“So now we’re supposed to create a class website that gives daily updates on assignments, grades, and student behavior,” muttered math teacher Jane VanderAsch as she eyed the memo from Bedlam’s principal, Bentley VanderHaar, which contained exactly that directive. “And we are doing this on top of our electronic gradebook that is open to students and parents, PDFs of our syllabi, which are available online to our students and parents, and our use of Google Classroom, which automatically notifies parents of when their students do or don’t do their homework. This is unbelievable!”

Bible teacher Cal VanderMeer snorted derisively and added, “It is getting a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?”

This minor outburst of cynicism was so out of character for Cal that counselor Maxwell Prentiss-Hall choked, spewing his mouthful of coffee all over the table in front of him. His pressed white shirt now had brown splotches all over it.

As he dabbed at them, he said to Cal, “But, Cal, you’ve always said communication with parents and students was critically important. How can you change your tune now?”

Cal smiled, and the turn of his lips again suggested a savage pessimism that no one was accustomed to seeing there. “I have always said that,” he agreed, “but communication is a two-way street, Max. At some point, no matter how much we as teachers shout into the darkness, we will not achieve communication if the parents and students aren’t listening. This isn’t conversation or collaboration; it is a one-way transmission of information. I think we have gone above and beyond our duty.”

“Maybe, Cal, your problem is that you are imagining Bedlam like it was twenty-five years ago,” English teacher Christina Lopez said from the other end of the table.

Cal nodded, took a sip of coffee, then said, “Explain.”

PE teacher Rex Kane stepped through the faculty lounge door just as Christina began her explanation. “Well, our school’s demographics have changed a lot over the last two or three decades. We have a different mix of ethnicities, a different mix of socioeconomic backgrounds, a different set of cultural experiences and touchstones that lead to different expectations. As a result, communication standards may be different than in the past.”

“You are the last person I would expect to say something like that, Christina,” Cal said. “It sounds like a soft racism or prejudice: we shouldn’t expect too much from families who are poorer or who are people of color.”

“That is NOT what I’m saying,” Christina said, but before she could say anymore, Rex spoke up in her defense.

“Whoa, Cal! Rein in your rhinos, my friend, before you find yourself judging a book by the company it keeps! What Christina is trying to say is that communication has become more difficult because we’ve got a bunch of different languages going on here—English, Spanish, Ebonics, and who knows what else. It’s like we’re trying to teach in the tower of Babel.”

As so often happened, stunned silence greeted Rex’s outburst. He leaned into the silence as if it were an invitation to continue, and with one finger thrust up he said, “That’s why I am learning Esper-Tonto. It’s a universal language, and I think we should make it the official language of Bedlam Christian High School.”

“Do you mean Esperanto?” Christina asked.

“No, I don’t mean Esper-Toronto—they only speak that in Canada. I am talking about Esper-Tonto. Did you know that it is named after a famous Native American who recognized that European settlers and Native Americans misunderstood each other because of language barriers. His name was Tonto, and he created a language that he taught to the Lone Ranger, and together they worked to make the West safe for all. And it was all because of better communication, thanks to Esper-Tonto!”

Cal smiled. “As absurd as Rex is, I think he might be illustrating my point. Communication needs to be a two-way street. And maybe the things that parents most need to hear are not grades and missed assignments but stories about how their kid reflects the Creator-Father.”

Rex pulled what looked like a yellow folded-over workbook from his back pocket. The cover clearly said “Esperanto for Dummies.” He raised his index finger again and intoned: “Knee devius fairie esper-tonto la oficiala lingvo de Bedlam, my Dirahs!” 

Christina frowned at Rex and shook her head as if doing so could somehow shake him out of her mind. Then she looked straight at Cal. “All I am saying is this isn’t the 1950s anymore. A lot of our students have both parents working. It isn’t like every household has a stay-at-home parent who can come to school and sit down over a cup of coffee with their kid’s teacher once a week.” 

Rex raised his hand, palm facing both Christian and Cal and said, “How, Kimosabe.” 

Cal blinked at Rex, then responded to Christina. “I am not saying that we should throw out our computers and send notes to the parents via pony express, but honestly, I enter all this data, it flies through the ether, and I don’t ever hear anything back unless somebody has a complaint. We are supposed to be this three-legged stool, right? School, home, church. Well, I feel like I am the only one holding up the stool.” 

Rex had been flipping desperately through his book and jumped into the conversation again. “Malnova ferenza virus kanji naiva knabino, my ride-os see via senvorita nature-rog.” 

Christina moved her hand as if she could wipe Rex away like an unused app on her phone. “Listen Cal, the problem is . . .” She stopped and looked at Rex, who was grinning widely. “What did you just say?” 

Rex consulted his book again, then repeated himself, only a bit clearer this time. “Malnova ferenza virus kanji naiva knabino, mi ride-os see via senvorita nature-rog.” 

Christina pushed a couple of buttons on her phone then looked at her screen. After a moment she said, “Excuse me, Rex, I need to show this text to Cal.” She held it up to him. On the screen were the words: Translating from Esperanto: old crazy man and naive little girl, I laugh at your inarticulate natures. 

Christina and Cal looked at each other and in a moment an understanding passed between them. Christina smiled. “Rex, I am glad you wandered in here. Cal and I were wondering if you would be willing to help us out with a project.” Cal smiled too. 

“What kind of project?” Rex said hesitantly. 

“Well,” Cal said. “VanderHaar was talking earlier today about the need for us to make sure that the teachers at Bedlam are speaking the same language as the parents. He talked about the importance of good communication skills and the need for us to be aware of the varying demands of different cultures. He talked about how the nature of sin is that it makes it hard for people to truly communicate. And how desperate he was for a solution to this problem.” Rex nodded. 

Christina picked up where Cal had left off. “Cal and I were thinking that maybe your work with Esperanto could be beneficial to the school. After all, there aren’t many schools that can claim a PE teacher who is also bilingual!” Rex seemed to inflate with pride. His nodding got a bit more vigorous. 

“Let me cut to the chase,” Cal said. “We think you should approach Principal VanderHaar with your solution—teach the faculty, staff, and parents to speak Esperanto!” 

“The thing is,” said Christina, “we all know Principal VanderHaar is a little bit old fashioned. He may not see eye to eye with you on this.” 

“Right,” said Cal. “You’ve got to go in there, Rex, and be prepared to work at VanderHaar for hours if necessary. Don’t take no for an answer! After all, this is for his own good.” 

Rex, his chest puffed up with pride, strode confidently to the staff room door, prepared to take up this vital mission for the sake of the school. He stopped on the threshold though, pulled his book from his back pocket, and addressed the room, “Bona komunikado estas malfacila laboro.” 

As the door closed behind him, Jane VanderAsch muttered under her breath, “Ain’t that the truth.”   

Jan Karsvlaam is excited to announce he is applying for head-of-school positions in Christian schools throughout the US and Canada. He hastens to point out that the incident at Bad Axe Christian School in Michigan involving the emus and the nacho cheese dispenser occurred when he was acting “principal,” which is a completely different thing than “head-of-school.”