Que te vayas bien, m'ijo...

Today I learned not to take a moment with my students for granted. Today I learned to silence the pompous little voice telling me that I know what does or does not matter to these kids. Today I learned that apathy is not an option.

This morning during attendance calls I spoke with Jared's mother, who told me that he was not in class today because he is withdrawing from the school.

That's it, the end. No more chances Maggie.

Right from the beginning it was obvious that Jared was floundering. He walked into class every day, sat down in his seat, hunched over his desk like he was holding something inside or cowering against something outside. He never spoke in class, and the other students learned to ignore him. Enter Maggie, armed with her grab bag of CY power tools, confident that she was the chosen one who would set Jared's world back in order. So slowly, I started carving out a foundation for a relationship with him, whether he liked it or not. Yes, most days by the end of fourth period I felt like a moth buzzing around a fluorescent light bulb. But I knew it would take time, and I had lots of that.

So days turned into weeks, cut to Maggie slowly deploying the troops. I pestered my CY supervisors every chance I got, discussed Jared's behavior with my classroom teacher, even mentioned him to our school liaison. I waited at the door to the classroom every day to make sure I greeted him at the beginning of the period and farewelled him at the end. When he was absent, I made a point to talk with him the next day and find out why. I discovered who his friends were and started meandering my way into their circle. Time was ticking, but I had all year.

Cut to Maggie, hanging up the phone in the side room off the teacher's lounge today, not quite able to comprehend the dialogue in which she just participated. This couldn't be the end. I hadn't even begun. So I chased down my supervisors to figure out what could be done. The most frustrating part of all of this was hearing that it was out of my hands. Scratch that--the most frustrating part was that I understood why it was out of my hands. So much of what we do is politics...and it has to be that way if we're going to continue to reach the kids that we do get to. We have to maintain credibility in order to survive as an organization, and to do that we have to stay within the boundaries of our expertise. I get that. I wish it were different. I'm sure we all wish that.

So I had my good cry in the faculty bathroom, gathered up a fistful of toilet paper and sopped up the disgraceful loss of fluid all over my face. Today I lost Jared, but the saving grace of my job is that I get another chance with another student. And I WILL NOT take another chance for granted.

Today I decided that I'm not losing any more kids.