"Hi!" he said, with a big smile, as we passed each other in the hall. He held out a hand for a "high five". I was a goner. This is the one I have known since he was two months old, in the center for pregnant and parenting teens. This is the one I would have adopted if I could have--with his mother, a scared, non-communicative 16-year old. He was a happy baby until about 10 months, when his mother's lack of affect, and his grandmother's mental illness began to take a toll on him. Sometimes, when I went to the center, I'd just sit and hold him tight, trying not to cry at the psychological damage that was being done to him. He was always ready to cuddle, and would hold his arms up for me when I came into the room. I befriended his mom. She kept herself distant from most people. But I persevered. I did the one thing everyone told me not to do--I hugged her, every time I saw her. I'd hug her and tell her what a beautiful child she had. I'd look for little things M. did and make them sound like Christmas to his mom. And then I'd hug her. One fine day, she leaned into the hug. Tears pushed at my eyes, but I didn't yield to them; I knew I'd really scare her away if she saw such a reaction. After that day, we would talk a little, and when we were talking, she'd let M. sit on her lap. Little steps, take it slow, don't look for miracles. And then my job responsibilities changed and I was no longer at that center. She was given a work study placement at our other center, and the first day I saw her there, she smiled at me! A big smile. "Hi!" I said, holding out my hand. "hi!" she answered, taking it. Unfortunately, that was a high point for her. She did graduate with a special ed diploma, which meant M. was no longer eligible for our program, but her life fell apart. The staff pulled some strings, and we got a two-day-a-week placement for him with us so that he could receive speech services. He was out of place in the center, now. He was too big and too old for the others. We couldn't keep him challenged, but his speech did come along, very slowly. At three, he was speaking only single words. Then, there was an opening in the building where I am now stationed. M.'s dad, although not with his mother, has always taken an interest in M. and has taken him for weekends since he was about a year old. Our center is way out of transportation reach for M.'s mom, but within the district for dad. Mom and dad made a deal that M. would live with dad during the week, and go home to mom for the weekends, so he could continue speech and be with children his own age. Heartbreaking for mom, and her life has deteriorated since M. is no longer with her. That breaks MY heart. The first day M. came to our school, I had told his new teacher that he is very special to me and that I knew she would be particularly kind to him as he had had too many major upheavals in his young life (I'm not above chicanery). It worked. She greeted him softly, lovingly, and fell in love with him herself. He's been there since September, and I've watched him grow, from the sidelines. He has never acknowledged that he knows me. I've wondered if he associates me with his missing mom (she no longer can care for him at all), and to spare him that pain, I haven't forced myself on him. So, that big smile, and that "Hi!" was a present I'll not soon forget. I'm so grateful that he is happy, and that he is talking full sentences (even about his feelings, says his teacher), and that he is finally able to let me back into his life. I have tried to find out about his mom, but no one seems to have any information. I'm not assigned to that part of the county any more, so my connections are limited. I'd like to tell her about her beautiful boy.
Today was the day from hell; and a good reminder of why I don't like administration. I was the "manager-in-charge" because big boss was on vacation, and second boss was in the north county at meetings. So of course, everything fell apart 5 min. after I arrived at 7:10am. Not the least of which was no maintenance man and a fire alarm pulled by a three-year-old; no one knew how to turn off the alarm bell, and we forgot to call the fire station to report a false alarm. It all went downhill from there.
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