Page 7 of Unsupervised
“Ms. Bryant, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, Kelly Bryant.” She glances around the table with a small smile. “Hi.”
Unlike in class she isn’t shaking with nerves or tripping over her words. Maybe she’s more comfortable in smaller groups.
“Welcome to the group.” I nod at Owen to continue, and we go around the table, everyone sharing their names.
“All right, then. We won’t always meet here. Most of what we’re going to learn isn’t possible in a classroom. I’ll go over a couple of things I have planned and if you have any ideas, anything you’re struggling with or want to learn, I’m happy to add to our lesson plan.”
I hand each of them a printout of skills and watch as they scan it.
“Do we have to come to every club meeting? Because I don’t want to learn to swim,” a guy named Milo says.
“No, it’s up to you when you want to attend club meetings. We aren’t taking attendance or earning grades, but swimming is an important safety skill, so I hope you’ll reconsider. The local community center has offered to let us in on their lessons with professional lifeguards doing the teaching.”
He nods but doesn’t seem convinced. It’s a discussion for later. “We’re also lucky that a friend of mine flips houses as a hobby and he has an empty house where we can practice some basic maintenance. The auto shop wing here will also let us use their space and tools to practice basic car maintenance, learn to change a tire, check fluids, et cetera. Same for the culinary department. We’ll be borrowing their kitchen—and a teacher—to learn some cooking skills.”
Kelly surprises me by speaking up. “I’ll sit those lessons out, unless you want to keep a fire extinguisher nearby.” Good natured laughter rattles through the room, and she smiles. “I’ve already been responsible for one grease fire.”
“If you set anything on fire, then we’ll learn how to put it out.” It’s not a bad idea, showing them the difference in what to do to extinguish different types of fire.
“You didn’t throw water on it, did you?” Milo asks. “My dad did that to put out a grease fire when he was trying to deep fry a turkey. No one got hurt, but…it did not go well for our garage.”
Kelly shakes her head. “No, it was at work. A manager put it out by covering it.”
The rest of the session goes well. We spend it getting to know each other, and I’m glad to see everyone is talkative and eager to suggest things they need to learn.
It’s exactly what I expected to happen. Without the worry of being ridiculed, these new adults are motivated and eager to fill those gaps in knowledge.
“Okay, for our next session, we’ll meet at the fixer upper house. It’s not too far away but if anyone needs transportation from the school, just email to let me know and we can share some rides. The address of the house is on the back of the sheet I gave you.” Glancing around at them, I add, “You’re all going to show up, right?”
Some smiles and nods are followed by Owen’s scoff, “Yes, god, Mr. A, don’t stress. It comes off as a little needy.”
“You can be the one to unclog the toilet, Mr. Wright. Thanks for volunteering. See you all in a few days.”
Talking amongst themselves, they all filter out of the room. All in all, I think that went well.
A glance at the clock shows me I need to get moving before the bakery sells out of lemon bars. I gather up my stuff and manage to make it just in time to buy their last box before heading over to the Shady Acres retirement home.
Grandma spots me as soon as I walk into the lounge and a bony finger points my way. “Boy, I told you that you don’t have to visit so often. You’re young. You should be out finding a wife.”
It’s the same thing every time. At least she said finding a wife this time. Last time she said I should be out getting laid and damn near gave the elderly woman next to her a heart attack.
“Fine, I’ll see if one of these other ladies would like a lemon bar.”
“The hell you will. Get yourself over here.” She pats the padded seat on the bench next to her.
Melina Dawkins may be approaching eighty and struggling with the early stages of dementia, but she is still the same no-nonsense person I’ve always loved.
“How have you been this week?”
“No idea.”
I hand her the box of lemon bars with a chuckle. “Dementia jokes never get old do they?”
“I’ll let you know if they do. You know, if I remember.”
She digs into the treats and passes the box around to a couple of people sitting near us. “Just leave me one if you don’t want your teeth to go missing,” she warns.