Game Plan
When Adam answered the phone to a greeting from Evan's second grade teacher at the Murphys elementary school, he groaned before he could censor himself. Any week he managed to make it without somebody's school calling he considered spectacular.
Adam had genuinely thought he had this elementary one in the bag.
Certainly not all of the school's calls to the house signaled something unpleasant. In all honesty, ninety eight percent of the phone calls involved forgotten homework, unsigned forms, field trip permission forms, someone with a fever or upset stomach, or just a pleased teacher calling to brag on a McFadden student.
The remaining two percent, though- those conversations required Adam's undivided attention.
No, demanded- they demanded his attention.
From conditioning learned with months of experience at the family's helm, Adam had mastered the realization a call from the school meant a response was required of him.
As Adam clutched the phone he steeled himself for the teacher's motive. Whatever had happened, whatever Evan had done, he would have to deal with it, take action in some form.
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose.
Since he had braced himself for the absolute worst, it took him by surprise when Ms. Linares explained her purpose as concern with Evan's participation-or lack of participation- in the upcoming schoolwide Thanksgiving presentation. Evan's second grade class had a specific role in the program, as did the other elementary grades.
Ms. Linares shared that the school had delegated the second graders to act as Native Americans greeting the Pilgrims and joining the Thanksgiving feast.
Adam listened without interrupting, puzzled, not exactly certain how all of that involved Evan and presented a problem.
Finally Ms. Linares elaborated. The second grade contribution required several lines of individual dialogue and the singing of two songs. Confident in Evan's communication skills and sociable personality, Ms. Linares had asked Evan to take one of the major speaking parts.
He refused outright.
She had then tried to commit him to the singing of a solo chorus, which he also rejected. Alternately, she told him he could sing as a part of the larger class choral group, which he also rebuffed.
Ms. Linares needed Evan to participate in the Thanksgiving program.
Adam promised to talk with the little boy and assured Ms. Linares he supported Evan's participation.
Adam rehashed the conversation throughout the day and contemplated possible reasons for Evan's refusal.
After supper that very evening Adam enlisted Evan's help making the family's weekly grocery list. The child loved writing down items as Adam called them out, and Evan concentrated hard on spelling them correctly on paper.
That particular activity amounted to a right of passage, of sorts. Their mother had begun the practice when Adam started school as a means to provide a real-life connection to school and home as well as a way to hone spelling and writing skills.
Clutching a paper pad and pencil Evan followed Adam as his older brother inventoried the pantry.
Adam moved some storage canisters to the back of a top shelf and pulled a couple of other bins to the shelf's edge. "Put corn meal on your list, Ev," Adam directed.
Evan braced the paper on a box of macaroni and carefully wrote, meticulous about the neatness of the two words. As with his food eating habits, Evan took particular pains with how he crafted letters and words.
Adam often marveled at his brother's nearly perfect penmanship.
"And sugar, regular sugar."
Evan regarded him quizzically and scratched the lobe of his ear.
"As opposed to brown sugar or powdered sugar. Just regular sugar," Adam elaborated.
"Got it. S-u-g-a-r."
"Now, let's see what else we could use," Adam continued and slid into a clever way to introduce the school play. "Definitely we can stock up on pecans. We can freeze them but we always use them in a couple of our Thanksgiving dishes."
Evan's brow wrinkled as he wrote. "How do you spell it?"
"P-e-c-a-n."
"No letter k?"
Adam pursed his lips and pronounced the word slowly, stressing the syllabic divide within the noun. "Peeecaahnnn. Sounds like a k but it's the c sounding like a k like in the word cook."
"Uh oh, I put two of the letter e," Evan erased and carefully printed the word again.
Adam turned to face him, "That reminds me, do you know offhand the date of your school's Thanksgiving performance? I forgot to mark it on the big calendar."
"No, I don't know," Evan replied with no sign of distress. "I guess maybe Thanksgiving."
"Good call, Sport! I could have guessed it would be near Thanksgiving," Adam laughed. "I can find out later. Hey, what part do you have in the performance? Each grade has a different role, right?"
Evan scowled and answered irritably. "I don't want any part."
"What?"
"I don't want to have any part. I don't want to be in that play at all."
"Wait, why or earth not? What's your play about?"
Evan's scowl relaxed. "Well," Evan responded, "it's all about when the Settlers landed in the United States a long time ago and then the Indians of the American Natives found them and fed them for Thanksgiving dinner."
Adam shrugged his shoulders. "So I don't understand. What could be better than staging a play where you pretend to eat yummy food? Why are you unhappy with that?"
The scowl returned. "Ms. Linares wants to make me sing some kind of song." Evan positioned the pad and pen on a shelf and appealed to his brother. "Adam, how would you like it if somebody made you sing in front of a zillion trillion people? You wouldn't want to do that."
Adam paused before he spoke. "Evan, you love to sing. You have always loved singing."
"Maybe to us I do, but not to the whole world," the child clarified. "We know each other."
Adam rubbed his chin. "Well I certainly understand that singing in front of an audience can appear really scary, but you've actually done that at church many times when all the kids sing in the choir. You have an excellent singing voice, Evan. I love to hear you sing any time."
"Yes, but school isn't church," the child reasoned.
"No, I know that." Adam smiled at his little brother. "Ms. Linares will understand if you bail on singing a solo. However, you can certainly participate by singing with your class."
"I don't want to do that," Evan answered stubbornly.
Adam shifted so that he could reach out for his little brother. He tilted the child's chin so that Evan's gaze met his own then spoke softly, but firmly. "Bottom line here, though, is I expect you to participate in school events. That participation encompasses homework, and classwork, and field trips, and assemblies. So you will have to either change your mind and sing in the chorus or speak to Ms. Linares about another role. You don't get to just skip participating at all, because if you don't contribute to the show, you will end up in big, big trouble with me."
"That is not fair whatsoever," Evan complained with a scowl.
"Actually, it is. Your job involves doing well in school. My job involves supervising you so that you do well in school."
"Adam, I don't want to sing with anybody else."
"Well now you have an option, and when I attend the show to watch you in your performance I'll be so proud seeing you on the stage. All of your brothers will be proud of you."
Evan kicked at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "What other part can I do? The only people are the Cowboys and the Indians."
"Figure that out when you speak with Ms. Linares."
"Wait, I meant Settlers and Indians."
"I knew what you meant." Adam tousled the blond hair. "You, my man, have every right to get some butterflies in your tummy, but no right whatsoever in refusing to participate."
"Why would I eat butterflies?"
Adam laughed and tweaked Evan's nose. "We call that expression an idiom. But think about butterflies and how their wings move back and forth. When people get nervous or shy about something sometimes their tummies flip flop like that, like butterfly wings. So when we say you have butterflies in your stomach it means you're a bit apprehensive or worried."
"Oh."
"All right, now that you know my expectation, you are the person who takes responsibility of arranging your part. You make your own game plan." Adam leaned down and kissed Evan's forehead. "I love you and think anything that you do in the Thanksgiving play will turn out fantastic."
Tired of the conversation, Evan grabbed the pencil and paper. "Tonight I'll think about my game plan. But tonight we need to worry about all of our groceries."
Adam laughed, "Right you are. Let's get busy."
Once the boys left for school the next morning Adam debated calling Ms. Linares to share the gist of his conversation he had initiated with Evan. Eventually, however, he decided against it. He had told Evan to take care of his part and he needed to allow Evan the independence to do just that.
Adam shook his head and reminded himself he had to work on learning not to hover.
Despite his self-restraint Adam waited impatiently for Evan to return that afternoon. Once he settled the Itty Bitties for their afternoon snack, he leaned against the kitchen sink as Ford, Evan, and Daniel reported on their school day.
Finally he couldn't wait any longer and he motioned to Evan, "You, little cute boy, how did your game plan go today?"
"Great!" Evan assured him with a huge grin. "Ms. Linares and I came to a very important understanding."
"What game plan?" Daniel demanded.
"Yeah, I don't know anything about a game," Ford added. "I want to play."
Adam moved to the table to sling his arms across Daniel's and Ford's shoulders. "Only Evan worked on a game plan today. Let's hush now so I can hear it."
Enjoying the spotlight upon him, Evan drawled, "Well friends and family," he giggled at their expectant expressions, "or whatever you are, for the Thanksgiving my class is going to have a…." He paused and drummed his fingers on the table. "…a Native American Indian welcome dance!"
Ford questioned, "A what did you say?"
"I know! I know!" Daniel bounced in his seat. "Like when we went to that festival last summer and saw all the American Indian exhibits! Remember they said we could dance with them and we did."
Now that had been a wonderful outing, Adam recalled, an event he had planned for the sheer motive of focusing upon something frivolous and entertaining for a change. He had driven the family to a festival honoring several Native American tribes one hot June day and where all of the boys found something to enjoy.
Demonstrations included tutorials in archery and hunting, teepee construction, and the power of Native American music and dance. At one point in the exhibition the performers invited the audience to accompany them in their welcome dance.
Once invited, all of the boys had raced to join the dancers- even Guthrie. Adam had sent the family camera into overtime snapping fantastic shots of his little brothers gleefully involved in the cultural ceremony.
"So wait," he instructed Evan. "You told the teacher you wanted to dance? To dance?"
"Yep!" Evan confirmed with a grin.
"And she agreed?"
"Oh yes she did!" Evan elaborated. "She even made me captain of the Native Indian American dance…"
Daniel interrupted, "Native American Indian, or just Indian."
"Don't interrupt," Adam admonished Daniel.
Evan snapped at his brother. "I know that, Dan." He perked up to add, "Anyway, six of us in the class will dance the welcome dance and Ms. Linares and I will teach everybody how to dance it right."
"Oh Evan, I love it!" Adam assured him. "And you! I love you and am so proud that you not only came up with a game plan, but found such a creative one."
"Because I'm brilliant and my game plan is, too," Evan winked.
"You're smart," Ford added loyally. "Very, very smart."
"That too," Evan agreed. "And guess what the best part is, Adam? I don't even have to sing at all!"
