This morning was cheerleading practice (I know, I know. . .). Lydia, one of my 5th graders, is among them (I have her sister in 6th grade, too), and today I took her home. Her mom died at age 26 of heart disease, leaving behind eight children who now live with their grandma in a tiny apartment. She seems like a very nice woman (every time I see her, she is wearing a huge fur hat), but she’s in poor health & in no place to be raising a second round of kids (6 are still in elementary school — plus 1 year-old twins). Lydia normally sasses me a little in class & sometimes gets in fights, but if my childhood was that tumultuous, I would be the same way. I have been meaning to find a way to speak with her in a quiet moment, so on a whim, I decided that we should have lunch together before I took her to back.
I was nervous for a minute that shouldn’t wouldn’t want to eat with me (weird how I get self-conscious still — like choosing where to sit in the lunchroom and maybe being rejected), but I got over it, and when I asked, her eyes lit up. We stopped at sonic, and with glee she ordered a huge, strawberry, lemon, blue slush (we couldn’t figure out what flavor the blue is) while we jammed out to Beyonce. Over burgers & fries I finally got up the courage to ask about her family, and we ended up talking honestly– like I’d hoped–about losing loved ones and making it through hard times. She said the doctors told them that part of the reason her mom died is that she had too many children, and it weakened her organs. I’m worried that she’s internalized that to mean she is part of the reason her mom died? how awful.
Anyway, the point is that I wanted to take her home with me, but instead I’ve got to do my best during the few hours a day that I see her to love her up (and teach her) really well so that she can make it through all the crap life is dealing her. I am slowly realizing that too many of my other students have similar stories. During training, we heard a lot of stories about the things our kids might be dealing with, but it’s different in the flesh — darker, sadder, and often obscured under all sorts of disguises like toughness, ambivalence, and downright meanness. And sometimes I let myself be fooled by the games and disguises, and I get angry and frustrated with the kids. But there is always more to the story than what is seen. I mean to be better at remembering that in the new year. Not that it makes trying to teach in the face of constant defiance, disrespect, and attention-getting shenanigans any easier, but maybe this knowledge, always at the front of my mind, will give me the grace and patience I so need but usually lack. perspective is key.
For now, though, Matty and I are going to secret santa Lydia’s family, and I’m totally stoked about it. This is my favorite kind of gift-giving. If you’re reading this, you probably won’t get a Christmas gift from me . . . but I figured you’d all approve of this alternate use of funds
Peace to you.