Let Their Spirits Dance by Stella Pope Duarte

so much like the word “horror” to the children that he has asked to be called Mr. H. Some of the kids and teachers say the H stands for Hell.
    â€œTelling the children about your brother might be too much for them and even for you, Teresa. A bit too personal,” he says as we talk in his office one morning. He runs his fingers through strands of unruly hair on the top of his head. He has aged visibly in the three years since he has taken over the job as head of Jimenez Elementary. His face is thin, his nose sticking out of it, sniffing the air for danger. His clothes are one size too big. What used to be fat is now flab.
    The “ousting committee” at the school, headed by a teacher nicknamed Annie Get Your Guns, is partly to blame for Mr. H.’s pitiful appearance. The committee is a group of teachers who run the school no matter who’s principal. Some of them have been in the district so long they can walk through the school blindfolded and never bump into anything. Because of the committee’s success with the school board and parents, Mr. H.’s chances of staying in his position are getting slimmer by the day. Members of the committee are faithful to their commitment when working on a campaign and meet daily at someone’s house or keep in touch by phone. Each day they build momentum in the push to free themselves of a “tyrant who will soon grovel,” as they put it. He didn’t look very tyrannical to me standing in his office, balancing a coffee cup, with a pencil stuck over one ear.
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘too personal’?” I ask. “It’s the truth.”
    â€œYes, but children are so susceptible. Remember the ones who got hit by the car two years ago? Kids are having nightmares to this day.”
    Ironically, the school is named for the Medal of Honor recipient Lance Corporal Jose Francisco “Pancho” Jimenez, U.S. Marine Corps. Jimenez was born in Mexico City on March 20, 1946. He came to the U.S. legally at the age of ten and was raised in Red Rock, Arizona. Later he attended high school in nearby Eloy. The large Chicano community surrounding the school voted unanimously for naming the school after the war hero, who was killed on August 28, 1969, in the vicinity of Quang Nam province. Jimenez single-handedly destroyed several of the enemy forces and silenced an anti-aircraft weapon. His heroic actions saved several members of his company. He was buried in Morelia, Michoacán, Mexico, and is the only Medal of Honor recipient of the Vietnam War who was born in Mexico.
    â€œMr. H., who is this school named for?” I ask.
    â€œI realize all that. And that’s paying honor where honor is due. Of course that’s not saying your brother wasn’t a hero. Don’t misunderstand me, Teresa. We also have to consider Vietnamese students at the school.”
    â€œI have Li Ann Nguyen in my class.” My throat starts to ache. I’msurprised at the insane thoughts going through my mind. Little weasel. That’s what he looks like. An albino weasel who stayed home protesting the war when my brother was fighting in Vietnam to save his flabby ass! Calmate. Calm yourself. My fingers turn ice cold. I breathe in, holding the ambush of thoughts at bay. I shift in the chair. He looks pathetic, the little weasel. I’m a sucker for the underdog just like Jesse was.
    â€œSuppose I get support from Li Ann’s family. Would that make you feel better?”
    â€œIt’s not what makes me feel better, Teresa. It’s what’s best for the children and their parents. We don’t want all-out war on the playground, no pun intended. Everything I say these days seems to bug somebody, no matter how I say it.”
    â€œI can’t believe I’m hearing this!” I stand up. I notice the pencil stub stuck over one of Mr. H.’s ears. It looks stupid. It brings me back to the moment, dissipates the past, so I