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i got a "leave it to beaver" vibe from this one... thanks for the foy tales. they're all done so well with great vivid description. looking forward to the thrid part.

dancewithgod.blogspot.com

I'm glad Foy has come for another visit. I always feel connected to the stories of Foy - he's "real" to me, in the way that the Velveteen Rabbit is, if you know what I mean? (Realness through the power of love and a bit of nursery magic.) It's not entirely right, but "willing suspension of disbelief" doesn't really cover it.

Anyway, thanks for sharing him with us again - I can't wait to read the next part of the story!

Heather

Gordon, I think these are by far the most well written of the Foy stories. Not that the other ones wherent good too, but you've raised the bar for yourself on this one.

Also, I teared up a little bit when David showed Foy's card to his mom...

I'm biting my fingernails on this one. It reminds me of being an 11 year old girl in a 6th grade class in North Carolina back in 1965. It was the year the "human relations committee" of our small town got us prepped for integration by planting a few very carefully chosen black children into our heretofore all-white classrooms. My Dad co-chaired that committee with a leader in the black community who had approached him and recruited him for the job. Although I was vaguely aware of what my dad was doing, and theoretically in support, I had no idea how to befriend the quiet black girl in my classroom. Her name was Annabelle, she was the daughter of a Baptist minister, pretty and perfectly groomed. I remember being asked by my mother one day to carry a message to her. I remember walking over to her desk and speaking loudly and formally and coldly, and then walking back to my own desk, feeling dizzy and a little sick at the echoing sound of my voice. I do hope Foy figures out how to do better, but I'm worried, because your stories are always so honest. The worst part is, after that year, though all the black kids in town joined our junior high school, and we learned to get along, I never saw Annabelle again. I suspect her family moved away.

Very very good. Someone already said it, it takes you back. And I had my own David experience - I wasn't the bottom of the pile, I was 2 people up, in the complex social rating system picking teamsfor netball was how you knew where you stood. Anyway, I am really hoping for a happy ending, but in my experience there rarely is one, just growing up and what doesn't kill you makes you stronger (if you're lucky). Amelia

You are breaking my heart with this story. I'm awaiting the third part with 51% anticipation and 49% dread.

I think you "compacted" a world into that small exchange between David and his mother. Somehow as adults, we either refuse to remember that school world, with its hierarchy; or we still think our "social cast" was our fault somehow. I can hear the desperate mother suggesting to her son, "Maybe you can start a Chess Club and make friends that way." Not remembering or wanting to admit that there is nothing her son did to get that rejected status and there is nothing he can do to get out of it. (Kinda like Hyper-Calvinistic election to reprobation.)

I saw the same thing with my children. We didn't put them in Public School for fear of such cruelty; but when we had them socialize at church, we found the same social segregation working there. And our kids both somehow ended up "Davids" in that system.

We found better acceptance and social integrity for our children (and us) in Theater groups (filled with those nasty pagans than we ever did in the Christian youth groups. (Sarcasm fully intended.) My son still asks me why, and I have no answers. But I see echoes of my wife attempting to remove my children's social ostracization with suggestions like "Invite them to parties," or "learn about sports," or "find out what they like and talk about that." None of them worked, yet we continue the futility of trying. Just like David's mom.

As a teacher, I see David all the time. Even as I read this story I had faces of various students and former students dancing in my head. I often wonder how they have turned out.

The strongest memory of a "David" type of student that I have is of a boy who is starting his sophomore year of college, if he in fact went to college.

I wonder if my attempts to get other students to include him helped or hurt the situation?

Thank you rlp for this. I too was transported back in time, but I don't remember ever being insensitive to other's suffering. I'm not convinced this is an inevitable consequence of being young.
I hope my kids (1,5&8) fare ok. I'd hate for them to be at either end of this type of abuse.
I'm looking forward to part 3.
Don

Looking forward to part 3...

This reminds me of a kid I grew up with, he wasn't at the very bottom, but he had to be pretty close. He seemed to handle it all so well, though. I've been in touch with him from time to time, and realized recently that I judged his entire life by who he was at 15. I certainly hope nobody would ever do that to me, but in his case I think he came out looking a little better for it, at least from my point of view.