Poetic Justice


Rehabilitated truant Sami is on the top right.

Poetic justice, noun, The rewarding of virtue and the punishment of vice, often in an especially appropriate or ironic manner.  A literary device.  Think “what comes around goes around.”

Justice, noun, Giving to each what he or she is due.

Justice v. Poetic Justice: the key difference is irony.  Read on.

Last May we learned that our precious Sami had skipped or been late to “home room” 32 times.  Even though the number later fell to 23, we still found her lack of commitment to following rules … troubling.  This incident followed her receiving an “F” one grading period in band for not following those rules, too.  Many punishments thereafter ensued, in our pursuit of justice and learning.  We grounded her, she performed slave labor at home, I wrote about her on this blog, we asked the school to increase her “consequences” by requiring she attend a Saturday “detention,” and she did community service.

Imagine our surprise when the band director who had given her an F the previous year selected Sami for his elite 30-member band for 2010-2011, the top band in her performing arts magnet middle school.

Surely, a mistake?

Nope.

The director forgave her rebellion in favor of her talent and improved behavior.  Lucky kid.  She’s responded beautifully to his faith, though.  I can’t believe she is the same surly girl who begged to quit flute last year.

But was this justice?

Well, let’s call it the just result of a miscreant fully punished and rehabilitated.

Our next surprise came when she learned the identity of the teacher she would have for history class: it was “THE” home room teacher she had manipulated and abused so shamelessly last year.  Someone must have paired Sami with this teacher deliberately, to see Sami squirm.  And squirm she did, but she still wrote an apology-and-pledge note to her, promising perfect attendance and attitude.

The teacher informs me, “so far, super-fantastic in both regards.”

Huh?  Can we even be sure this is our daughter?  (Well, it has only been three weeks)

I believe this is a small serving of poetic justice.

Sami also learned that the school stuck her in an “enrichment” class,” a special program for those needing a lot of extra help in academics, even though as a pre-advanced placement student she needs little help.  This  occurred due to a conflict in her schedule that prevented her from taking one of the classes she really wanted.

Methinks this is another side dish of poetic justice for her previous behavior.

But a champion came to her rescue.  The Principal who had called me at home to report Sami’s truancy last May maneuvered Sami into a journalism/graphics class, which is now her favorite one.  I appreciated the Principal volunteering to help, and I am satisfied that this is the just result in light of Sami’s post-malfeasance rehab program, even though I am the same mean mom who called for her head last May when Johnston didn’t want to punish her for the attendance issue.

The final sign of her successful rehabilitation into responsible 8th grade society, and the main course of poetic justice the universe called for in her situation:

The Attendance Counselor asked Sami to be her aide.

OK, we all see the irony here, right?  Sami now works in the Attendance office every day for one hour.  The kicker?  She loves it.  And the Attendance Counselor loves her.  Go figure.

Parenting lessons learned: Your kids only say they’ll hate you forever when you ground them, put them on work detail, ask their school to put them in Saturday detention, and write about them on your blog.  The universe often provides the perfect consequence.  And the teachers and administrators at Johnston Middle School in Houston, Texas rock.

Justice demands one last punishment: publication of this photo.

There. Now I can completely forgive her for the whole 23-skipped-classes incident.

Pamelot

p.s. Sami and I struck a deal that I would only write about her on my blog twice a year.  So y’all don’t tell her about this post. 🙂

p.p.s. The ultimate in “what comes around goes around”: Sami is MY daughter.  Every time she curls her lip into her adolescent snarl and back talks me in that beeyatchy voice, I hear my mother, yelling at me through her tears.  “I hope you have a daughter just like you someday.”   Well, I did.  And there is no one happier about it than Mom.

Comments
19 Responses to “Poetic Justice”
  1. peter says:

    Mums the word.

  2. Martha Uticone says:

    This is the best story! I just love it when the teachers/administrators come out smelling like roses. We really do know what we are doing most of the time.

    I’d love to tell you some stories about my own darling daughter!!

  3. Eric Hutchins says:

    This is beautiful, perfect, HAH I love the picture at the end. Now all we have to do is get it on Facebook and link Sami to it so her friends go to it!

  4. Christina says:

    If my mom had a blogged, I’d be pretty screwed.

  5. Christina says:

    That’s “a blog”. Not enough coffee yet.

  6. Pamela says:

    I should have included the biggest element of poetic justice with regards to Samantha. And it is that I got what was coming to ME, in HER. 🙂
    And I adore her.
    Every time she curls that snarly lip and talks back in that beeyatchy tone of voice, I see myself and I think, “Damn, that girl rocks.”
    Go Sami go…as long as you GO TO CLASS.

  7. JennyBeans says:

    Pamela, you’re such a great mom. When my boys get to be teenagers, can I ship them over to you?

    • Pamela says:

      OMG the thought of more kids makes me howl and gnash my teeth. Thanks for the compliment and the offer, but I was just going to see if I could pawn Sami off on you.

  8. Susie says:

    Samantha isn’t drooling in that picture, is she????
    I am so glad there are parents out there who insist that kids stay accountable for their actions! Go Pamela.

Trackbacks
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  1. […] Only the best of reasons.  For the love of … Sami. […]

  2. […] The ground knocked the wind out of me.  My right thigh and elbow took the brunt of the insult from the debris, since I had ridden on the wrong side of the road.  Gravel dug tracks in my skin, leaving blood, dirt, and  small rocks deeply embedded along its path.  I wiped my face and the oily residue from the wet road stuck to me.  Now I had the foul odor of gas stations in my nose.  A horn honked at me.  I shot the driver a look.  Like I fell on purpose and could move out of the way of your car if I tried, lady! Trust me, I had serious attitude by the age of 14, like my own daughter does now. […]

  3. […] Clark had not slept since he was a one year old.  I’m serious.  When Clark was nearly two and his little sister Sami was born, well-meaning friends and loved ones told me to nap when Clark napped or I would get […]

  4. […] 3. Samantha: Middler schooler whose hygiene habits indicate she is not yet interested in boys .  Loves dogs, swimming, and disagreeing. […]



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