OUTLOOK

The arthritic tutor had a major dilemma, and since he had shown a genuine interest in helping my students earn their GED’s and they in turn had overlooked his previous employment with the Michigan State Police—the irony never stops—he announced, “Could you please look around your area for my wedding ring. It must’ve slid off my finger.” Young gang bangers, dope dealers, killers, rapists; you name it, down on their hands and knees searching for the missing artifact.

I, on the other hand, didn’t put much faith in the search, knowing all too well about that phrase from my childhood: “Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers,” and hey, after everyone came up empty handed, I suggested he retrace his steps. “You might want to check with healthcare,” I said. “Didn’t you have an appointment there this morning?”

As he left my classroom, his coworker, another tutor he must’ve confided in and a lifer to boot, strolled up to my desk, hands in pockets, and asked what both of us had already known: “Isn’t he in here for killing his wife?” I shrugged off his question. He continued, “I guess after forty years of marriage his wedding ring has sentimental value.” I shrugged my shoulders a second time.