seemed impossible that that little boy had come from the people sitting in front of her. Mr. Marston slouched in the too-small seat with his legs stretched out, his ripped jeans and motorcycle boots a far cry from the neat suits she was used to her students’ fathers wearing. His long hair was still damp from a recent shower, and he obviously had not shaved in a few days. Jack’s mother, who looked far too young to have a first-grader, looked more put together but was fidgeting nervously.
“So nice to meet you both. I’m Miss Barton, Jack’s teacher.”
“I’m Abigail. Nice to meet you, too.” The two women shook hands as Mr. Marston gave a little wave.
“Hi. John.”
“So, I’d like to begin on a positive note. Jack is an exceptional student. His reading comprehension is incredible for his age! Do you read to him a lot at home?”
John shrugged.
“I don’t know what a lot is, but he picks out what he likes and we read it, sure. He’s got a kid’s dictionary, too. Uses it a lot. So what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said we’ll start on a positive note. That means there’s a negative note. What’s wrong?”
He didn’t seem upset, just casually observing. His wife glared at him.
“John! Be polite.”
Miss Barton tried to defuse the situation.
“Nothing is wrong, Mr. Marston. I just want to understand Jack a little better so that he can get the most out of school. For example, most kids his age like to draw puppies, kittens, things like that. Jack does, too, but sometimes he also draws more… unusual animals from someone his age.”
She reached to her desk and held up a picture. It was a crayon drawing of a howling wolf.
“Now, sometimes children express their fears through predatory animals and-“
She was cut off by John shaking as he tried to hold back laughter. He slid off his leather jacket to reveal a tattoo of several wolves on his bicep.
“Thank you so much for your concern, but I think he may just be copying what he sees at home.” Abigail tried to mitigate the teacher’s embarrassment at John’s laughter. “I’m guessing he also draws cars a lot- my husband works at a garage.”
Composing herself, Miss Barton took a deep breath.
“We also had some… questions about your family background. We did a family tree activity in class a few weeks ago, and as you can see, Jack’s is a bit unusual.”
The tree looked normal enough, but small. The trunk was marked “Jack,” with a “mama” branch and a “daddy” branch coming out of it. Floating circles nearby were marked “Uncle” and “Charles.”
“When I asked Jack about his grandparents, he said he didn’t have any. I also tried to explain that an uncle is a mommy or daddy’s brother, but he said that his wasn’t. He also didn’t seem too sure of who Charles is, but insisted that he belonged on the family tree.”
Both of Jack’s parents looked uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. After an awkward silence, Abigail spoke.
“John and me both lost our parents real young. We don’t keep pictures in the house or talk about them all that much, so he doesn’t really have grandparents. Not that are part of his life, anyway. We’re both only children, too.”
John took over the rest.
“Uncle is a family friend. He’s not related to any of us, everybody just calls him Uncle. He’s got an apartment over our garage, so he’s around Jack a lot. Charles is a friend, too. Lives in our guest room.”
“I see. Jack also said that he used to have a lot of aunts and uncles, but he doesn’t know what happened to them. Any idea what that could mean?”
They turned to look at each other, both shifting nervously in their seats. Miss Barton could tell she’d hit a sore subject. When John spoke, it was obvious that he was choosing his words very carefully.
“We used to live in a kind of… group. Joined up before we had Jack, stuck around a little when he was small. Everybody there helped take care of him, so he called them all aunt and uncle. We don’t really see them no more.”
Curiosity overtook the instinct to correct his grammar.
“Jack was born in a cult?”
The answer was simultaneous.
“No!”
“No.” Abigail’s voice was softer this time. “John was in a… motorcycle club. I hung around with them. A lot of lonely people, kind of made each other family. Some of them started… getting into trouble, and we didn’t want Jack around that anymore. So we left.”
Her husband nodded.
“Jack was real young, though. He didn’t really get what was going on.”
“Children can be more perceptive than you think. It might be a good idea to talk with Jack, reassure him that things are stable now, that no one else is going to just disappear from his life.”
“Of course.” Abigail’s expression of sadness had quickly turned into determination. “We just want him to be happy. To have it better than we did. We love that boy more than anything.”
Miss Barton smiled. The mood seemed to have lifted.
“I can tell that you do, Mrs. Marston. Jack is a fine young man, I’m sure he’s going to do great things.”
She rose to signal that the conference was over, reaching out to shake hands with each of Jack’s parents. Watching them go, she marveled at everything she had just learned.