I like young rules.
Grinning, Adam reminded me that if someone makes a request and adds a “please” then the request must be granted. I like that.
So here we go,
World. Dear, brutal, jobless, hurtful, selfish world, can you provide me an opportunity to work with people in a safe environment? Pay doesn’t have to be super great, but benefits would a major thumbs up. Please. Pretty Please. I would be forever grateful.
Thanks,
K
I am cleaning the upstairs bathroom when Harvey starts barking and runs downstairs.
So, I follow.
There’s a mechanical hum.
An older man and his grandson are weed-eating my grass.
What to do? Do they want to be caught in this random act of kindness? Do they know I’m home? I know they cut the front grass a couple of weeks ago….what do I do? Do they expect payment? I don’t have any cash…would it be insulting to pay them?
Harvey and I step out and say thanks and that cutting the grass really isn’t necessary, even though it is so greatly appreciated.
We talk about lawn mowers for a few minutes and they forge ahead.
I take out a pitcher of ice water.
Then they weed-eat around the fence, the grill, the house…every nook and cranny.
Water seems lame after such a great labor of love.
While I am going through a doubt-filled phase with God, I am reminded that he loves me and sometimes the heart just needs to be open for love.
It’s nice to know that love is alive and active. Today it came in a kind grass-cutting crew.
Today, I swept beneath twelve chairs. Folded the uniforms to be sent to laundry service. Organized IEP binders, cleaned closets, recycled random drawings, and cleaned my white board with the fancy spray.
I met teachers for next year. Met a new therapist that is coming on board. Watched some of my coworkers answer to their first name. We wore jeans, shorts, flip flops. Today, I watched the day go by in an outsider’s body. Watched myself clean up my classroom and pack it away.
It was bittersweet. I thought of my first day in that classroom. Astonished at how small the room was. Frustrated that my computer was from the dinosaur age and that I would have no textbooks. Scared that my children would beat me up. Amazed that Mr. B was already so awesome. I prayed over each seat. Hoped that somehow these kids would learn something from me. I had no idea what was coming next.
By October, I had already been cussed out numerous times, had furniture thrown at me, and a rainbow of bruises on my shins. That was just from the students.
By November, I had been bullied by several coworkers and had cried numerous times after hours in the safety of my classroom. I gave my boss an ultimatum before leaving for Thanksgiving. Things shifted slightly when we returned to school.
By December, I had talked with three different Social Services workers so much that we were on a first name basis and recognized each other’s voices instantly. By December, I gave myself emotional permission to quit. These children were hurting and I couldn’t figure out how to fix them- knowing and feeling their lives was damaging my heart.
But I couldn’t do it to my kids.
My kids are each a story. Too much to share. Let’s just make it clear: these children hurt. They ache with the pain of being abandoned. They cry from the hurt that dwells in their soul. They tantrum for the need of attention. They respond to the voices and smells that are in their mind alone. They act out in response to their innocence being stolen.
In January, I felt better. I could breathe. I could do this. I had finished a Christmas Break filled with love and encouragement {thank you, family}. Love breeds love.
That optimism disappeared quickly. My children came back from Break thinner. More bruises. Longer, wild hair. Dirty Clothes. Fresh scabs. More behavior issues. New ways to string together the same five cuss words from last semester. They had been waiting for school to start as much as I had been dreading it.
February, March, and April were the longest months of my life. I vaguely remember birthdays, celebrations, and events. I hardly remember anything positive from my personal life in that time. I remember my professional life vividly. I remember thinking that this was backwards, but being too exhausted and drained to do anything about it.
Time marched on. May was SOL month. After testing each student, I felt low. Most of them failed every subject. Had I taught them nothing?
June came. The older students graduated and I was cynical. Were these not the same children who were in seclusion for cutting a classmate? For scratching themselves? For sexual misconduct? So many questions. Mr. B was not there the last few days of school. It was difficult. I even had a new student on the very last day of school. C’est la vie.
June 17: My first year teaching is over. I can breathe.
What took me too long to realize {and appreciate} was that these children love in the only way they know how. They pet my hair, rubbed my skin, stared at my eyes. They invaded my space regularly. They asked if my teeth were real. They took my trash out of the trashcan and hid it under their desks in several occasions. They held my hand. Several of them called me, “Mom” and didn’t bother to fix it. They punched me because sometimes hugging is too hard.
“So what did you learn this year?” someone asked me today. Well, I learned that hand shakes and hugs are for healthy people. Healthy people know how to love someone in an acceptable way and they know how to receive it. People in an unstable emotional and mental state don’t typically have these skills. They need to punch. They need to kick. They need to bite, spit, slap, shake, rub, and hurt. That is the only twisted love connection they know.
Mom asked me a few weeks ago, “What would you do differently next time?” Hmm. This year I wasted a lot of time on academics. “A teacher waste time on academics?!” you say? Yes, academics were primarily a waste of time. Sure, knowing how to tell time in 6th grade is important. Of course you need to know how to capitalize and punctuate. But how important is the Revolutionary War when a child is hurting? Next time I will focus my year on making sure each child knows without a shadow of a doubt that one person loves them.
One of my college professors closed every lecture with what I labeled an ‘Academic Benediction.’ She sent us into the world as a smarter, more confident student every day.
To my students out there, you know I love you. From the bottom of my heart.
Go out into the world and know that it will be okay. Strive to be healthier and smarter with each day that comes. Know that you have supporters and that you can always find encouragement in Mr. B and in myself. In the words of Dr. Flowe, “Do your best. Then do a little more.”
My goal is to be done with bitterness and hatred by Spring Break so I can enjoy my week. So, let me just get it out of my system.
Dear Neighbors,
I loathe you.
I loathe you and your three broken down cars that you insist on parking in front of my house.
I loathe you and your damn pitbull that bit my dog and tried to attack a second time. (Also, you still owe me for the vet bill. By Thursday, it will be week 3 that you have not paid. Ms. Wonderful Animal Control lady will be visiting again, people).
I loathe your hammering on your porch until 11 p.m.
I loathe your alcohol bottles that get thrown from the upstairs window onto the grassy strip we share. We both know that your middle school children are illegally consuming alcohol. You, dear neighbors, deserve parent of the year!
I hate that your children came into my beautiful garden, picked my crimson tulips and vibrant daffodils, trampled the stems and leaves, and then PULLED SEVERAL BULBS OUT OF THE BED.
I hate they way you intentionally bitch about us loud enough for us to hear.
I hate that your yard is a mess all the time.
But most of all, I hate that you don’t know much better. I hate that this is your life and you choose to live it this way. You are lucky to live in America. Take advantage of the freedoms.
Please don’t be my neighbors anymore. You depress me.
Affectionately,
Kathryn (your flowerless neighbor)
Tomorrow I am headed to the ‘boro for a baby shower, this you already knew. Adam headed out today (Friday) to go help his dad with some around the house projects. So that leaves me. home. alone. Less than thrilling.
As I drove home I started getting sad. My mother-less student has been on my mind all day. My heart breaks for him and his family. And of course, I talked to God. Reminded him that I become bitter when bad things happen to people that already have a rough life.
It was not shaping up to be a fun evening. But then, things changed.
I stopped by the grocery store (what I needed was on sale) and then headed home. I parked in front and noticed that all of the bulbs that I planted in the fall are breaking through the soil. I open the door to a thrilled Harvey dog who has nothing else on his mind but to give me supreme loving. Many kisses and laps around the family room later, I let him outside. Next thing I know, I have about 5 kids in my back yard playing with Harvey and me. Harvey and I return to the kitchen 15 minutes later. Then a knock, knock, knock….there were more kids. At one point I counted 9 children in my back yard. All they wanted to do was play with Harvey. I leashed him and handed him back out to the kiddos.
Standing at the kitchen window, watching healthy, radiant children playing with Harvey humbled me. Watching those children was my gift. God flushed out the bitterness and replaced it with thankfulness.
And for my Lord, I will always give thanks.
Today one of my student’s mother passed away. He answered the phone when I called and told me about it when I called to inquire about his absence.
God, you make no sense. I am not happy with you.
My class made cards and we talked about death. My children have experienced death and loss unlike most people. One of my sixth graders said, “He has lost a piece of him that he will never get back.” There are moments of clarity and understanding in my class that never cease to shock me.
On a happier note, I am going to a baby shower this weekend. I have been looking forward to this shower more than I look forward to most things. To be around a glowing pregnant lady and celebrating the arrival of a new life is amazing. I need some happy. I need some glowing people.
While I’m back in the ‘boro, I am also visiting a little girl I used to babysit and I am STOKED! This little girl reminds me that there are healthy, loved children out there. Hopefully, I will get to experience healthy, loved children at some point.
The totem poles were interesting. Interesting and depressing.
To brainstorm ideas for the totem “story,” I asked my students, “What is something that you are proud of that you worked hard to learn?”
Silence.
More silence.
Then chaos.
Arguing.
Apparently my students are secretly scuba-divers, concert pianists, and Olympic swimmers.
Then I told them the story must be a true.
Silence. Confusion.
My children aren’t successful at much. For several students, I had to revoke the “true story” part. Depressing.
The rear wall of my classroom is covered with poles. Today I made the goal that each child will graduate from my classroom with a positively true totem story…that’s doable, right?
