Mr. Fish

Guidance counselor extraordinaire.  Has me come to meetings and translate for him because he can’t be bothered learning Spanish.  Sits, smirking, tells me the kids are hopeless, and expects me to report that to their mothers.

And he’s just as good when you report a problem.  In my ESL 4 class is one kid who speaks very well, but won’t fill out a book receipt, a Delaney card, or a test paper.  I take him into the hall and write words on a piece of paper.  HOUSE.  MOTHER.  TREE.

The kid, in NYC schools for years, can’t read, and nobody seems to have noticed.  Who’s his counselor?  Mr. Fish.  I take the kid down and say oh my God, the kid can’t read.  I call his mother, who knows and asks me if I can get him into a program.  Fish says he needs to find out if the kid can read in his first language, which has the same alphabet as English.  I bring the kid to the language teacher, who briefly tests him and agrees—the kid can’t read.

I walk into Fish’s office three days later, where a female colleague (I guess) is giving him a back massage.  I ask what’s up with the kid.  Fish doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move, doesn’t look at the papers on his desk or check his computer, finally says he doesn’t remember.  I go to the head of guidance, who’s suitably horrified.  Good.  

Days later, I get called into the principal’s office, where he demands repeatedly to know who was giving Fish that massage.  I have no idea.  

The kid stops coming to school that very day, and an AP I know tells me NYC has no programs for illiterate high school kids anyway.