Today I was pushed, scratched, kicked, had my face blown on (That's a new one, and it grosses me out almost as much as getting spit on), stabbed in the face with a pencil, and choked. All by one child. Who I was with almost the entire day. But enough about that.
In the spirit of this past Thanksgiving, I'll share some of the things I like best about my current students.
K: Turned in a class assignment about the similarities between archaeologists and scientists. His answers were 1)History 2)Dinosaurs 3)Dragons and 4)Leprechauns. If that wasn't good enough, his clues for the game Catchphrase included such hints as "Rhymes with lomputer" (Computer) and "Starts with an F, ends with truck (Fire truck).
Danny: Is a short, round kid who gets excited about everything, but especially Star Wars and strategy card games. He talks in a squeaky, lispy voice and I am almost sure he is, in fact, an elf.
Cole: Is in that super akward girl stage that just makes you want to cringe. She has an enormous need to feel accepted by other girls. She likes boys and shows it by following them around but being too shy to say anything, but not shy enough to refrain from kicking them. She has seemingly no awareness of her body yet, but will ask to check in with female staff only to whisper loud enough for everyone to hear "I'm on my period!"
C: Can talk about the roughest parts of his life with bravery and openess. Surgeries, having had cancer, death and loss- everything. It inspires me to be more open as an adult.
Jr: Tries to play the tough guy, is oppositionally defiant, and often has no trust in adults. Despite that, he still craves basic adult affection, and when his guard is down, will do everything he can to make sure you're close by- including asking for help tying his shoes and talking for 20 minutes straight about anime characters. And his catch phrase is a very dramatic "Nooooooooooo!"
Byrd: Is a sweet kid with a good diposition who racked up several hundreds of dollars in internet porn bills by the time he turned 12, though he'll never admit as much to me. Although this is a bit unsettling, I find it a bit hilarious and rather normative development, considering he's going through puberty and not the first kid his age I've known to do the same.
Shantay: Is hands down better at sports than any boy at our school. Basketball, football, almost everything. And if she isn't the best at it, she just refuses to bother. Oh, and I caught her knocking on a door the other day and when the counselor asked who it was, she answered "Favorite Shantay". You gotta love a girl with self esteem.
Mick: honestly wants and tries to do better everyday. He has an incredibly short fuse so often he doesn't achieve his goals, but that has never, for one day, stopped him from trying. Oh, and he was able to hit me with rocks from across the parking lot. Small rocks though, so I was able to admire his arm instead of just being annoyed.
Bebe: Comes up with the best nicknames. My initials apparently stand for "Bully Squad", which is my new favorite nickname. And she can sing and dance by herself for hours. The number one favorite is "Little Satan" in which she dances around in a circle poking her fingers into the air, defiantely repeating the title over and over and over
Jane: Plays dumb in large groups, has trouble speaking for herself, and often answers "I don't know". Get her to herself though, and she can express her ideas and thoughts in writing better than the majority of kids her age- in our school or most others. And she actually practices her cursive!
Monday, December 1, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Mondays=Fun Days!
Today was one of those days where you walk out of the classroom with full intentions to return in 5 minutes with a full cooler of water for the classroom. Instead, you end up in a 15 minute restraint with a "normally" well behaved student who had been trying to escape the detention room by vaulting over the head of a counselor standing in the doorway. Needless to say, the water arrived a good half hour late.
This month seems to be "Eco month" at school. Still not sure what it's all about. It seems once or twice a week we have some new activity that I hadn't heard of before and don't know what's going on. Today was an eco-tour of the campus. They brought in volunteers to man different stations with themes such as "nature decorations" and "meditations in the Earth hut". An hour in and only a third though the stations, my kids started acting up and I decided it was time to call it quits.
K spit on me in a restraint today. Right on the side of my cheek. Worst smelling spit I have ever received at work. I think someone's getting a toothbrush for Christmas! I don't know how many times he threatened "I'm going to kick your ass when I get up bitch!". If only I had a nickel for every threat I've received at work! I'd have already bought a shiny new car. All this for running out of class when asked to take a three minute time out. Well, running out and trying to hit another counselor with a large stick. We should probably get dimes for every time we're threatened with a weapon. Maybe quaters.
On the upside, BeBe didn't pee herself in restraints today, as she did two days in a row last week. One part of me is sad in my heart for an 11 year old girl that is retraumatized in testifying about a family friend who raped her, a church member and mentor who broke into her house and raped her; her- a sweet-as-her-normal-self, mentally retarded, schizophrenic, young lady. One part of me wants to yell and grind my teeth and fight against all the horrible, mad things people will do to one another. Unfortunately there is a bitter part of me. A part of me that does not like being peed on. A part of me that is tired of every day stopping her from running into the middle of the street because "her ride is here". A part of me that is tired of being scratched to the point of blood and scabs because her switch gets flipped and she's gone from calling me her mom to calling me the devil. A part of me tired of picking her up in the company minivan and not being able to drive back to school because she's re-enacting The Exorcist in the car. A part of me tired of hours at the quiet room door, hours spent after school waiting for her mom to pick her up because she couldn't make the bus, tired of the smell of BO and unwahed hair permeating every pore in a restraint, tired of pulled fire alarms and firemen trying to talk to her about the seriousness of false alarms and the stunned look in their face when BeBe's response to their speech is "Butterflies". "Butterflies!" with a far off look in her eye, and me knowing she has stepped out of this dialogue to focus on whatever vision before her eyes, whatever demon whispering secrets in her ear. Tired of doing this everyday for months, tired of a system that is beginning to acknowledge she is beyond our level of care, yet has no place for her.
In an ideal world, a counselor would not have these parts. They would only have empathy and compassion and a commitment to working with these broken children who re-enact everyday what they have lived days, months, years ago. In a real world I acknowledge these bitter parts of me, these living, vibrating, human parts of me. I bow my head in acknowledment and keep telling myself "We can only try to do better. We can only try, we can only try, we can only try..." And I pull myself out of bed every morning hoping today will be different, today will be one of those days where I did better.
This month seems to be "Eco month" at school. Still not sure what it's all about. It seems once or twice a week we have some new activity that I hadn't heard of before and don't know what's going on. Today was an eco-tour of the campus. They brought in volunteers to man different stations with themes such as "nature decorations" and "meditations in the Earth hut". An hour in and only a third though the stations, my kids started acting up and I decided it was time to call it quits.
K spit on me in a restraint today. Right on the side of my cheek. Worst smelling spit I have ever received at work. I think someone's getting a toothbrush for Christmas! I don't know how many times he threatened "I'm going to kick your ass when I get up bitch!". If only I had a nickel for every threat I've received at work! I'd have already bought a shiny new car. All this for running out of class when asked to take a three minute time out. Well, running out and trying to hit another counselor with a large stick. We should probably get dimes for every time we're threatened with a weapon. Maybe quaters.
On the upside, BeBe didn't pee herself in restraints today, as she did two days in a row last week. One part of me is sad in my heart for an 11 year old girl that is retraumatized in testifying about a family friend who raped her, a church member and mentor who broke into her house and raped her; her- a sweet-as-her-normal-self, mentally retarded, schizophrenic, young lady. One part of me wants to yell and grind my teeth and fight against all the horrible, mad things people will do to one another. Unfortunately there is a bitter part of me. A part of me that does not like being peed on. A part of me that is tired of every day stopping her from running into the middle of the street because "her ride is here". A part of me that is tired of being scratched to the point of blood and scabs because her switch gets flipped and she's gone from calling me her mom to calling me the devil. A part of me tired of picking her up in the company minivan and not being able to drive back to school because she's re-enacting The Exorcist in the car. A part of me tired of hours at the quiet room door, hours spent after school waiting for her mom to pick her up because she couldn't make the bus, tired of the smell of BO and unwahed hair permeating every pore in a restraint, tired of pulled fire alarms and firemen trying to talk to her about the seriousness of false alarms and the stunned look in their face when BeBe's response to their speech is "Butterflies". "Butterflies!" with a far off look in her eye, and me knowing she has stepped out of this dialogue to focus on whatever vision before her eyes, whatever demon whispering secrets in her ear. Tired of doing this everyday for months, tired of a system that is beginning to acknowledge she is beyond our level of care, yet has no place for her.
In an ideal world, a counselor would not have these parts. They would only have empathy and compassion and a commitment to working with these broken children who re-enact everyday what they have lived days, months, years ago. In a real world I acknowledge these bitter parts of me, these living, vibrating, human parts of me. I bow my head in acknowledment and keep telling myself "We can only try to do better. We can only try, we can only try, we can only try..." And I pull myself out of bed every morning hoping today will be different, today will be one of those days where I did better.
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