For my single mother, finding a school to send me and my brother to in New York City wasn't an easy task for her to take on. She didn't want to send us to a public school because in the 80s, Manhattan public schools had a terrible reputation for being dangerous. She also didn't want to send us to some snooty uptown private school...for obvious reasons.
Being a second-generation Italian, she naturally decided on the Catholic school that was around the corner from our apartment, which was convenient for my brother and I to take ourselves to and from school. We could actually see into our classrooms from our living room window; a feature that my mischievous brother didn't exactly relish in. He was caught several times ditching class to play Nintendo and drink Yoohoo with his friends by a peeping Sister Kelly, who took pleasure in calling my mother to report his sins.
Being relieved from the nuns who had been my teachers since pre-school, to my delight, my 3rd grade teacher was new. She had just graduated from Fordham University, came from French-Canadian origins but was born and raised in New Jersey, and was younger than 60. Miss Clairoux, unlike the tight-lipped, permanently miffed Sister Kelly and her clan of prunettes was fun and hip. She listened to her Smiths, Talking Heads and Suzanne Vega records after school while grading papers, and always wore the cutest looks that 1989 had to offer. We got along well, Miss Clairoux and I. So well that I was able to convince her to let me cast and direct a makeshift play interpreting "The Little Mermaid". Auditions for the production were extremely cut-throat, and poor Nadia Caldone who always had streams of snot dripping out of her nose, and also kind of smelled like urine had had her heart set on playing the part of Price Eric. Ignoring the fact that her request was ridiculous, I had to be professional and look at the bigger picture. Besides the fact that Nadia was a girl, did she fit what "we" were looking for in a Disney Prince? No, and she was offered the position as the special effects coordinator (flickering the light switch) and music supervisor (pressing the play and stop buttons on the cassette player). Perhaps it was a bit cold, but I stand by my decision that she just didn't have what it takes, even if she did want to steer the production in a progressive cross-dressing direction. To keep things simple, the class stud Marco Vasquez was cast as Prince Eric.
When we were not running through the "Under the Sea" musical number for the millionth time, we were creating costumes; making fins and seashells out of construction paper embellished with turquoise glitter, and wigs that were made of stringy yarn. After our intense and final tech rehearsal where my cast was losing steam on me allegedly due to my demands and threats that if any of them were working for Madonna they would all be fired on the spot, I was ready to open the show. The first and second grade classes were invited and it was a smash success! The standing ovation we received would be my first and last taste of critical acclaim in show business making my grueling rehearsals worth it. Perhaps I should have added this "production" as my directorial debut to my CV. I may have had better luck out in Hollywood had agents known about my theatrical victory. Hindsight, folks.
Thanks to Miss Clairoux's passion for her profession, 3rd grade was a special year for all of us, and no one wanted school to end. My mother, who pronounced the "x" in her name, picked me up from school on my last day of 3rd grade to find her 8 year old daughter in total disarray. I had grown so attached to Miss Clairoux that I couldn't accept the fact that I wouldn't see her for an entire summer. My mom, who didn't want to impose on this poor girl had proposed a summer pen pal between the two of us. We exchanged our addresses and promised to write a few times that summer. This woman really was a saint. She couldn't have been older than 24 with her own life, problems, and situations, and she actually took the time to write me several times that summer. I remember what I was doing at the age of 24 and writing letters to a little girl certainly was not one of them.
The last time I saw her was right before I moved to Long Island with my family. As life experiences began to lightly pepper over my teenage life; things like going to high school, the horrors of puberty (the day I realized I have an Italian girl mustache!), expressing my artistic side with my creepy Courtney Love phase, and discovering boyfriends, my thoughts of Miss Clairoux became less and less a part of my reality. It wasn't until a year ago today that she had returned to my conscience, and I have been looking for her, wondering where she works, if she ever got married, and if she has children.
What happened a year ago today that triggered old memories of my favorite teacher?
A year ago today I met Sébastien....Sébastien Clairoux.
Not one to look into coincidences and making them mean something deeper than they are, I couldn't help but smile and look back fondly on these memories when he first told me his last name. When I shared with my mother his last name, her eyes began to water, remembering how special Miss Clairoux was to me. So I guess it wasn't just me. To think, there was a little boy in France with the same name that I was going to meet over 20 twenty years later, and who in a way was going to change my life just makes me think. I can't help it. Maybe all of this was really supposed to happen.
So here's a Happy Anniversary, even if we have to virtually cling our champagne glasses!
What happened a year ago today? Take a guess!
