The incomparable Edward Baldwin, author of the novel "Learnt", give us a taste of his talent with this engrossing tale.  If you've ever stepped into a school auditorium, you will definitely see yourself in this story!

Mr. Krowinski breathed another sigh of gratitude for his wife's insistence on arriving twenty minutes early because even then, they had been lucky to get seats. Yes, as he had argued back home, the ceremony didn't begin as scheduled. He was right about that. Yes, yes, yes. He even wanted to place a small wager on who would be right. No money, mind you. Nowadays, they had no money. Just a bet involving yard chores and house chores, anything to accentuate his inevitable victory, but Mrs. Krowinski wanted nothing of it. Now, sitting in the cafeteria auditorium, waiting for things to get underway, he reminded himself that he was right about the start time.

However, she was more right than he. And after spending eight hours on his feet at the bank, his knees wouldn't take much more standing in one place today. So now, watching the line of people hugging the walls, he was secretly glad that his wife had won the bet they didn't make.

As he readjusted himself, searching for a comfortable position in his metal folding chair, he eyed the growing numbers standing along the walls. No one seemed too displeased, but he knew they were merely pretending to be content with tiring feet and aching backs. Yes, yes, yes. He would bet his next paycheck on it. Moreover, watching those not-so-great pretenders, he realized just how much more right his wife was. And he was certain she would become even more right as the evening aged, but thankfully, she didn't revel in her minor victories, which were always rare.

Mr. Krowinski glanced over at his wife seated on the opposite side of their eight-year-old daughter Stephanie. Mrs. Krowinski faced straight ahead, gazing at the distinguished row of school officials and PTA members seated onstage. They were talking among themselves, and Mrs. Krowinski appeared to be trying her hand at lip reading. However, at this distance, four rows from the back and closest to the exit, Mr. Krowinski doubted whether she could read expressions, let alone lips. In fact, he'd bet his seat on that without a second thought.

He wanted to look at his watch again, but he didn't. The last time he glanced at it, the time was 6:42 p.m. That was about five minutes ago. Therefore, he figured the program director was now running seventeen minutes late. Still, he refused to verify it because his last glance at the time awarded him a scowl from Mrs. Krowinski, and she was probably waiting to frown at him again. Yes, yes, yes. He knew that her lip reading was merely a ploy, a poker face. Her peripheral vision was on high alert.

Oh, how he hated her fierce expression, the glare of a gargoyle on nicotine withdrawal, two weeks since her last puff. He didn't want to be here, waiting for the gargoyle to glower at him again. He wanted to be sitting at a black jack table or a slot machine. He'd even settle for watching a poker tournament on a sports channel. And since he only pretended to quit smoking, he needed a cigarette. Still, he was here for his beloved daughter, but he hoped the night wouldn't drag beyond 8:30. If they finished before nine, he could still make it to the track in time.

Finally, the person on stage that Mr. Krowinski would wager was the principal stepped behind the podium and leaned into the microphone. She was a tall one, a forty-something-year-old Amazon warrior in a business skirt. Mr. Krowinski would guess six feet without the heels. He missed who she said she was, and he missed the introduction of the distinguished panel because he was crunching numbers in his head. Yes, yes, yes. He would bet twenty bucks on six feet—six feet two inches without the heels—and place the odds at two to one he was Mr. Right about her being forty-three, given a two-year spread.

"We apologize for the delay," said the Amazon. "Thank you for your patience."

Blah, blah, blah followed, so Mr. Krowinski tuned out again to visit Atlantic City. He envisioned himself sitting at a bar, buying everyone a round to celebrate raking in two million at the crap table. He ordered a gin and tonic for himself, but zipped back to the cafeteria auditorium when he heard the first applause.

The ceremony was finally underway.

Mr. Krowinski glanced at little Stephanie who was sitting attentively, ignoring her surroundings. In perfect contrast, Mrs. Krowinski was scowling at him. They've had many arguments in the past about his daydreaming, and at that moment, he knew that she knew. Yes, yes, yes. Busted by the beast in Atlantic City. "Drifting off," as she put it, was one of the many things she couldn't stand about him, mainly because she knew the kind of places he drifted off to in his mind. However, what Mr. Krowinski couldn't stand about her was hearing what she couldn't stand about him. Thus, the tiring, tormenting cycle that plagued their lives.

"All you ever care about is gambling," she once said. "You don't even spend time with your daughter anymore. Perhaps I should've given birth to a roll of scratch-off tickets or a roulette wheel."

Of course, he knew she said such things to hurt him, but it didn't work. He spent more than enough time with Stephanie. If anything, his wife needed a lesson on giving Stephanie more space. They were inseparable, like prison inmates. He, on the other hand, was the patrolling night shift guard. (You see, many nights his wife and daughter were asleep in the same bed when he returned from his gambling getaways.) Still, he knew he had more than enough father-daughter time logged in.

More blah, blah, blah from Principal Amazon caused more applause, diverting the glare of the gargoyle, so Mr. Krowinski decided to listen to the ceremony. Ah! Finally, he thought, the presentation of the awards, the reason we're all here.

"Our first medals," said the principal, "are for those students who have exemplified determination and earnestness in their pursuit of an education, having a willingness to be here that is second to none. I am referring to those students who have maintained a perfect attendance."

Mr. Krowinski smiled as the principal called the names. Stephanie was going to receive her first of many medals. He figured his little princess would collect in most categories this year because, unlike his wife, he would bring her luck. Last year, as a second grader, she came home with an award for her skills in arithmetic. Just one measly math medal. He never attended the ceremonies because he didn't know about the medals. After all, she had come home empty-handed during her kindergarten and first-grade years. So he was unaware of the win-loss element of the evening—the exciting element. But he was here now, and he'd be back every year to cheer Stephanie on. There was no money involved, but he still received an adrenaline rush because he saw her as his winning ticket just the same.

Mr. Krowinski's smile vanished when everyone applauded the final winner. The principal never called Stephanie. That's when he remembered three things: the third Friday of February, Mrs. Krowinski's fever, and his task of driving Stephanie to school for a change, which was a simple matter since the school was only a few miles from the bank. However, he had seized the day to bond with Stephanie. An impromptu father-daughter day. A day to get to know her more. She was growing so fast. And what better place to bond with a little princess than at a place filled with animals? They'd gone to the zoo first, but after convincing her of how boring the lazy lions and the moody monkeys were, he had taken Stephanie to a place where animals were vibrant and alive and exploding with energy—the dog track, of course. They talked about dog names while eating hot dogs, and the day was to be their secret.

He lost a hundred bucks that day, wishing he had taken Stephanie to school instead. Obviously, she was bad luck at the track, but he loved the time they had. And now, tonight, his princess lost an attendance medal because of him. He avoided looking at her, but he was sure she was disappointed. Of course, he also avoided looking at his wife. He simply clapped along with the audience as those students called onstage received a final applause. Many of the medalists waved at whistling members of their families, and Mr. Krowinski wondered if Stephanie would wave at him when he whistled at her for the awards she was bound to receive tonight. To make up for this loss, he would whistle his head off for her. The loudest whistle ever whistled by a human being—no, by a wonderfully supportive savage. Yes, yes, yes. He would be a wonderful, whistling wild man.

"Our next award," announced the principal, "is for those students who've shown exemplary behavior each day, regardless of peer pressure, circumstances beyond their control or mood. The winners of this year's citizenship award are. . . ."

Mr. Krowinski's palms turned clammy as the principal called the names, each one not being Stephanie Krowinski. He sat quietly, fidgeting with his hands, refusing to look at his daughter and wife. Maybe Mrs. Krowinski was having some of the same thoughts as he. Thoughts like, How could Stephanie possibly know how to behave at school when Mommy and Daddy hardly ever behaved at home? Put mildly, he and his wife argued a lot. Well, "bickered" is the word he liked to use, but Mrs. Krowinski held steadfast to the word "fought." Yes, they even bickered over what to call their bickering. How on earth could Stephanie learn the skills to earn a citizenship medal with such role models? Still, Mr. Krowinski put most of the blame on his intolerable wife, who'd pounce on him with accusations and finger pointing every time he came home too late. The rest of the blame, of course, was given to Lady Luck, who obviously sided with his wife on most occasions.

The roar of the applause for the citizenship winners brought Mr. Krowinski back. The winners were onstage, but Stephanie was still seated. She was even clapping along with the cafeteria auditorium. She was such a gracious loser, and he felt sorry for her because this wasn't her fault.

The applause went on forever before Principal Amazon urged the winners back into the audience. Then she leaned into the microphone and said, "The ability to express yourself clearly on a page is an extremely valuable one. Our next award recipients have shown excellence in creating words and sentences that leaves absolutely no question of what message the author is trying to convey. The winners for this year's penmanship award are. . . ."

Mr. Krowinski didn't know what to think. Surely Stephanie knew how to write, but was her skills good enough to place her on the stage? His mind flashed back to a day when Stephanie had written him a lengthy Father's Day letter. Two paragraphs. A touching letter for a six-year-old. Or was she five? He couldn't remember. It was so long ago since Stephanie wrote him a letter. He recalled the brief notes she used to slip into his blazer pockets, explaining that she didn't know why he wasn't home for dinner again, but she still loved him. She wasn't angry with him like Mom was.

Yes, yes, yes. So long ago. So long since receiving one of the notes that he used to take for granted. Notes he had thought would always find their way to him. He didn't remember when they stopped, but he remembered that they were plagued with misspellings and word omissions he thought little of at the time. She was only five, wasn't she? Had it been that long? Had it really been three years since his princess left him a note, words of forgiveness and love that served as an ointment for his gambling losses and late night bickering?

The applause snapped Mr. Krowinski from his thoughts and back to the ceremony, and it was painful for him to see Stephanie still seated. He stole a nervous glance. She sat quietly, even serenely, as if she didn't care in the slightest about awards and applause and the win-loss element of the evening. And at that moment, Mr. Krowinski experienced a flicker of pride. His daughter took defeat much better than he ever could. There was no way he could keep such a poker face while being pummeled by Lady Luck. Little Stephanie was getting the stuffing beat out of her, and she took it well. She was a loser, but she was his precious loser, and he loved her now more than ever. Then a thought hit him. This was partly his fault. Maybe if Stephanie had had more examples of how to write correctly. Just maybe.

Mr. Krowinski shook his head and sighed deeply, disgusted with himself. All of those letters she wrote to him, all of the times she confessed her love, all of the time she forgave him for missing supper, all of the hearts and flowers she drew, all of the comfort she provided on a page. Not once did he write her back.

The evening continued with the same cruelty. The principal repeatedly refused to call Stephanie to the stage for the rest of the awards, including math, art, and even reading. Reading? At that point, Mr. Krowinski knew that the deck was stacked. How could Stephanie crap out in reading? His wife read to Stephanie every single night since birth. Well, the nights he came home late, he wouldn't know, but he'd bet the remainder of Stephanie's piggy bank that he was right.

He recalled the night he had read to her. Stephanie was four and absolutely delighted that her father was going to read to her for a change. Of course, he only volunteered so that he could get to her piggy stash, but he had enjoyed the experience immensely, and a part of him envied his wife for being Stephanie's cellmate while he was only the night shift guard. At four, Stephanie was a terrific listener, and as she followed along, he knew she was also a skilled reader. In fact, she had corrected him at least twice that he could remember. He remembered feeling proud of her reading. His little princess was a smart one. However, he also remembered how that pride was sullied with shame as he took another twenty in change from her savings as she slept.

That was four years ago, wasn't it? Even then, Stephanie had such a keen interest in books. Surely that hadn't changed. So how could she not be on stage for her reading prowess? This, he didn't know, but he knew defeat and despair all too well. And now, without mercy, so did his little princess.

He vowed to make it up to her. He would take her for ice cream. He would take her to the zoo (and stay there). He would try and win extra money for her birthday and Christmas this year. He would do lots and lots to show her how sorry he was for causing such grief and misery. He was sorry for making her a loser—like her dad. Yes, yes, yes. He would even write her notes.

As the applause subsided and the principal urged the final winners back into the audience, Mr. Krowinski ground his teeth and watched the principal lean into the microphone and say, "At this time, we ask that Stephanie Krowinski come to the stage."

There was a low grumbling in the cafeteria auditorium, people speaking in neighboring ears, necks craning every which way, looking to see who'd rise to that name. Mr. Krowinski's heart skipped a beat, and his mind went blank. Indeed, he had no idea what to think. He was frozen, rendered lifeless by the onslaught of endless possibilities. When Stephanie stood, he blinked from his stupor and looked over at his daughter and wife. At that point, he saw what he didn't see before, even though it was there all along—a mother-daughter bond that only comes from a generous investment of time and energy. A bond that allowed communication without words. A bond created by effort, not chance. And with such a bond, he knew that it was possible that they knew what was going on, but they spoke to each other only with smiles and nods, gestures he couldn't begin to decipher. And even though Stephanie patted his knee as she excused herself, he felt like a jilted card player, watching silently as life neglected to deal him a hand. Whatever this moment was, he wasn't a part of it. Not in the least.

He looked over at his wife, and her eyes were misty as she clasped her hands together and placed them over her quivering lips. He didn't remember the last time he saw his wife so—what? Happy? No. This was more than happiness. On her face, the gargoyle had morphed into a sprite. A delighted little pixie that was brimming with love, comfort, and—that was it. He didn't remember the last time he saw his wife filled with joy. He recalled such an expression when he had proposed to her a lifetime ago. And it was there in the delivery room, when Stephanie was born. And he knew there were other occasions, but he couldn't remember. Joyous occasions.

Mr. Krowinski turned his attention to Stephanie as she ascended the stage steps and approached the principal. Stephanie's face also showed joy.

"What's going on?" he asked his wife. She shrugged, but he wasn't sure if he believed her.

Then the principal spoke, seizing everyone's attention. "Once in a while, a student comes along who is so amazingly talented, so incredibly focused, and so refreshingly courteous and polite that he or she doesn't seem to be real. It's as if someone had sent in a mail-order coupon that read 'Order your phenomenal student now while supplies last.'"

Mr. Krowinski's wife laughed along with the audience, but he could only manage an unsure smile. After the room quieted, the principal placed a hand on Stephanie's shoulder and said, "I am pleased to announce that for the first time ever, a student has earned a medal in practically every category, and, I might add, even a few categories we didn't have. Categories like punctuality, enthusiasm, and diligence. But how do you recognize such a student? What do you give such a student? How do you award such a student?"

Immediately, Mr. Krowinski saw dollar signs. (Three dollar signs, to be exact.) They appeared in his mind one at a time, like a slot machine jackpot. His little princess was about to get paid, and he was already planning his next family trip to Atlantic City where they—no, not Atlantic City. They would go where Stephanie wanted to go for a change. She deserved it. He'd go to Atlantic City alone. Or maybe never. Or maybe—

"After much deliberation," continued the principal, "we decided that in addition to this handsome plaque"—she produced a marble plaque from inside the podium—"we also present Stephanie Krowinski with a bookstore gift certificate in the amount of two hundred dollars, and educational software valued at over three hundred dollars. Well done, Stephanie."

Everyone applauded along with the principal. So did Mr. Krowinski. He was swelling with pride. However, he was also plagued with guilt. Stephanie had done it all despite having such a—yes, yes, yes, he forced himself to admit it—such a terrible father. With all he did and didn't do for her, she succeeded anyway, and he was extremely proud of his little princess for beating the odds.

After the applause subsided, the principal said, "Of course, no student can achieve such accomplishments without strong support from the home. At this time, we'd also like to recognize Stephanie's parents. Will Mr. and Mrs. Krowinski please stand?"

The cafeteria auditorium applauded as Mr. Krowinski hesitantly stood alongside his wife. Then, without thought, swept by the emotion of the moment, Mr. Krowinski doused the applause with hand gestures, asking permission to speak. The cafeteria auditorium went silent, and all eyes rested on him.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came. He didn't know what he wanted to say even though the message was lodged in the throat of his heart. So he spoke with gestures first, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. Then he found his voice. "I don't deserve this," he muttered. People whispered to each other, obviously not hearing his mumbling, so he spoke louder, but this time, looking at the floor. "I don't . . . I said, I don't deserve this."

Everyone remained quiet, studying him. Then, avoiding all eye contact, Mr. Krowinski launched into a lengthy explanation, which was to be his first "session." First and foremost, he gave all credit to his wife. Then he confessed everything. His mouth was on autopilot. He even confessed to Stephanie about her piggy bank. For almost five minutes, Mr. Krowinski spilled his soul while everyone listened. When he finished with "I'm so sorry, princess. Please forgive me," a few members of the audience wiped at their eyes, and silence seized the cafeteria auditorium again.

Then came the applause.

This time, the applause didn't seem as if it would end, and then a strange thing happened. Mr. Krowinski felt—well, he didn't know what he felt. But it was—something. Standing there, listening to the applause, watching his daughter clap along with the rest of the crowd, the feeling that he felt overwhelmed him, and he started to cry. Softly at first, but when Mrs. Krowinski gently seized his hand, he embraced her and released all of the pain, frustration, despair—every cancerous emotion he'd been harboring for far too long—in a fit of uncontrollable sobs. This caused the applause to strengthen.

Between sobs he asked his wife if she'd attend the counseling sessions with him.

His wife kissed him softly on his cheek and whispered, "Of course, silly. I love you. Remember this feeling? This is what it feels like to be loved."

Mr. Krowinski shook his head. "No, sweetheart. This is what it feels like to win."

At that moment, someone grabbed him from behind. He didn't have to look to know it was Stephanie. Her arms were as comforting as the notes from years past.

The audience applauded forever. Approving shouts came from everywhere. And Mr. Krowinski was grateful to all of them.

Especially the wonderful, whistling wild men.

	To pre-order personally signed copies (with your name on it), contact the POW! Store. Or send US currency via check or money order in the amount of $24.95 plus $3.95 shipping for US ($9.95 shipping for foreign) payable to: Jazlo & Lossi Publishing 1704 E. 24th St. Suite 101 Jacksonville, FL 32206 USA Note: Books will be signed to the name indicated on check unless specified otherwise.

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