The Wheat from the Chaff

Melvin would tell me often that the women in our school system should hold fast to our standing in the community. At that time, the superintendent, police chief, middle and high school principals, athletic director and other school board members and employees were female. By all accounts, the school system was thriving academically. It was not as if we were an exclusive club, it was just the way it was. It only takes one person to plant a seed of discord. Our nemesis was a weed in tulip clothing. Melvin pegged this individual from day one. "Poo, that fella bears watching." Sure enough, the rumblings began of ineffective leadership across the board. No longer were we able to get items passed for the students academic advancement. Any request was questioned and we were being scrutinized at every turn. I loved my job, the school and they students, but the politics became too much for me.
I prayed that God would move me to another situation, yet when he did, because it was not the placement I thought I deserved, I was distraught. Melvin tried everything to console me. He finally had to call my family over to talk to me. It was my brother who said, "God answered your prayer, now you question him?" At first I didn't get it, I didn't want to, but afterward, I had to accept what he said as truth.
I have always tried to do the right thing, being the lead of that school was no different. I felt I deserved more consideration than what I was given. It seemed as though I was being punished by association and when I moved to lead administrator at an elementary school, I found out that was indeed the case. The weed bundled some of us into a choke hold, merely to show one individual that he could get her and her friends.
Luckily, those of us he thought he was sending to slaughter, have fared well, resilience is our strong suit. The weed, on the other hand, has not been heard from in some time, vengeance belongs to the Lord, and we let God have his way.
Melvin watched as my passion for educating wained, until it became almost, non-existent. My resignation from the field would be the last serious conversation Melvin and I would have.

tomorrow