The Secret Lives of Children-Virgil Philistine- The Boy Who would be President

The Secret Lives of Children-Virgil Philistine- The Boy Who would be President


I saw Sister Kathleen, the principal of Saint James Catholic School, at the Commencement ceremony in May. It was a surprise to see her there. She was getting her Masters in Educational Leadership, and I was getting my Masters in Elementary Education, finally after all these years.

“Sister it is so nice to see you, how are you doing?”

“Great, I didn’t know you were graduating today! Is your family here?”

“My mother and some friends are here. Please, tell me, how are things at the school?”

“Let me see. Which class did you have?”

“You know: Jeffrey, Virgil, and Maritza etc…” I said as I struggled with my gown.

“Oh yes! They are all doing well. But then there is Virgil.”

I finally was able to fix the safety pin that held my sash in place “Oh yes?” I was so excited. From all the children in the class, Virgil had the most special place in my heart.

“And how is the future president doing?” I couldn’t wait to hear the glowing reports of how he had finished at St. James, despite having been held back in the fifth grade.

“Virgil didn’t finish, Maryam.”

Everything stopped for me at that moment. It was like a scene out of the movies; the background noise suddenly became muted and the room started to spin. I felt an overwhelming sense of nausea.

“What are you talking about Sister?”

“It was heartbreaking but we had to ask him to leave the school last week.” Tears started to well up in both our eyes. I felt a tremendous need to be comforted, and at the same time to comfort Sister Kathleen, but I stood there furiously trying to blink my tears away.



When I first met Virgil, I was an overwhelmed first-time teacher and he was a tall lanky 13 year old. I was overwhelmed at being in charge of 35 actual students. I had stepped into the position at the end of November. I tried everything in my power to become friends with these children, to win them over, but they had ideas of their own.

Virgil, from the very beginning, was an enigma to me. He was the life of the class, a natural born leader, yet he wanted nothing to do with the other students during our breaks or in the cafeteria. I became impatient with him frequently. He never had his assignments done. He rarely brought lunch or had money for lunch. “You can’t stay hungry, Virgil.” I would say to him, “Share with some one. Who would like to share with Virgil?” And when no one would volunteer his or her lunch, I would slide my tray to him. “OK. You can have this today but promise you will remember to bring it tomorrow.” He would sheepishly smile, put his head down and begin eating. “My gosh, why doesn’t his mother check his bag before he leaves for school? What is wrong with these parents?” I would wonder to myself. It was a conversation that we had at least once a week.



One day, on her frequent impromptu visits to the classroom, to see whether I would actually survive the day, I asked Sister about Virgil. He didn’t quite fit in. Sister whispered in my ear that he had been held back, and she had always wondered whether that had been a wise decision. He was so weak academically, but his self-esteem had taken a beating being separated from his friends who were now in the sixth grade.

But that wasn’t the most heartbreaking thing about this young man. Not only had he lost his father at a very young age, he came from a very poor family. Even though he was attending the school with a huge scholarship, each month his mother had to decide whether she would pay the electric bill or his tuition.

It was at that moment that I started to really see Virgil for the first time. I looked at his clothes that although fashionable, were worn and tattered. I looked at his high tops; the rubber soles were worn out, the leather was torn, and there wasn’t much left to the laces.

He sat at the back of the room, close to my desk, my contribution towards classroom management, a way of keeping him from misbehaving. He frequently had his head down on his desk, or faced the wrong way when we were doing board work. And where were his glasses again today?

After Sister left, I called Virgil over as the others worked on their math assignment, a mind boggling 3-digit multiplication worksheet.

“Virgil, why haven’t you turned in your assignment?”

He just starred in front of him and gave me his famous half smile. So I repeated my question. He began to squirm.

“Virgil, if things don’t change you will be in the fifth grade next year as well. You know that I love you, but I would like for you to experience other teachers as well. Do you really want to be here next year, AGAIN?”

Virgil was stuck for an answer. I could see his dilemma; to say no would mean that he didn’t want to be in my classroom. So I decided to help him out.

“I mean, you are welcome to come for a visit anytime you want from the sixth grade, but how many times do you want to hear about the steps in 3 digit multiplication? Don’t you want to learn new things? Do cool experiments? Go on exciting field trips? You don’t want to be stuck in this classroom again, do you?”

As my well-meaning words tumbled out of my mouth, I felt a deep sense of shame. I shouldn’t be telling this young man of the possibility of repeating the year, because right there I am robbing of hope by planting the seed of doubt of whether he could proceed on to the next level. But it was what I had observed all the other teachers say to him. I was told: “Scare him with the thought of coming back to the fifth grade next year.”

“You know, I look at you and I am amazed, because in you I see a future leader!”

He finally lifted his head for a brief second, and looked me in the eyes, with an expression of amazement, hope and disbelief.

“For real?”

“Yeah, I have noticed how the kids look up to you and listen to you when you talk. Isn’t that what makes great leader?”

“ I dunno”

“Sure you do. Think about it, when the President speaks, do people just ignore him because he is just one more person with an opinion? Do people stand there and think about whether they should listen to him? Or do they scramble to get the thing done?”

“They try to get things done.”

“Exactly! I have seen that with you. On the playground when you offer your opinion, the boys always follow what you say. Haven’t you noticed that?

“No!!!”

“Well, pay attention next time. Listen, you have the makings of a great leader. But now, you have some choices to make. Are you going to be a leader who is going use your powers for good, to make things better, or for your own benefit? Because I look at you and I am filled with hope, because I know you are the person who can get things done, and will makes things better for the rest of us, just like Dr. King.”

“For real?” he asked, not quite believing his ears.

“Yes, why else do you think I am taking this special time to talk to you, when there are so many things that need to get done around the room? I have a ton of marking to do, but instead I am talking to you.”

Virgil’s smile became broader.

“Listen, remember how we talked about what we want to do with the rest of our lives? You never told me what you wanted to be when you got out of university?”

He shrugged his shoulders, and his expression changed, he became pensive. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know? I think you are pulling my leg!” I said, playfully poking him in the shoulder. I leaned closer to him and whispered, “You want me to tell you what I see you doing in 20 years?”

He looked up at me. I had piqued his curiosity.

“What?”

“ I see you as President Philistine, the first Haitian-American president of the United States.” I said it in a very matter-of-fact way.

His eyes widened, and he looked at me with amazement.

“You do?!”

“Of course I do! Why are you so surprised? Don’t you want to be President?”

“ Yeah, but…”

“Sorry honey, there are no buts. The only thing you have to do is to take your schoolwork seriously so you can go on to the sixth grade. I’ll share another secret with you. Marking your paper has always been very difficult for me.”

Virgil started to blush. “Yeah, my bad! My handwriting sucks!”

“No, dear, it has nothing to do with your handwriting sucking, although I know you could be a bit neater. It’s difficult for me to grade your papers because I know that you know more than what you have put down on paper. But I have to give you a mark on what you have shown me, even though I know you deserve so much more. Do you want to know why?”

“Why?” he asked anxiously.

“Because I have to discuss the marks with Sister Kathleen and Father Jean-Pierre” (Now that was the first lie I told the boy: nobody really cared what happened in the classroom as long as the report cards were handed in on time.) “So I can’t tell them that I gave you an A because I knew that you knew your material. They’ll tell me that you will have to prove yourself. So see, I am in a difficult position.”

“ Do you really think that I can be president?” he said not quite trusting me completely.

“Of course I do. In fact, I am already starting to plan what I am going to wear to the White House when you invite me over for dinner!”

He started to giggle.

“Seriously! Let me see, I’ll be fifty or sixty. I’ll probably have a cane. I’ll be holding on to your arm as you lead me to my seat, and you will have the same silly grin you have on now and you’ll be saying: “This is Mrs. Bahrami, my fifth grade teacher. We had a bet that I would become president. She kept telling me that I would, but I didn’t believe her. Boy, she really was very smart! I wish I had treated her better. I wish I had listened to her wise words of advice!”

Virgil started to laugh and blush.

“Gee Virgil! I still don’t think that you are taking me seriously! Go bring a pencil and paper.”
”Why? Do I have to write lines, again?”

This time it was my turn to laugh!

“No, silly! We need to make a contract that you will remember to invite me to the White House. I am afraid that once you become president you’ll forget all about me. Then I’ll be very hurt! What is the good of me hauling out our class picture and trying to convince my neighbors that I knew you? I want a dinner at the White House, and a picture of me dancing with you.”

Then we both laughed.

We drew up the contract, and we both signed it.

“Now I want you to hold on to this and post it where you do your homework. Promise me you will do that?”

“I promise”, he solemnly vowed.

“So tell me some of things that you will have to do if you want to be president.”

He listed off a few things and we shook hands like proper gentlemen.

“Now go, sit down and do your work.”



I was so proud of myself for having reaching out to him, and for a few days, perhaps an entire week, Virgil was diligent about doing his homework. But then he started to slack off in class once again.

I was heartbroken. And as most inexperienced teachers, I turned my gaze inwards. Why hadn’t I reached him? What was I doing wrong?

I pulled him to the side during recess this time.

“Hey Virgil, what’s up with you?”

I looked at him closely. There was something different about Virgil, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he’d changed.

“Virgil,” I said sternly, “where are your glasses?”

“My glasses?” he started to blush. “Um… my glasses? Well, I left’em at home.”

“ Well, what good are they to your dresser? Do you think you can remember to bring them tomorrow?”

“Um… yeah…I promise.”

And although he didn’t sound too convincing, a promise was a promise.

It was a conversation that was repeated for the rest of the week. Finally, on Wednesday, during lunch I spoke to Sister about Virgil’s glasses.

“You know Mrs. Bahrami, maybe he didn’t forget his glasses, maybe he left them at home on purpose.” Sister said knowingly.

“That is insane, Sister! The boy is as blind as a bat without them! Why would he leave them at home on purpose? No, I can’t believe that!”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe there is something wrong with his glasses? He comes from a very poor family. Maybe he has lost them, or maybe they are broken? In any case, and I want you to listen to me carefully, I DO NOT, and I mean, I DO NOT want you to buy him a new pair of glasses. Do you understand?”
I was dumfounded. “ But why not Sister? Why shouldn’t I, if I can help?”
”Because it just won’t stop there. There are so many kids who need so many different things. What are you going to do? Tend to all of them? And, most importantly, parents have to learn to tend to their children. You cannot be responsible for every one. You cannot be everything to everyone. Now this is an order, do you understand? You CANNOT buy him a new pair of glasses.”

I reluctantly agreed.

As the children filed to go to religious class, I asked Virgil to stay behind.

He looked very worried. He blurted, “If this is about what happened in the cafeteria today, I just want you to know that Maritza…”

“Hold up, Virgil. Before you go into your song and dance about lunch, I don’t even know anything about that. But I can see that we will be having yet another conversation after school! You guys will drive me crazy in the end! No, I want you to tell me about your glasses.”
”My g..g..glasses?” he stammered as his brain worked overtime trying to figure out the connection between the food fight in the cafeteria and his spectacles.

“I don’t understand…You see… today at lunch… when I came to sit down, Mar..”
”No, Virgil! I want to know the real reason why you haven’t brought your glasses to school since Monday.”

“Wh.. Wh.., I don’t understand.”

“What I mean is: are you really this forgetful or is there something wrong with your glasses? Because either way I really want to help you.” He looked totally baffled.

“Listen, I’ll lay it on the line for you. If you are just forgetting your glasses, then I can send a note home or call your mother and she can make sure that you have your glasses tomorrow. But, if there is something wrong with your glasses, then if you are honest with me, I can help you fix them. So, dude, which is it?”

He still starred at me with disbelief, waiting for an explosion about the lunchroom perhaps, I wasn’t sure.

“What?”

“Listen, in order, to be president, you have to do your work, right?”
”Right”

“And in order for you to do your work, you have to pay attention in class. And, in order to pay attention in class you need to see the board. Do you see where I am going with this?”

“Yeeaahhh…” he said, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“OK, so what do you need if you want to see the board?”

“Um… my glasses.”

“Excellent!” I was so proud of him for finally seeing the point of my convoluted reasoning. “Because now, the only thing keeping you from becoming president is your glasses, which is so simple to fix! So, wazup with your specs, dude? Remember, I can only help you if you are honest with me.”

His head went down once again, and he started to fidget.

“Did your dog eat them?”

“I don’t have a dog!” he said laughingly.

“Oh, thank God, because if he had, he would be very sick right now. So there, it can’t be that bad. Tell me what happened to your glasses? Please, let me help you.” I pleaded with him.

“This is so stupid! You will laugh at me if I tell you!”

“Virgil, you have my word of honor that if you tell me the truth I won’t laugh at you. Look! If I lie, I hope to die, with a needle in my eye!” I sang as I poked myself in the eye as part of the ritual of the promise.

“O-Kay” He finally broke down. “I broke them when I sat on them by accident.”

“ Oh! Is that all! If you only knew how many glasses I’ve squished, you’d be amazed. So, can you bring them for me tomorrow so maybe we can get them fixed?”

He starred at me with disbelief once again.

“Well, can you remember to bring them for me, Mr. President?”

“Uuuh, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” I screamed in mock disbelief. “Wrong answer, buddy! You will bring them tomorrow.” I said emphatically leaving no room for choice. “Now run along before you get into trouble for missing Bible class.”

He ran out of the class after he flashed me one of his famous smiles.

The next morning, Virgil was at school before the rest of the class. He poked his head in a few minutes after I arrived.

“Mrs. B? Here are my glasses”, he said as he opened his outstretched hand.

“Oh, Virgil! This isn’t so bad you just need a new handle for your glasses. When I used to sit on my glasses, they would break in the middle and I’d be in serious trouble because I would need a brand new frame. This is a snap to fix!” I said as I ruffled his head and took the glasses away from him. Virgil breathed a sigh of relief and ran outside to play with his friends.

I put the glasses in my briefcase, and promptly forgot about them. The next morning when I saw Virgil, I was about to comment about his glasses when I remembered that they were still in my briefcase.

I apologized to him, and promised that he would have them on Monday. Well, Monday turned out to be Tuesday. I went to the mall, and explained my situation to a kind-hearted salesperson. He put a brand new shiny Calvin Klein handle on and polished the lenses for me as well. It was a pleasure to help the inner city children.

I was hesitant to give the glasses to Virgil. The new shiny handle looked so out of place on his rickety old frames. But when Virgil saw it, he beamed with joy. “Calvin Klein!” was all he said. After that he wore his glasses religiously. His grades did not improve dramatically, but he did manage to finally pass the fifth grade. I believe he even received an award at the end of the year for having made a valiant effort.



“But Sister, why was he asked to leave?”

At first, Sister didn’t want to tell me straight out. She hinted at things, yet being so overwhelmed with grief; I couldn’t understand what she was talking about.

“He did something with a girl in a very public place!” she finally blurted out of frustration, not quite remembering how dense I could be.

“What? But he is a little boy himself! What are you talking about?”

“It was heartbreaking to ask him to leave. He was crying, his mother was crying, I was crying. But it had been so public that we had no alternative!”

And now I was crying. “But, you don’t understand! We had made a deal. He was going to be a president. I was supposed to dance with him at the White House!”
Sister gave me one of her looks. “Ah ha Maryam, this is why this happened. Clinton was president when you made that deal with him. So he was acting presidential!”

I think that any other time I would have found the humor in that comment, but not this time. Not about Virgil.

Looking back, I always felt guilty about telling him that he could be president. In my world anything is possible. Perhaps even Saddam Hussein would one day volunteer at a Kurdish homeless shelter. Although technically, it is true that any one could become president, but in the real world, what are the chances of a little inner-city child becoming the leader of the world’s most powerful nation?