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My New Friend

 My new friend is Nurse Steffi, who calls me from my son's school; she calls early in the day, and she calls often.


I now have PTSD when I see her name on my phone--although I understand that she is just doing her job.

I think of Nurse Steffi as someone like Judge Judy, observing from above; she has a gavel and a stern face, and she is out for blood.

The first time she called, she introduced herself, and then she dug in: "You aren't trimming your son's nails enough, and he scratched himself on the arm." There was a long silence, and I detected subtext: "This, Daniel, is a generous read of the situation. I'm trying to assume that you yourself don't scratch your child, as part of some sick and punitive ritual. I'm assuming you are not Catherine Keener, from An American Crime...."

I apologized excessively--"I'm a rule-follower! I meet all deadlines! Please, please, like me!!!"--and I planned to do better. (I say this, but trying to trim my child's nails is like "pinning a wave upon the sand.")

More recently, Nurse Steffi has called to announce her Low-Grade Fever Doctrine: If you have a temperature, you need to wait until the fever recedes, then *after the recession* you need to add an additional twenty-four hours of bed rest. Also, Steffi called because my child had a small bruise, and I hadn't "reported the bruise." (Again, I heard subtext: "Do you have a Mommy Dead and Dearest situation in your house?")

I have words written on my heart: "Listen. Listen. Do not push back. Swallow your frustration. Use light humor...."

We here at 67 Maplewood are all learning from school.
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