Shortly after the divorce bomb was dropped on Abby and me, I was called into the Dean Of Girls office. Her name was Miss Binney and she was what was commonly referred to as an old maid. All I knew for sure was that she had a mean disposition and it was best to steer clear of her.
Miss Binney began with a short soliloquy about the tragedy bestowed upon the children from broken homes and this was no doubt why my grades had gone down. She continued as if on a stage, waltzing around her office for flair. Never did she ask how she could help or if I needed anything. She just rambled on and on about the horribleness of my broken home.
I did not take kindly to such criticism. And I especially found the term “broken home” offensive. Yes, my parents were getting a divorce, but I knew that no one was divorcing me or Abby.
I waited for her to finish her one-woman show so I could speak. I reminded her that I did not live in a broken home and that while it may have been a bit cracked, it was not broken. Miss Binney did not know what to say. She ushered me out of her office with a quick good-bye and our paths never crossed again.
I think she was too busy calling parents about their children’s indiscretions. You know, serious transgressions such as wearing a charm bracelet with a little music box that distracted the teachers or other important educational issues. Counselor, adviser she was not. Frustrated with her choice of occupations, absolutely! But she will never forget that I am not from a broken home!