A Time To... Read online

  Al’s dad worked as a marketing executive with Mattel Toy Company, which made and sold some of the best-selling toys of that time. It was his job to know what toys would be hits with kids, so he researched the market inside out and upside down. As a result, he knew what made kids tick.

  “You may think I’m crazy, but these boys bother you because they’re afraid of being attacked themselves.” Mr. Masterson held up his fists as if he were about to box with someone. “By picking on you, they’re telling other kids in school, ‘We’re tough’ so don’t bother us.’ And you’re an easy target because you’re new in school. Up to now, that’s worked against you. Now, we’re going to make it work for you.”

  “They don’t act like they’re afraid of anybody. I don’t understand.” Al shook his head.

  “That’s OK. You don’t have to understand. Just do what I tell you, and I’m pretty sure they’ll leave you alone.”

  The next day when Al and his classmates were lined up outside their classroom, Billy Bensen bumped his shoulder into Al as he walked passed him without saying a word. Al just smiled instead of being annoyed, which annoyed Billy. But before he could do or say anything more to Al, Miss Lemur opened their classroom door and all the students filed into the room. “Later,” Billy said as he pointed his finger at Al.

  “Yeah. Later.” Al stared Billy down as he walked into the room.

  And later took place during a game of dodge ball in gym class that morning. Billy and his boys were in the group with the ball that encircled Al’s group. Whenever one of the three got the ball, they’d fake throwing at Al and tossed it among themselves until Al was either off balance or on the gym floor to avoid one of their fakes. Then the real throw came and usually hit Al, followed by high-fives among the three. That’s how the game ended.

  Instead of walking away in the face of another humiliation, Al walked over and offered them a challenge.

  “I want to make you a deal.” Al looked at each of them with great confidence. “I’ll bet you three amazing things and if I win, then you have to leave me alone.”

  “Amazing things…? Ha. What amazing things?” Billy smirked before shoving Al.

  “The first bet is that I can make the three of you disappear and then reappear.” Al stepped up and got in Billy’s face.

  “You wish,” Billy said with supreme smugness. The others laughed when he added, “No way.”

  “The second bet is that I can turn a penny into a quarter,” Al declared.

  “I gotta see this,” said Brian.

  “And the third bet is that Mickey Mantle is a friend of mine. He even gave me a signed baseball,” said Al as he opened his backpack.

  “Now we know you’re nuts. You’re not even from New York. You just moved here.” Billy stood with his arms folded, staring at Al. “So, what do we get when you lose the bets? I know ... tickets to a Yankees game. You can get them from Mickey Mantle,” he added as he turned to his buddies and all three laughed at Al.

  Al’s dad didn’t tell him what to offer if he lost the bets, only to make the bets. And, since he knew he would win the bets, he agreed to the Yankee tickets. “Sure. If I don’t win all three bets, then I’ll give you each a ticket to a Yankee game,” Al affirmed with a nod. “I’ll prove all three bets at lunch in the cafeteria.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Dad to the Rescue

  An hour later, Al walked over to Billy’s table, sat down opposite his three nemeses, and took out a piece of paper from his notebook. “I want each of you to write down your names on this piece of paper. Here’s a pen,” said Al. After they all wrote their names, Al drew a quick stick figure of each next to their names and passed it back to them.

  “There you are,” said Al with a wily grin. Then right before their eyes, their names and Al’s drawings disappeared. “And now you’re gone.”

  “Hey! How’d you do that?!” they screamed in unison.

  “Sorry, that wasn’t part of the bet,” Al chuckled.

  “Wait! You didn’t make us disappear. We’re still here,” Billy protested.

  “No. No. I didn’t say I’d make your bodies disappear. I just said I’d make the three of you disappear, and that’s what I did.”

  “You tricked us.” Billy banged his fist on the table.

  “And you pick on me even though I never did anything to you.” Al banged his fist on the table. “So we’re even.”

  “What about making us reappear?” Tommy reminded Al. “That’s right. Do you want me to make you reappear now?”

  “Yeah. Let’s see you do that,” Billy declared as he stared at the blank paper.

  “OK,” Al took a flashlight from his book bag, held up the blank paper and shined the light on the paper; suddenly, all their names and Al’s drawings reappeared.

  “Neat. That’s cool,” said Brian who kept blinking his eyes in disbelief.

  “OK. OK. What about the other two bets?” Billy rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  Al took out a brand-new, shiny 1957 penny from his pocket and put it on the table so the three of them could see it was a real coin. They picked it up to confirm that it was a real coin. Al took out a box about the size of a deck of playing cards. He handed it to the trio so they could see that it was empty. After each carefully opened and closed the box, Al placed the penny in it. He showed them the penny one last time before sliding the box closed and placing it on the table.

  “When I open the box, the penny will be gone, but a 1957 quarter will be in it,” Al said confidently. “And I’ll win the second bet.”

  “That’s what you think. I’ll believe it when I see it.” Billy kept his eyes glued on the box.

  “Then I’ll show you.” Al tapped the box with his finger, just as his dad had showed him. “Now, you can open it,” he told Billy. Ever so slowly, Billy opened the box, holding it close to him so only he could see inside. When his eyes widened, everyone knew the quarter was inside. Then Billy confirmed it after he took the quarter out and put it on the table. All three boys shook their heads slowly.

  “How did you do that?” asked Billy as he held the quarter in one hand and the box in the other.

  “If I show you how I did it, will you guys stop picking on me?” Al offered.

  “Oh, no. We’re not going to let you win that easy,” said Brian. “You’ve got to win one more bet, the biggest bet of all. Besides, if we let you win now, we don’t get the Yankee tickets.”

  “So how are you going to prove you’re a friend of Mickey Mantle’s?” Billy smirked.

  “Easy, I have something he gave me.” Al pulled a photo of a smiling Mickey Mantle from his book bag. He was dressed in a business suit, shaking Al’s hand while they stood in a conference room. The photo was inscribed with, “To my good friend Al Masterson, Mickey Mantle.”

  The trio’s mouths opened in astonishment while Al pulled out another surprise from his bag: a signed baseball.

  A strange thing happened at this point in Al’s flashback. The scene froze as if it were a photograph. Then he heard a very reassuring voice. It was as if someone was whispering in his ear as he reflected on this moment in his life.

  “Bravo! You did everything your father told you to do and you won the bet, but people don’t always play fair. Don’t be discouraged by what happens next, because I know you won.”

  It was as if the voice were interpreting the scene for him, to provide him with an understanding that he could not have had at that age. Al’s flashback then resumed in full motion and sound.

  “You lose,” said Billy. “You lost the first bet because you really didn’t make us disappear.” Then, Billy took the magic box, threw it on the floor, and jumped on it. The shattered box revealed the shiny new penny. Billy then ripped up the photo.

  “You rotten bum,” Al screamed as he pushed Billy in anger. Billy pushed him back. “And you lost the second bet,” Billy said as he took Al’s signed baseball. “I’ve changed my mind. We’ll
take this instead of the Yankee tickets for winning the bet.”

  “No! No!” shouted Al as he grabbed Billy’s arm.

  “What’s going on here? You better keep your voice down young man,” said Miss Lemur.

  “He took my ball and won’t give it back,” seethed Al.

  “It’s my ball,” said Billy.

  “He’s lying,” Al protested.

  “”Well, well. Somebody is obviously not telling the truth,” said Miss Lemur. “Whose ball is it?” she asked Tommy and Brian. “Do you know?”

  “It’s Billy’s,” said Tommy. “Billy’s dad gave it to him,” Brian affirmed.

  Al protested, but Miss Lemur wouldn’t hear it. “It’s three against one, and three beats one.”

  The meanness and the injustice tortured Al. He had never felt so bad about anything in his young life. He not only lost his prize baseball, he lost a part of himself, an innocence that was gone in the blink of an eye. He wasn’t quite as good-natured. The hate he felt for Miss Lemur and his three tormenters also changed Al.

  That night, through tears, he told his father what had happened. “I did everything you said and I won the bets. I made them disappear and then reappear with the disappearing ink pen you gave me. I turned the penny into a quarter with the magic box you gave me. I proved that Mickey Mantle is a friend of mine with the signed photo and baseball you gave me. But that didn’t matter to them.”

  “So they just broke your magic box and took your baseball even though you won the bets that they had made?” asked Mr. Masterson.

  “Yes! Yes! They didn’t care! Billy just said they won, and he took my ball.”

  “This is the same kid who pushed you down when you scraped your knee and tore your pants?”

  “Yes, the same one who has been picking on me all year.”

  “Hmm. We’re going to end this. I don’t know how, but it will end,” Al’s dad said solemnly. “Where does Billy live?”

  “I think 21st Street, near the school.”

  “What’s his last name?”

  “Bensen.”

  “Hmm. Sounds familiar,” Al’s dad said.

  Billy Bensen’s name didn’t come up again until a few days later when Al and his dad were shopping for shoes on Steinway Street, the threeblock-long neighborhood shopping center where rows of small stores sold everything from clothes to sporting goods and household appliances.

  “Dad, look! Over there! Across the street! There he is. That’s Billy Bensen standing in the front of the five-and-dime store,” said an excited Al as he tapped his father’s arm. “That must be his dad, standing next to him.”

  Mr. Masterson looked at Al’s nemesis and then at Billy’s dad before breaking into a big smile and shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, what do you know? Billy’s dad works for me at Mattel,” he told Al. “Let’s go over and say hi to them,” he said as they crossed the street.

  When they got there, Al’s dad patted Billy’s dad on his back. Mr. Bensen was pointing to something in the window and talking to Billy.

  “Hey, Fred. Doing some shopping?” Al’s dad asked.

  “Oh,” a startled Billy’s dad said. “Hi, Mr. Masterson, yes, yes … my boy needs a few things,” Fred Bensen replied with an uneasy grin.

  “Billy, isn’t that his name? My son Al is in his class at school.”

  “That’s right. It’s Billy. Isn’t that something? I didn’t know Billy is in your son’s class.”

  “Fred, come over here for a minute. I need to talk with you,” Al’s dad said as he walked just out of earshot of the two boys, who stood awkwardly looking at each other. While Al couldn’t hear anything his dad was saying, he knew he was angry from the expression on his face as he glared directly into Mr. Bensen’s eyes and pointed his finger repeatedly at Mr. Bensen’s chest. After a couple minutes, Al’s dad stopped talking and waved good-bye to the Bensen’s before he walked away with Al.

  CHAPTER 15

  Parent-Teacher Conference

  Al’s dad didn’t tell Al what he had told Billy’s father. But it had been just the right thing because Billy returned the baseball to Al the next day, and from then on, Billy tried to become Al’s friend. Switching gears took more time for Al. He’d been through too much grief with Billy to now consider him a friend. Al was amazed by Billy’s transformation, though, and how his dad made it happen. From then on, Al dreamed about being a boss one day, like his dad.

  But before Al could dwell more on this insight, another scene from that time in his life flashed before him. In it, Al was flipping channels on his family’s twelve-inch black and white TV set. He turned the dial past I Love Lucy, past Wagon Train, past Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, before stopping at Leave It to Beaver. It was one of his favorite shows because he identified with Beaver and the things he did and felt. Al was watching TV alone. His dad was working on a presentation he had to deliver at work the next day. His older brother, Matt, was in their bedroom, doing homework. And his mom was on her way to Al’s school for its annual, school-wide, parent-teacher conference.

  Even after all these years, Al suddenly felt the same queasiness in his stomach that he had back then.

  He wanted his mom to be proud of him, but that depended on what Miss Lemur would say. If the way she treated him in class was any indication, he had reason to be concerned. So to help take his mind off that, Al watched Beaver and his buddy, Larry, give a “show and tell” presentation to their school class. As Beaver held up a covered, clear glass jar that had a big, brown, hairy caterpillar in it, he said proudly, “I caught this caterpillar in my backyard yesterday. Don’t worry; it can breathe because I put holes in the top of the jar.” Beaver pointed to the lid.

  Then Larry held up a bigger jar with a colorful butterfly in it. “And Beaver helped me catch this with a big net in a field near my house last week,” Larry said in a way that told the class it wasn’t easy to do.

  “Show them the breathing holes,” Beaver directed.

  “Very interesting,” said their teacher, Miss Canfield. “What can you tell us about them?”

  “You’re not going to believe this, but this caterpillar is going to turn into a butterfly like this one,” Beaver said in amazement as he pointed to Larry’s butterfly. “At least, that’s what my big brother Wally told me, and I believe him because he’s really smart.”

  “He’s right,” Miss Canfield said with a big smile. “Isn’t it amazing that this ugly, slow, crawling creature becomes this beautiful, fast, flying one? Looking at them side by side, you’d never know that they are the same creature, just at different stages in their lives.”

  Miss Canfield’s observation struck a harmonious chord, and as it reverberated deep inside Al, his flashback froze again. Everything in the scene became motionless except for the picture on the TV screen, which dissolved from the Leave It to Beaver show to a scene in color of his mom entering his second-grade classroom as another parent was just leaving. She walked over to Miss Lemur, who was sitting at her desk in front of the room. It was as if someone interrupted the broadcast and replaced it with a closed-circuit telecast of the parent-teacher conference, just for Al.

  How he was now seeing this was a mystery, but it reflected what his mother had later told his dad about her visit with Miss Lemur that night.

  Al’s mom stood silently in front of Miss Lemur’s desk. After a half minute of awkward silence, she said, “Hello, I’m Mrs. Masterson,” as Miss Lemur made notes in a book.

  “Yes, I’ll be with you in a minute,” Miss Lemur said after glancing up and then down again. “Please sit down.”

  After making a few more notes and shuffling through her papers piled high on her desk, she pulled out a file and said, “Mrs. Markham, I’m so glad you could come. It’s so important to have parent involvement in a child’s education.”

  “I’m Mrs. Masterson. I thought my appointment was for eight o’clock?”

  “Eight? What made you think that?”


  “Well, my son came home with an appointment slip from you that said to come at this time.”

  “Hmm. Do you have that slip?”

  Al’s mom pulled it out of her purse and handed the slip to Miss Lemur.

  “That’s the right slip, with my signature on it, and it says today at 8:00 p.m. with your name, written in my handwriting.” After a short pause, she added, “Well, this is one of the many challenges I face every day, working with second graders. I don’t know how they do it, but they have ways to wreak havoc with my best-laid plans. In any case, Mrs. Markham is not here; some parents just couldn’t care less about their kid’s education. Her loss is your gain. The name is Masterson?” mumbled Miss Lemur as she sorted through her paper pile.

  “Yes. That’s right. Masterson.”

  “OK. Here it is … Masterson. Ah, you’re Al’s mother. You know …” she said pausing to collect her thoughts. “Al’s a little different. I’m sure you know what I mean. But I’m not saying that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for one thing, he’s been a lightning rod for trouble. Whenever some prank or mischief is going on, you can bet Al is involved. At first, I thought he was the unwitting victim of pranks, but after a while I figured out that he was really inviting the pranks to get attention and to get sympathy. But he hasn’t done it lately. I think I broke him of this pattern of dysfunctional behavior when I taught him a lesson by making him return a baseball to a classmate. While he claimed it was his and protested my decision at the time, I think Al learned a terrific lesson and came to see the light. He knows now that I refuse to consider him a victim no matter how hard he tries to make me do so. I hope we’ve seen the last of his victimization strategy to get attention.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Al’s mom with shock on her face.

  “Oh, yes. And you don’t have to say another word. Your priceless response is all the thanks I need. This is a good time to share with you my teaching philosophy. I see second graders as big balls of clay that need to be shaped if they’re going to become something, and I’m the artist shaping them. Just imagine being in a room with thirty balls of clay that walk around and talk to each other, that fight with each other, that have to go to the bathroom, that get sick, that get hurt, that have accidents, that play tricks on each other, and yes, do anything, crazy things, just to get my attention. And imagine all this going on while I’m trying to shape them. Then you have some idea of the challenges I face every day,” Ms Lemur concluded, before elaborating on her teaching philosophy.