Comfort and Protection

I've been meaning to write about Usher.
I spend a lot of time thinking about Usher. I probably spend more time thinking about Usher than I spend time working with him. To call Usher a truant is an understatement.

But someone called Adminsistration for Child Services about one of his sisters last week, and they remembered he exists and went looking for him so Usher has been around quite a bit lately.

Last year, when someone threatened to call ACS because of his excessive truancy- Usher showed up in the guidance office and begged us not to.

"You have been in foster homes before?" I prompted . (I knew the answer I read his IEP file- he had spent ten years in and out of foster homes.)

Usher told this story:
When he was six his mom left him in at the park to watch his younger sister. While she was gone the little girl got hurt. "Where's the parent?" someone asked and when no one replied the police were called. And that was the beginning of Usher's ten year journey in the system.
"And it was all my fault, Usher explained, if I had watched her better none of that would have ever happened.

So now Usher is 16, can't read Frog and Toad without making a series of mistakes and spends his days with drug dealers getting high.- At least until ACS threatens to put him and his sisters in the system again- then he returns to school.

Yesterday I made the stupid mistake of inserting myself in the middle of a girl fight-
I got knocked to the floor for my efforts. A strong arm reached into the fracus and helped me up. Then Usher gave me a hug.

Comforted and protected, by someone who gets very little protection

or comfort.



If he would only come to school more often-

Back again

So I had an attack of paranoia.
An old friend found me on Facebook and I sent her a link to my blog.
Now if I understood 21st Century Technology like I pretend to, I would have made sure that the link was sent as private message but of course I don't really get these things so instead I posted it on the Share page where everyone could see it.

Now I probably wouldn't have ever realized this except on the very day I decided to do this my husband decided to open a facebook page and read the message. I have no problem with my husband reading the blog (I even encourage him)but then I realized that the blog was out there on my facebook page with my real names for all these "facebook friends" who I work with to see. Not that I am particularly, purposelessly negative on the blog, but I figure it best to keep my musings anonymous.

All this before 8am on a Saturday morning.

So I panicked, made the last blog private and moved the old stuff over here.
Then I went into to frozen mode- and couldn't write anything for two we

And now I don't really know why I am explaining this since I have probably managed to excise any readership I might had had at all.



I've decided I hate my job (okay I love my job sometimes, but there's been a lot to hate this week.)

The ninth grade science teacher had oral surgery leaving me to suffer with the ninth grade inclusion class alone.
Kenya, the 6 foot 5 star of the basketball team switches from class clown, to chief cynic, to why you writing me up Ms TeacherFish, in less time that it takes him to hi jack a jump ball.

Cleo snickers, than guffaws and then breaks out into screech just at the second when I have been seduced into thinking he has settle down.

Lance pops up and down about fifty times a minute interspersed with blasts from his I-Phone

And then there's Tomas
Tomas joined the class in October. Small, Hispanic (in a school that is overwhelming African American) and infinitely less cool than his younger brother, Tomas devotes his time and energy to impressing the cool crowd by stressing me.

Today,
Tomas: Ms. Teacherfish- you Irish? Is Teacherfish an Teach Irish name?
Me: No Tomas, it means---- in another language and anyway its my husband's name.
Tomas: You married?

Me:
(What does that mean? Is it unfathomable that someone would marry me? but I just move on withe the lesson)
Then later I think I could have said: Tomas why don't you go and find a dictionary and look up the meaning of husband.
But maybe I should be mature than a wannabee 14 year old "gansta."


The crocuses are up-Spring approaches
and hopefully the ninth grade teacher will be back really soon.