This is a work in progress.

 When Mrs. Schumhausen’s shadowy five-foot three frame appeared in silohuette in the curtains of our front door window, I knew, even before my mother answered the door, that I was in trouble.

 It was Saturday morning. Teacher’s don’t come to your house on Saturday morning. Home is a safe refuge from school. Buried in the couch and keeping me company right beside me sat my Evil Knievel stunt man. In my lap is a box of Kellog’s Frosted Flakes and th TV is tuned to H.R. Puffenstuff. Pure bliss interupted by my fourth-grade teacher.

Evil Knievel sat in silence as

 It was a light knock. Knowing who it was I ignored it, hoping she’d go away. But …

There was a fight at school. The teacher goes to the house out of concern for the boy. She unintentionally makes a bad situation worse. The boy is beaten by his father after the teacher leaves.