Chaplain Gracey and the Tattooed Teen

By Melinda McMahon

Thirty five is definitely way too old to be in high school; Unless you’re a teacher ... which I’m not. But, the shock of my brother’s suicide two weeks ago and a harrowing dream changed everything; changed my priorities, my motivations, my whole life direction.
God pounded on the door of my heart.
And He made it impossible to ignore.
So, I said farewell to my tidy desk, laptop and business suits, to say ‘RUOK?’ to teems of teens decked out in a black polo-shirt, jeans and sneakers ... my self-adopted uniform appropriate for the vague and nebulous role of School Chaplain at my old school.
‘What have I done?’ is the haunting question, following each step through the gates into the grittiness of Boolahra Regional High School.
With only a hazy idea of what a School Chaplain does, I’m swimming in a sea of titanic-sized melodramas, daily drenched by colourful language and crass teenage bantering.
Lord, your timing could not be worse. My younger brother has just committed suicide and there is every indication that the bully-infested playground I stomp around each day is the very territory of my brother’s killer.
What, or more specifically, who drove my gentle, quiet artistic brother to kill himself? Was it a cruel, menacing teacher, a nasty ex-girlfriend, or a victimizing bully?
I don’t know, but I am determined to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melinda McMahon
• Release date: Nov 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463934319

Melinda McMahon

Melinda McMahon lives in the beautiful riverside village of Toronto on Lake Macquarie, New South Wales in Australia. In this delightfully quiet village I manage to keep myself very busy working full-time as a School Chaplain at a private Christian School in Newcastle.

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Chaplain Gracey Spare Room Sagas

Chaplain Gracey

and the

Tattooed Teen

Melinda McMahon

Published in 2019 by Smashwords,

United States of America

Copyright 2019 Melinda McMahon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be produced or transmitted by any person or entity in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

This book refers to a novel entitled They Told Me I Had To Write This by Kim Miller, Ford Street Publishing, 1 July 2009, ISBN: 9781876462840.

Contact the author at www.melmcmahon.info

To my parents,

Robin and Barry Hall,

and my best friend, Melanie Carter,

who stood by me

during my first years as a school chaplain.

Date: 15 February 2012

Name: Blake Dyson

Day 1

OK Sir, you win. I’ll do it, only because you made it mandatory for me to come back.

If it wasn’t, I sure as hell wouldn’t be writing … anything in fact.

Well – I have the time. It’s not like I have anything else to do. My room is like a prison cell. I’ve sure found out TV in the day is not for guys like me.

Yeh OK – suspended again. What’s this – like – the twentieth time? This time it’s for a whole month. And it’s that douchebag Mr Ryan’s fault. There’s no way I hit Jake – anyway he was asking for it. And it wasn’t my fault – the other guys joined in. If Mr Ryan minded his own business, I would’ve been sweet.

Actually, it’s drop dead cool. I only need to rock up at school in the afternoon – I get to sleep in. How’s that? There’s no-one at home so I’ve got this roach-fested hole to myself. Mum’s boyfriend better not come across. I’ve locked the front door just in case. If he dares to show his face, I hope he drops dead if he tries to bash it down. Thank god mum got my bedroom door fixed.

That smut of a sister is at school – and she reckons she enjoys herself? Ellie’s such a nerd! School’s for losers. I can’t wait ’til I’m 17 – I can ditch school and do something – anything – just something.

Well that’s my 200 words done – that’s all I had to write. Mr Stretton, Sir, if you actually read this, you’ll know I’ve written it. I’ll start reading the book you gave me later. Now it’s time for a Coke.

Good grief!

Dwarfed by towering teens

The clock on the dashboard clicked over to 8:29am. My hands trembled slightly as I clutched hold of the steering wheel. What made teenagers so scary? I mean, they were less than half your age, yet it only took a glance from one of them to strip you to pieces in seconds. And, what’s more, they’re in the majority. Whoever declared school is a teacher’s domain is grossly misguided. At school, students usually outnumber teachers thirty to one and the students know it.

I was parked on the main street of Boolahra, a long straight road which ran right past the school. Through the windscreen I caught sight of two teenage girls standing to one side of the huge wrought iron gates at the Main Entrance. The girls were clearly putting off the inevitable until the last possible moment.

Their awkward facial expressions and sideway glances towards my shiny red hatchback were a dead give-away as to what they were saying.

‘She’s kind of weird, don’t ya think?’ I sensed one whisper to the other as she hitched her faded, floral school bag with fake leather trim onto her shoulder. She threw me a dirty glare, as if I was a moronic alien from planet Ziplon and then seemed to add with more than a tinge of sarcasm, ‘Yeh, she’s sooo nice, it’s creepy.’

A nod and a smirk from the other girl told me she fully agreed with whatever had been whispered.

After only one week, I felt I’d mastered the art of lip reading and decoding teen body language and ‘weird’ and ‘creepy’ were definitely buzz words around the school. Wasn’t it strange, I thought to myself, teenagers interpreted ‘warm’ and ‘friendly’ as ‘weird’ and ‘creepy’? I sighed. I gave up my cushy advertising job to help these kids, to be a support to them, yet they regarded any adult who was pleasant and supportive, as a huge threat. Who were they calling weird!

‘Here’s to being the odd one out for another day,’ I sighed, taking full advantage of an extra moment to lean my head back against the headrest.

Small weatherboard houses lined the streets of this regional town. Boolahra was mainly known for its tall gum trees, trees that deposited copious piles of brown leaves in the gutters and on the roads. Whilst I hated parking my car under their over-hanging branches - their sap, a headache to remove - it was a hot day and the shade was inviting.

My fingers gripped the latch and I heaved down on the door handle. Yet still I hesitated. Monday morning, my second week as Chaplain at Boolahra Regional High School. I realised I too was putting off the inevitable. A feeling of dread seemed to overtake me as I gazed at the terrifying territory of towering teens.

You see, my five-foot height, which could scarcely be regarded as being tall, served me well; I was nicely eye-to-eye with most Primary and Year 7 students. However, students in the higher grades soared over me like those massive gum trees growing along the school fence. Being so short was positively unnerving when an air of adult authority was called for; it was completely intimidating when telling an irate 6ft tall brute of a teen he needed to learn to control his temper. He was likely to ask if he could practice on your head!

Despite the churning in the pit of my stomach each time I stepped through the gate, I still firmly believed my career change had been the right decision. God had had no trouble making His direction clear to me. However, my gracious Lord! School was not what it was like twenty years ago when I was at school! My! How kids have changed.

By 8.33am students were piling off school buses and shuffling towards the school’s entry points. It was as though they had dog collars around their necks and they were being forcibly pulled through the gate.

Two students, Joe and Darcy, sauntered past my car. It had taken me only two days to learn the names of the 30 most troublesome boys at the school and these two were definitely on ‘The List’. I started rummaging through the bag on my lap. I probably should have smiled, but I didn’t want to give away anything. I wasn’t ready to put on a confident face. There was no way I was going to give those boys in particular any hint of how I was feeling about things. Although it was early days in my new role, I still had to save face amongst these teens. They weren’t a hundred percent comfortable with me and I certainly wasn’t at ease with them.

I then recognised two more students, Joe and Darcy. Hang on a minute! Weren’t they heading in the wrong direction? My first guess was they were probably off to the service station – or ‘servo’ to them – in the next street, perhaps for something to eat – or cigarettes to smoke. My heart sank just thinking of 12-year-olds taking up the habit. Anti-smoking campaigns fell on deaf ears in this part of the world. As soon as they passed my car and turned the corner, I took in a deep breath and pulled more determinedly on the door handle. I thrust myself out of the car. I could no longer take advantage of the comfort and safety of my car.

‘Keep moving, Gracey,’ I muttered to no-one in particular, ‘Remember you’re not alone.’

I forced a smile and willed myself to take a confident stride towards the school gates. ‘They’re only kids. What’s the worst thing they can do?’

By the time I entered the paved area of the school grounds, students were everywhere. A new day, yet most of the mandatory pale blue shirts were already grubby, stained with ingrained dirt and pen marks. Girls were sporting shorter-than-short navy skirts rolled at the waist in a deliberate effort to expose as much flesh as possible. I decided against approaching one girl whose skirt was rolled so high any swing of the hips showed off her bright pink panties, much to the delight of the boys. Nah, it was way too early in the day to fight that battle.

I perused the student body at large; most had gathered under the covered area. Even the boys chose to wear their school shorts as low as their shapeless hips would allow. Did they sit on their beds at night and purposefully over-stretch the elastic so there was no way their shorts could stay up? By the end of the first week I had easily rattled off to Brad, my wonderful husband, at least 15 different brand names of male underwear and a fairly accurate estimate of which colours were in season. Hot pink, orange and cartoon print were definitely more popular than conservative grey and black. Why is it so important to these boys to display their bright jocks for all and sundry? I smiled to myself. What would win out today? The number of kids I asked to pull up their shorts or those who asked me for money? It was my secret game. Last week, money won over shorts by 14 to 4 – not that I actually dispensed of my precious savings.

In the ten-minutes before the Roll Call bell sounded I took the opportunity to mingle amongst the students. I was keen to find out at least some of the action of the previous weekend. It paid to keep up with what was happening. The trouble was, Facebook entries moved at the much-too-fast speed of lightning. There was always something of major proportions that had only just happened, in the last hour or so. Had Julie actually broken up with Tom at long last? Did David actually do that with Clare at the party on Saturday night? Scarcely a student was without a phone – whether an iPhone or a smartphone – and if it wasn’t in their hands, it was guaranteed to be cleverly concealed in a pocket. Despite the fact most teachers did not permit phones in their classrooms, trying to get students to remove their ear pieces was all but impossible, let alone being willing to hand over their beloved electronic devices.

I wandered as nonchalantly as possible around the covered area, quite enjoying the chance to observe the intriguing behaviour of teenagers. In between snatches of conversations, I often found myself wondering why teens behaved the way they did. They were so completely taken up with their electronic devices, seemingly driven by the need to be entertained, fearful of being left out of the latest craze. Whether it was mastering a new app, or coming up with the latest YouTube clip guaranteed to make everyone laugh, or boasting about having a thousand plus friends, if a teen was unable to match these criteria, they were on the outer, isolated from their peer group – something that scared the wits off practically every teenager.

I approached a group of girls sitting on the grass, completely absorbed in the next run of texts. Josey raised her head, her brown curls falling over her face.

‘Hey, Miss.’

I crouched down, quietly muttering a word of thanks to the Lord for the rare gem of being greeted.

‘Hi Josey, what’s up?’ I asked, hugely relieved I’d remembered her name.

‘The sky …’ came the disinterested response, with scarcely a glance.

Ah yes, I shrugged. I’d fallen into that trap, but yet again. I owned up to their wit. ‘Hmmm, I need to start asking a different question, don’t I? I’m getting the same response every time I ask that one. What’s your first lesson?

‘Don’t know!’ Josey shrugged, ‘I’ll find out during Roll Call, I suppose.’

‘Don’t you have your timetable with you?’ I regretted asking as soon as the words left my lips. Her response was just as I expected.

‘Nup, I’m in Teena’s class. I’ll just follow her.’ Her gaze fell back to her phone, signalling the end of our snatch of conversation.

‘OK then,’ adding as I rose to go, ‘I hope Teena doesn’t end up in the wrong place.’ And with a quick nod, I walked towards another group of girls sitting on the concrete pathway.

One of the girls – was it Connie? – her long blond hair hanging either side of her oval face, sat alone, gazing blankly at nothing in particular, but probably listening to music. I presumed that was what she was doing – what other teen activity produced such a vacant stare? Her friend – was it Candice? – sat beside her, engrossed in something on her mini-laptop. Another two girls – their names not yet surfacing when I hit my recall button – were laughing at something on the other’s phone. Their laughter attracted a couple of others and before long seven or eight students were head to head, huddled together like bees around a honey pot.

As for the boys, there seemed to be an air of restlessness around them. A few were quietly waiting the first bell; others were on the move, running around tossing school bags from one to another.

‘Ah, the game of piggy in the middle is still alive and well in teenagehood!’ I had already learnt it was not worth responding when I saw but yet another school bag thrown into the bushes. The game was way too popular for me to intrude, that was until I heard, ‘Hey Miss? Can you help me find my bag? I’m going to be late to Roll Call!’

The bell rang for Period 1. Chaos reigned as students dispersed in every direction. However, it soon became obvious some had absolutely no idea where they were supposed to be going. Through a process of elimination and playful interrogation, I had already discovered many students adopted one of two strategies at this time of the day. There were those who messed around with their friends so as to miss as much as possible of the first period of the day, despite the threat of a detention. Then there were those who simply followed their friends like a flock of sheep, hoping no-one would notice if they were not where they were supposed to be. This strategy was particularly successful at the beginning of the year, when teachers were less likely to notice an extra student or two in their classes. Ah, the cunningness of teenagers.

I approached a group of Year 10 boys engrossed in conversation, completely unperturbed by the bell. I thought I’d try my latest technique to move them towards their first class. So, in an exaggerated quirky voice, I asked, ‘Well, hello, everyone! Is there some interesting goss’ I should know about? Or would you like me to accompany you to class?’

Slowly and clearly reluctant, they began to saunter towards their classroom. Task completed. No scowl, no harsh words. I was finding the non-confrontational approach usually worked on even the stubbornest of students.

I punched the air with an air of triumph, ‘The Chaplain scores!’

I crossed the playground and went upstairs to Level 1 for the first period of the day. The Year 8 Maths teacher, Ms Bach, had been quick to take up my offer to assist in the classroom. Now she warmly welcomed me and indicated to me, several students who could do with some help.

Although assisting with educational activities was not explicitly part of the Chaplain’s job description (Teachers’ Aides usually performed this function), I was expected to be a source of support and care to students in all manner of situations. It hadn't taken me long to learn students who were confused or worried about their school work almost always welcomed an offer of assistance, that is, of course, if they were in a frame of mind to get on with class work in the first place. I believed, if students identified the Chaplain as a ‘go-to’ person in the classroom, it was a relatively small step for them to seek the Chaplain as a listening ear, outside the classroom. After all, being available to students is a Chaplain’s primary responsibility.

I made for a student wrestling with an algebraic geometric worksheet. Kneeling down next to her desk, I asked, ‘Hi, what’s your name again?’

‘Julia,’ she sighed as though defeated, as she fiddled with her pencil, ‘What I’ve written isn’t right, is it?’

I gave a little nod. ‘Let's see, Julia. Ah, you need to work out the size of the angle, then you can find out the value of a.’

She scrambled through her pencil case, unearthed an eraser amidst the assortment of odds and ends and set about rubbing out her workings in utter frustration. She seemed close to the point of giving up. I sensed it would take little for her to keep focused, especially with her friend, Suzie, sitting next to her.

Suzie, an attractive girl, with an angular face and straight light brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail, had already put aside her Maths worksheet and was busily checking her phone, not so well hidden on her lap. Suzie was a curious girl with deep-set eyes that could kill. On my first meeting with her, she had recoiled in horror when I had inadvertently touched her forearm. With her sudden squeal of ‘Don’t touch me’ I had mentally put her top of my ‘No Touch’ list. Within the first week three students had reacted in a similar fashion. Whilst I completely respected their need for no physical contact, I made it my aim to greet these particular students in a warm and friendly manner. Now, as I moved past Suzie’s desk, I was pleased to get a cheerful, though fleeting, smile.

I glanced back at Julia and her crinkled Maths sheet. Should I stay and continue to offer help or move to another student? Julia’s efforts to rub out incorrect answers hadn’t been entirely successful; grey pencil markings remained etched on the page. It reminded me of life itself: the mistakes of the past are often difficult to totally erase.



‘Hey, Miss! Come ’ere!’ Bryson hollered.

I had come to expect politeness as being in short supply; I was simply being called as anyone else would have been. I moved towards a group of boys bunched around a bench they’d clearly claimed as their own.

‘Hey, guys,’ I responded warmly.

‘Miss, you have any money? I’m starving – I want to buy a hot dog.’

‘Hmm, guys, you know I can’t give you money.’

‘Aww Jesus Christ, Miss!’ he groaned, ‘Not even a dollar?’

‘No, Bryson,’ then I added, ‘and yes, Jesus is here with us. Thanks for reminding me.’ I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to throw the boy off guard.

The other boys burst out laughing.

‘What?’ Bryson asked, totally confused, then realised his earlier reference to Jesus. Everyone suddenly went quiet as he asked, ‘Miss, why do you let us swear and don’t get us in trouble?’

‘Well guys, I’m supposed to be an adult you can talk to. If I told you not to swear every time I came up, there may not be enough words left in your vocabulary to let me know how you are!’ My playful tone, despite its touch of sarcasm, brought a smile to each boy’s face.

Another boy, Anthony, piped up in a surprisingly thoughtful tone, ‘Does God mind it when we swear, Miss? I mean doesn’t He swear sometimes anyway when He’s angry?’

Now it was my turn to smile. How seamlessly God had entered into the conversation.

‘I don’t think swearing is the most important thing to God, Anthony. What’s important is having a relationship with Him. But, I’m pretty sure God doesn’t swear like you guys do because He’s got better control of His tongue!’

‘Oh,’ responded Anthony, more seriously than I would have expected.

‘Miss, you promised at Assembly you wouldn’t bring God into the conversation if we didn’t,’ Another guy shot out.

‘Yep, Aiden, I certainly did. But, mate, remember who brought God into the conversation first?’

Bryson gave a sheepish glance, realising that indeed he had been the one to mention the name of Jesus Christ.

‘That’ll teach you!’ I threw them a smile as I moved away.

With so many lively conversations cropping up, particularly amongst the older students, I hadn’t wanted to stop to have my own lunch break. I was pleasantly surprised by the topics they had raised: relationship breakdowns; what it means to be a Mormon, or to be Islamic; the legalisation of cannabis, even questions about euthanasia and abortion had come up. However, when the bell finally sounded for Period 5, I headed to the Staff Room to grab something to eat and to check if there were any messages on my desk.

My desk was tucked away at the far end of the Staff Room. I had scarcely sat down when I overheard a woman on the other side of the cubicle say in a whispered voice, ‘Her name is Gracey.’

‘How long is she here for?’ asked another woman.

‘Permanently, I think. I think she teaches Religion as well.’

‘Oh god, Clarissa

, you mean the kids have to sit through 50 minutes of religious trash every week? That’s outrageous! Who gave her permission to do that?’

‘Robert, I suppose. Only the Principal can OK such an appointment.’

‘It’s just wrong. Religion doesn’t belong in schools. I know a lot of parents who won’t like this at all.’

‘Well, her job certainly isn’t going to be easy at this school. I bet she won’t last long. I’d give her six months. What do you reckon?’

‘I bet you $20 she’ll be out before the end of term.’

‘You’re on!’

I ducked behind the shelves near the photocopier as the two women got up from their chairs and headed out. I hadn’t got a look at them and I was sure I wouldn’t recognise them, but at least I had caught one name … ‘Clarissa’. I mentally added her and the unknown teacher, to my ‘Potential Threat’ list. I had in place a strategy for hostile students; hostile members of staff were more problematic. Nevertheless, whether student or teacher, I knew my response needed to be the same – show them love, regardless.

Even so, my joie de vie had gone and an ache had crept around my shoulders. As I sat eating my lunch, I felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Not even an iced coffee – the elixir to all my problems – could shift the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.



‘Hey everyone, I’m home.’

As I stepped through the front door, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I kicked off my shoes, almost crawled to the living room and flopped into the sheer comfort of the soft leather of my favourite sofa. Ha! The delicious smell of dinner cooking wafted through the door. Thank you, Lord, for slow cookers – and thank you, Lord, for Brad taking care of the dinner.

I pulled myself off the sofa and made for the kitchen, on the way calling to Lilly and Caleb, playing ball in the courtyard. Good, Lilly was out of her uniform and had on the mandatory faded denim shorts and t-shirt. I could see she was cranky as she threw instructions to Caleb somewhere up in the overgrown wattle tree. If I knew Caleb, he’d thrown the Frisbee into the tree, but yet again.

‘It’s just there, near the branch that’s sticking out – up there!’ she yelled, pointing to the spot. ‘Can’t you see it?’

I was glad Caleb was outside playing. So often he was glued to his laptop.

‘Which branch? … I can’t see it.’

Lilly gave an irritated shrug and with a sigh, turned to greet me. ‘Hi, Mum. Hey, I’ve learnt another joke. Do you want to hear it?’

I loved her cheeky grin and the crinkle of freckles on her nose. I loved the way she giggled at her own jokes. At least, if this one was funny enough to bring a giggle to Lilly’s face now, it should be funny enough for the rest of us, though too often the humour got lost in the delivery. That was alright. We always enjoyed the telling.

‘Why not save your joke for dinner? It should be ready soon.’

‘But it’s a good one … it’s about a ….’

‘No, surprise me. OK?’

‘Yeh, OK. It’s a funny one.’

I smiled and turned to walk into the kitchen. I was sure the rice needed to be in the microwave. Before I could do so, Brad emerged from his office.

‘Hi, luv,’ he said, wrapping his arms around me and planting a warm kiss on my cheek. ‘Don’t worry about the rice and vegies. I’ve prepared them already.’

‘Brad, if angels were humans, they’d look like you. Thanks, Darl’. I’m so exhausted. I just want a hot shower. My legs feel like I’ve just run a marathon. These are the days I sure miss my desk job.’

‘Ah, but your desk job was never as fulfilling, was it?’

‘Brad, two teachers talked about me today – and not in a nice way,’ I complained, wanting him to know how hard I was finding things. I opened the fridge, took out a carton of fruit juice and poured myself a glass.

‘Goes with the territory, Darling. What did they say?’

I recounted the conversation. Brad listened and then advised, ‘Well, you be sure to prove them wrong. You’re needed at that school, even if this woman – Clarissa, wasn’t it? – doesn’t think