The Ignorent Saint

Once upon a time a relatively enlightened soul entered the womb of a well-meaning, guilt ridden, middle-class liberal residing in Pasadena, California. This soul promptly forgot everything she knew about salvation, enlightenment, spiritual values and divine love. Such amnesia is essential in the heavenly scheme of things, if a spiritual entity is to gain wisdom in a new incarnation.

The little soul (Jean) grew into a perfectly delightful child. She was good humored, never sulked and considered her sensitive mother’s nerves. Jean’s mother was the kind of woman who worried about nearly everything. She was particularly concerned with what the neighbors might think, the possibility of harmful bacteria in her refrigerator and Jean’s developmental progress. She agonized over global warming, the plight of refugees, the cutting of rain forests and the extinction of animal species. Jean’s mom collected problems and issues the same way others collect comic books or china figurines. She loved her daughter dearly, but couldn’t help wondering if she had made a dreadful mistake in becoming a mother.

Although Jean was predisposed to being joyful and optimistic, she couldn’t help but be influenced by her mother’s anxiety. Jean learned: not to be selfish; to share her toys and clothes with those less fortunate; to eat everything on her plate and think of all the poor children starving in Africa. She skipped gleefully accompanying her mother on protest marches and memorized all the old anti-war, pro-union and freedom marcher songs.

Jean’s father was a remotely benevolent, generally absent, very busy doctor. He spent long hours at the hospital; was often away at medical conventions, seminars, and very important meetings. However, Jean was very proud of her father. She was quite convinced of his love for her and never felt abandoned, no matter how often he was away. In short, bright, cheerful, considerate Jean was the kind of child parents long for. She was her mother’s, “little saint” and her father’s, “precious jewel” and never doubted her own or other’s intrinsic value. Strangely enough, this peculiar attitude was responsible for the very first time she angered her mother.

Jean’s mother was busy organizing a flea market to raise funds for Green Peace when the call from Jean’s school came. Jean climbed the security fence around the school and refused to come down. Additionally, she had organized a group of strange children, children who did not belong in the school, to climb the fence with her

“Strange children?” Jean’s mother queried, “What do you mean, strange children?”
The principle replied,” not only are they not registered students of Thornton; they are the children of illegal aliens. We really don’t want to call in the authorities, but we can’t allow one of our students to cause such a disruption.”

It took about 10 minutes for Jean’s mother, Mrs. Freeson, to arrive at the Thornton Academy of Excellence, a moderately priced, exclusive school for girls. (The Freesons had thought long and hard regarding the ethics of sending their child to a private school. But in the end, questions of the safety and academic efficacy of Pasadena’s public school system determined their course. “After all, “they reassured each other,” girls perform better in an all girl setting!”)

Upon her arrival, Jean’s mother was escorted through a large crowd of chanting children and banner waving adults to the site of her child’s protest. Jean was on top of the ultra-security fence. Her precarious perch was shared with a rather dirty, definitely Hispanic child. “Hi mama,” greeted Jean, I’d like you to meet my friend, Maria. I’m teaching her to read and she’s teaching me Spanish. Maria has 4 sisters. They come from Mexico.”

“That’s very nice, dear.” Jean’s mother replied, “but you mustn’t cause a fuss. Come down, dear, and tell your friends to go home.”

“But mama” exclaimed Jean,” that’s just the problem; Maria and her family don’t have a home anymore. Somebody came and kicked them out. Then, they tore their house down.”

“I’m sure you mean well, Jean.” Mrs. Freeson said firmly,” But that is no excuse for you to create a disturbance or defy your teachers. You come down, right away and no more nonsense!”

Jean, the juvenile veteran of many a protest march was the kind of child who took questions of social equity very seriously. She was also a normally polite and well-behaved child and didn’t want to displease or embarrass her mother. It took a while for her to arrive at a solution, which could satisfy her conscience.

“Mama, “ Jean explained, “All we want to do is get the school to let Maria and her sisters in and stop tearing down their home. But I’ll come down if you promise to help Maria’s mom find a new home.”

The question of whether or not Jean’s mother’s liberal sentiments would prevail, if Maria’s mother and her numerous offspring would find a home, or even if The Thornton Academy of Excellence would stop tearing down the row of condemned buildings to make way for school expansion became irrelevant when the Fire trucks, the LAPD Swat team and the California Border patrol arrived. During the ensuing riot, Jean was plucked from the top of the fence and deposited in the back of a patrol car by a rather large fireman. Maria fell off the fence and broke her arm. The LAPD promptly evacuated the perimeter of the Thornton Academy of Excellence and the Border patrol picked up a large number of illegal aliens. Jean’s mother had a whole new social issue to pursue and Jean was quietly expelled.

Subsequently, Jean’s father ran away with a student nurse. Her mother abandoned most of her pet causes and sought refuge in a variety of sanatoriums, psychiatrists’ couches and new age therapy groups. Confused and haunted by a sense of inadequacy and shame, Jean embraced the underachieving banner of the “Ain’t I awful” and “its all my fault” school of professional guilt trippers. She might have out classed her mother in this department, but 10 years after the “Thornton Incident”, she received a surprise invitation from Maria’s mother to come to Mexico and visit the family. Near a tiny enclave of makeshift huts, surrounded by an ever-encroaching jungle, was a bright and airy building.

“This,” proudly declared Maria’s mother” Is our school and medical clinic. Women come here to learn how to take care of their babies, and we teach them to read and write. Then they go home and teach others. It took a long time, but we wanted you to come down and see what you started.”

“What I started?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“I really don’t know what you are talking about.” responded the thoroughly confused Jean.

After the infamous “Private School Riots” and resulting publicity, as well as the possibility of a personal injury suit on behalf of Maria, The Thornton Academy of Excellence entered negotiations with Maria’s mother, Mrs. Salvation. Inspired by Jean’s insistence on the merits of reading and writing and her naive optimism, Mrs. Salvation proposed the development of a medical/educational centre in Mexico’s southern jungle. Jean’s father’s hospital co-wrote the proposal and provided medical expertise and the help of some of their more idealistic interns. “We thought you knew all about it,” Maria’s sister, Juana, explained, “We just assumed that you were too busy to write.”

After her visit, Jean never discussed the source of her renewed optimism or idealism. She would laugh at the notion of being a special person or possessing spiritual powers. But years later reports of a living saint whose touch could bring healing or relieve those in pain came out of Southern Mexico. Such reports elicited skepticism in the medical profession, but renewed faith and hope in all who knew about Jean and her loving touch.

Stories For A Winter Night