Lee would add. "Very involved in campus ... doings."
"It sounds like you really love it here," a parent usually noted to one or both of us.
Laura Lee would answer sounding solemn and vaguely widowed. "I haven't had an easy life. I was married young. Here, at last, I've found a home. A family, really. I've been on my own for a long time, and now I've got a mission." She'd pause until someone prompted, "Mission?"
The answer changed with each visit. It might be in the realm of the imaginary ("to bring the New England small college theater medal to Dewing"), academic ("to keep the silver bowl for the highest collective grade point average of any dormitory"), medical ("to keep my girls safe, healthy, fit, and substance-free"), or—of most interest to me—highly personal ("to have a home at last, to find the daughters whom God didn't see fit to bless me with, to touch the lives of young women who can learn from my mistakes
and benefit from the wisdom I gained in all my yesterdays, on stage or off, for richer or poorer, in war and in peace").
She never seemed embarrassed by her own soliloquies or her loungewear, never exchanged a knowing glance with me acknowledging our act.
"We've taken enough of Ms. French's valuable time," I'd say, leading my group outside.
While not stating explicitly their disapproval of my expanding relationship with Laura Lee, my parents asked, "Is she such an ambassador of goodwill that hers deserves to be the only dorm you lead your tours to?"
I pointed out that they had always hated coming back from class, tired and hungry, to find a coterie of nosy parents in their parlor. Laura Lee didn't have classes to teach or wrongs to right, so she viewed my visits as within her job description.
"Is her place tidy?" my father asked.
I said, "Not tidy. But not so bad."
"From what you tell me, she seems to welcome the interruptions," said my mother, "whereas I dreaded those knocks on the door. No matter how many times I pleaded with the Admissions Office to stop sending tours through Griggs, I couldn't stop them."
"I think it was a form of harassment," said my father.
"It wasn't you they were showing off," I said. "It was the piano. They think it makes a nice impression—"
"At a school with no music department, no orchestra, no chamber group? Not even a marching band?" my father asked. "Seems a little misleading."
I said, "I thought I was doing you a favor—knocking on Laura Lee's door instead of ours. She really likes to talk."
"What do you say when people find out you're only in high school and don't actually go here?" my father asked.
"I get that out of the way. I tell them, 'I'm only in high school. I don't actually
matriculate
here. But I was born and raised on campus. They'll probably name a dorm after me when I die, which is quite a tribute because most buildings are named after rich people who donated big fortunes.'"
"It was a serious question," said my father. "I didn't need a facetious answer."
"Even more tricky," said my mother, "must be the question 'Will you be staying on for college?'"
"Not so tricky. I smile and say, 'I hope so.' Or 'If they let me.'"
"Did the Admissions people ask you to say that?"
"Not in so many words. But when I rehearsed in front of Mrs. Friedlander, she asked me that question—'Do you intend to stay here for college, miss?' It seemed pretty clear that the answer should be yes."
"What if a parent in your group taught in Brookline? Or was your guidance or college counselor? Do you want to leave the impression that you're aiming only as high as Dewing?" my father asked.
I said, "In the unlikely event that anyone from Brookline High shows up, I'll take them aside afterwards and tell him or her it was all public relations. I have no intention of staying here for college."
"We hate your lying," said my mother.
"Do you want me to quit my job—a job for which I hold the record for the youngest employee ever? Is that what you're trying to say?"
When they
"It sounds like you really love it here," a parent usually noted to one or both of us.
Laura Lee would answer sounding solemn and vaguely widowed. "I haven't had an easy life. I was married young. Here, at last, I've found a home. A family, really. I've been on my own for a long time, and now I've got a mission." She'd pause until someone prompted, "Mission?"
The answer changed with each visit. It might be in the realm of the imaginary ("to bring the New England small college theater medal to Dewing"), academic ("to keep the silver bowl for the highest collective grade point average of any dormitory"), medical ("to keep my girls safe, healthy, fit, and substance-free"), or—of most interest to me—highly personal ("to have a home at last, to find the daughters whom God didn't see fit to bless me with, to touch the lives of young women who can learn from my mistakes
and benefit from the wisdom I gained in all my yesterdays, on stage or off, for richer or poorer, in war and in peace").
She never seemed embarrassed by her own soliloquies or her loungewear, never exchanged a knowing glance with me acknowledging our act.
"We've taken enough of Ms. French's valuable time," I'd say, leading my group outside.
While not stating explicitly their disapproval of my expanding relationship with Laura Lee, my parents asked, "Is she such an ambassador of goodwill that hers deserves to be the only dorm you lead your tours to?"
I pointed out that they had always hated coming back from class, tired and hungry, to find a coterie of nosy parents in their parlor. Laura Lee didn't have classes to teach or wrongs to right, so she viewed my visits as within her job description.
"Is her place tidy?" my father asked.
I said, "Not tidy. But not so bad."
"From what you tell me, she seems to welcome the interruptions," said my mother, "whereas I dreaded those knocks on the door. No matter how many times I pleaded with the Admissions Office to stop sending tours through Griggs, I couldn't stop them."
"I think it was a form of harassment," said my father.
"It wasn't you they were showing off," I said. "It was the piano. They think it makes a nice impression—"
"At a school with no music department, no orchestra, no chamber group? Not even a marching band?" my father asked. "Seems a little misleading."
I said, "I thought I was doing you a favor—knocking on Laura Lee's door instead of ours. She really likes to talk."
"What do you say when people find out you're only in high school and don't actually go here?" my father asked.
"I get that out of the way. I tell them, 'I'm only in high school. I don't actually
matriculate
here. But I was born and raised on campus. They'll probably name a dorm after me when I die, which is quite a tribute because most buildings are named after rich people who donated big fortunes.'"
"It was a serious question," said my father. "I didn't need a facetious answer."
"Even more tricky," said my mother, "must be the question 'Will you be staying on for college?'"
"Not so tricky. I smile and say, 'I hope so.' Or 'If they let me.'"
"Did the Admissions people ask you to say that?"
"Not in so many words. But when I rehearsed in front of Mrs. Friedlander, she asked me that question—'Do you intend to stay here for college, miss?' It seemed pretty clear that the answer should be yes."
"What if a parent in your group taught in Brookline? Or was your guidance or college counselor? Do you want to leave the impression that you're aiming only as high as Dewing?" my father asked.
I said, "In the unlikely event that anyone from Brookline High shows up, I'll take them aside afterwards and tell him or her it was all public relations. I have no intention of staying here for college."
"We hate your lying," said my mother.
"Do you want me to quit my job—a job for which I hold the record for the youngest employee ever? Is that what you're trying to say?"
When they
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