The hated name first pinched his ears when, at the age of five, he fell in love with his teacher and her pretty red hair and the extra cookie she gave him at snack-time each day. Some days, Ms. O'Hara would share her lunch with him as well, and little Shawn Hunter's baby lips would stretch across his whole face with the smile of someone who knew his good fortune. He would thank her, and promptly devour whatever was placed in front of him. At the time, he did not understand that when Ms. O'Hara watched him eat with that sad crease between her brows that she pitied him; he only knew that he loved this nice lady who taught him letters and numbers and fed him when he was hungry. He loved to look at her hair, which little Shawn imagined was soft and fine like the hair of a fairy, one of the beautiful creatures that inhabited the pages of the books that Ms. O'Hara would read to her students on frigid winter afternoons when it was too cold for her to send the children out to recess. Unfortunately, Ms. O'Hara was as much a fairy tale as any of the characters that enchanted Shawn, something for a poor boy to dream of.

There are some things said that are not meant for the ears of little boys, and had Maggie O'Hara known that Shawn Hunter was the last boy to get his jacket from his cubby on a Friday afternoon, she would have waited patiently to make her phone call to Chet Hunter. She would have given her sweet little boy a hug, helped him slip on the little jacket that she had stolen for him from the lost and found, held his hand as he walked to the front of school to board the bus, and waved goodbye to him as the bus pulled away. On this particular afternoon, however, Maggie had different priorities; she was irate, utterly inflamed, seeing so much red that it blotted out her better judgement as she said through gritted teeth, "Hello, this is Margaret O'Hara from Hillside elementary, I'm Shawn's teacher. Is Mr. Hunter home?"

He was.

"May I speak with him?"

Yes, of course she may. If she would just wait a moment… CHET! Shawn's teacher was on the telephone, hopefully he wasn't in trouble...

The conversation opened with the typical pleasantries, inquiries as to whether or not Shawn was in trouble, and an awkward moment of silence as Maggie attempted to phrase her sentiments kindly.

"Mr. Hunter, I understand that parenting can be difficult, especially when one also works, and I understand that you also have difficulty keeping a position, but you must know that your lifestyle could harm your son."

"Beg your pardon?" Chet Hunter interjected, somewhat taken aback. Maggie inhaled deeply, trying to contain her emotions; she began well enough, but as her speech went on, the less she found she could control herself.

"Shawn is a very bright boy, he has a wonderful imagination and a good deal of energy, and I love having him in my class. However, he's begun to act out in class recently, and it started with stealing food from other children at snack-time because he didn't have any breakfast. In other words, your financial state and inability to effectively care for your child's needs have hindered his social development, Mr. Hunter, and the worst of it was seeing him come into class without a coat when it was twenty-seven degrees in December! That coat he comes home in, I gave him that! Why is it that I care more for your child's well-being than you seem to, Mr. Hunter, why is that? Only a piece of trailer trash would have so little concern for his child!"

Shawn stood in the cubbies, frozen. His fairy princess was shouting at his father, and he did not understand what she was saying, but it scared him.

"I would call Child Services if I thought they'd be better for him," Maggie fumed, "but I've heard some terrible stories. Please, think about what's best for your son, or let someone better equipped do it for you!"

At that last word, Shawn came bolting out from his cubby, blubbering with confusion and worry, shrieking in a little boy's high-pitched whine, "Don't talk to my Daddy that way!"

Maggie O'Hara, staring down at the the tiny boy staining her trousers with tears as he clung to her legs, felt an overwhelming surge of guilt and embarrassment. Through the receiver she could hear Chet Hunter shouting something obscene in retaliation, but she hung up to bend down and hug Shawn, soon letting some tears escape onto his little shoulder. When she pulled back to look him in the eye, the boy would not look at her. Without another word, she led him to the bus. He did not look back to see her wave goodbye.