Part 83: Kendra

An old name emerges in a new and scary way

My principal calls me the next day with a question.

Back in 2005, a person claiming to be Kendra called, warning that I should not be named Teacher of the Year. He’s just learned about this.

“Do I know anything about it?”

Kendra is my ex-wife. I was married to Kendra from September 1996 to April 2000, at which point we separated and ultimately divorced. It was a short marriage followed by a shockingly amicable divorce.

We simply decided that we weren’t right for each other. The marriage was okay, but we both deserved to be happier.

We came to this decision together.

We wrote our divorce agreement on the back of a homework assignment and had our friend, a divorce attorney, file it. Connecticut requires a six-month cooling-off period from filing to finality, so during that time, I lived in an apartment about a mile from the home that Kendta and I had purchased in 1996

I agreed to let her live in the house for a year before deciding whether to sell and split the profits or pay me for my fair share of the equity.

Nine months later, she sent me a check.

We never had an ounce of animosity toward each other. Never raised our voices or even fought. We just concluded that we weren’t right for each other and hoped we could both find greater happiness with other people.

We both eventually did.

So the thought that Kendra might have called in 2005 to stop me from being Teacher of the Year is preposterous.

My principal asks whether anything damaging might have been revealed in this phone call. “Did she know anything that might hurt me?”

“No,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

The irony of this situation is that I am the most straight-laced, square person I know.

I don’t have any secrets or vices.

I don’t drink alcohol — not because I have a problem with drinking — but because I gave it up for the most part at the age of 22.

It had no appeal to me. I didn’t love the taste and never required any liquid courage.

I’ll still drink a champagne toast at a wedding, and Elysha once saw me get drunk on New Year’s Eve on a bottle of prosecco in New York City, but for all intents and purposes, I don’t drink anymore.

I’ve never used an illegal drug. Not once.

Never smoked.

Never cheated on Kendra or anyone else.

I was invited to a threesome when I was 22 years old, but I passed.

I didn’t think I could handle it.

When I was 19, I stole about 50 left-footed shoes from a children’s shoe store in Attleboro, Massachusetts — long story — but I returned those shoes a year later.

Also, I was still a teenager.

Later that same year, I impersonated a charity worker and went door-to-door to collect gas money because I was stuck in New Hampshire with no one to call for help, but those were the actions of a young, stupid, desperate man.

I don’t even think I told Kendra about the charity worker story.

“No,” I say. “Kendra has nothing bad to say about me.”

Her sister is still my friend. I was still serving as assistant Scoutmaster of her nephew’s Scout troop following the breakup. Her mother still sends me a birthday card each year.

No. The person who made that call was not Kendra.

When the principal and I hang up, I call Kendra to confirm. She can’t believe someone used her name in this way. She didn’t even know I was named Teacher of the Year.

It happened more than four years after our divorce.

She congratulates me. We spend a few minutes catching up. She offers to call the school district to confirm it wasn’t her who called if needed,

I tell her that I don't think it will be, but if so, I’ll let her know.

I call my principal back to relay Kendra’s offer. Assure him that whoever called was not my ex-wife.

When I hang up again, I find myself a little shaken as this new information comes into perspective.

Two years before my blog was excerpted and the letters were sent to the Town Council. Board of Education, Human Resources, and eventually the families in my school district, someone was trying to ruin my chances of becoming Teacher of the Year by impersonating my ex-wife and lying about me.

I can’t help but wonder what they said on that phone call.

What lies were told about me?

It was a stupid move, too, since school administrators have no control over the Teacher of the Year selection. Having been Teacher of the Year, I served on the selection committee the following year. It’s an entirely teacher-led process organized by our union.

A call to Human Resources or the superintendent would do little to change things.

The real question is this:

Was the same person who called, pretending to be Kendra, also responsible for the letters and the packet?

It feels right, especially given the cowardice involved:

• In one case, they remained anonymous by impersonating parents.

• In the other, they remained anonymous by impersonating my ex-wife.

Or could this be two entirely different people or groups? If so, how many fucking enemies do I have?

Elysha points out that it’s not hard to draw a direct line from the impersonation of Kendra to the post-it note on my door after our librarian won Teacher of the Year to the mailing of the packets and letters.

She’s right.

Someone’s probably been motivated to hurt me for a long time.

The police officer was right when he told me it could be scary to know that someone wants to ruin your life, and you don’t know for sure who it is.

It‘s scary. And it’s getting scarier every day.

Want to remember your life as I remember mine? Check out Homework for Life.