Cheers,
“Holland, what is it that you want to be when you grow up?” Ms. Roan asked one afternoon while she and Holland sat in her 6th grade classroom.
Holland pulled his attention away from the Holland pulled his attention away from the Times crossword puzzle that he had been working. His gaze shifted to the window where he seemed to be watching his fellow classmates play in the piles of leaves they had managed to build using makeshift branches as rakes. It was fall, Holland’s least favorite time of year.
“Holland?” She asked again, her gaze matching his.
“A business man I guess.” He responded flatly, his attention still focused on the children who seemed to be having so much fun, and with such ease.
“What kind of business man?” Ms. Roan persisted; her curiosity was becoming a bit annoying.
“My grandfather worked in sales initially, and eventually he started his own business; I’ll probably follow in his example. I deliver papers for the Oak Tree Press right now, so perhaps I’ll start my own newspaper, there are several things occurring in the community that are left out of the current Press and I would like to see these things given more attention. Although I’m not sure that I see myself as a media mogul, there is too much attention given to frivolous enterprise in most newspapers, so perhaps that is not the best idea. Yes, I think that business is my best option. I can’t picture working under another person; I would much rather work for myself, you know be my own boss.”
“What about a Policeman or Fireman, or even an Astronaut? Don’t those sound like exciting jobs too—and more traditional for a 6th grader?”
Oh no, those jobs simply will not work. I’m terribly anti violence, and because of my asthma there is no way I could work around smoke all day. No I believe that business is my true calling.”
“I see. Well it is a very practical job, though a little average for someone of your unique talents.”
Holland knew what Ms. Roan was trying to do. She was trying to bait him into a conversation on the benefits of simply being a kid. They had this conversation on average once a week. Though he knew what she was doing each time, he still allowed her; he knew that she simply had what she thought were his best interests at heart. Besides, Holland had a secret crush on Ms. Roan, and his opting to spend recess inside with her was evidence of this. Now this is nothing new, children have had crushed on their teachers since the first school was organized. What was different was that Holland, because he had grown up as a seventy-something retiree, did not know what these feeling he had for Ms. Roan were—like imagination and anything fun, expressions of love or affection were severely frowned upon in Hidden Oaks. In fact, the most affection that Holland had ever received was an awkward handshake/hug combination that his grandmother had given him the previous year after placing first in the Hidden Oaks annual New York Times Crossword Competition. His grandfather, who was the reigning champion and now runner-up, was less than excited about Holland’s victory. Holland simply remembers the event as being somewhat odd, that neither he nor his grandmother quite knew how to express their emotions over the announcement. There was no smiling or excitement over the presentation of Holland’s award, a small nondescript plaque which Holland had sitting on his nightstand, his grandmother simply approached him, held out her hand for him to shake, and then thinking twice about it dropped her hand before Holland’s could clasp on, she re-extended her hand again a moment later grasping Holland’s and then reached across his shoulder with her other arms and in a quick motion patted him on the back twice and then withdrew. The whole experience lasted in Holland’s mine for no more than a few seconds, but the awkward expression of affection seemed to last for weeks afterwards. From that point on, Holland simply decided that physical contact was something best avoided.
Summary of story:
Holland is a 6th grader who is somewhat unusual—he acts much older than he is. As a child, Holland’s parents were killed in a car wreck and he was sent to live with his only living relatives, his grandparents. For most kids this would be great; grandparents are, as we all know, designed for spoiling grandkids. This is not the case for Holland who lost two kind and loving parents and was instead passed on a set of grandparents who loved peace and quiet more than an infant child. But, since he was an infant at the time, Holland didn’t know what he had missed.
Holland grew up in a senior living compound called Hidden Groves. Hidden Groves is a place where retired, elderly people go to literally get away from everyone. Surrounded by a very tall and very black stone wall, Hidden Groves more resembles an impenetrable fortress than a living community. The one entrance is guarded by an armed guard day and night. Hidden Groves is populated by retirees who did not want to be visited by anyone. The avoided family at all cost, though of children as a nuisance more bothersome than a swarm of flies at a picnic. Play was a disease contracted by spending too much time at picnics where flies were present. Imagination was four-letter word in Hidden groves. Holidays were not celebrated, they were a frivolous waste of time which caused people to use their … imagination—a sin of the highest order.
Holland is a very serious child. At school his teacher tries to get him to play with the other children but he is more interested in doing the New York Time crossword puzzle or playing chess. At Hidden Groves Holland is never heard and seldom seen. At the community paperboy, Holland hand delivers every paper, quietly placing each one on an empty doorstep or in the association approved boxes located near the front door of select homes. Each month Holland would carefully calculate each subscriber’s bill, adding fifteen percent for wear and tear/ maintenance to his shoes and bicycle, materials (rubber bands and weather bags), and gratuity, giving him an extra $150.00 each month—on top of his regular income of $300.00 from the local newspaper.
$450.00 is a lot of money for anyone, let alone a twelve-year-old. His income is, again, an indicator of how practical Holland is. 50% of each check would go towards his college fund, 30% towards his savings, 15% would be spent on bike maintenance, shoe repair, and materials, and 5% was used for personal spending—which he allotted himself a weekly stipend of $5.60. Holland would spend this small stipend on the New York Times, so he could do the puzzle each day during lunch at school, the remainder he would spend on bird seed in the summer when he would read at the park located at the center of the Hidden Groves, or the very occasional box of Panda black licorice chews. The latter Holland would reserve for very special occasions such as his or his grandparents’ birthdays, or field trips to the museum in the next town over. At school, Holland’s only real friend was Ms Roan, his 6th grade Language Arts teacher. While the other children found Holland to be too weird for their taste, Ms. Roan felt sorry for him. Still, she was surprised by how easy it was to talk with him about everything from politics to literature.
