Sometimes I Forget

They laugh at my jokes and kindly oblige when I say, "Give me your eyes." They complete their assignments and read their books. They correct their grammar when I furrow my brow and they say, "Yes, ma'am," when I refuse to respond to, "Yeah." Of course some misbehave... they're pubescent teenagers after all. But for the most part, my kids are shockingly wonderful, shockingly normal.

Sometimes I forget.

I forget that S's mom is never home so her brother cooks her dinner - but only when he's not in juvenile hall. I forget that M goes home to a single-wide trailer that houses four families, a drug-addicted mother, and a slew of small children that she cares for and feeds. I forget that L lost her mom to a car wreck and J lost her dad to a gunshot... but she's considered lucky because at least she knew him... I forget that K watched both of her parents die in the same year or that N was raped by an uncle. I block out reminders that E gets abused or that A has been wearing the same faded uniform for two years. 

I forget all of these things until a child snaps at me out of the blue or refuses to accept my one-on-one attention during class. I forget until someone lashes out at a classmate in the lunchroom and then looks at me, eyes watering, body shaking. I forget until I send a kid out to the hallway to calmly discuss her attitude... and I get nothing but more attitude. Because as my blood boils and I try to steady my own frustration, I feel those reminders nagging at the back of my conscience, prodding me to be more understanding, to try a different approach. I don't like yelling and I'm fairly certain that they've learned to block it out anyway. I'm fairly certain they get enough of that at home, but they don't respond to reasoning either. I'm fairly certain they haven't been exposed to the skill. 

I often wonder what they're thinking. I've tried to ask but I usually get walls. Are they thinking that I couldn't possibly understand and that I should just leave them alone? Are they begging for someone to notice what they're going through and to just ask one more time if they're OK? Or am I simply getting all worked up over cases of middle school moodiness?

Regardless of the reason, how do I tell a child she should be concerned about her 17 average in my class when she's facing a reality that I could never imagine? How do I tell a boy that selling drugs is the wrong choice when every man he looks up to is telling him otherwise? How do I tell a student who is two grade levels behind that dropping out is not his best option when his father is at home contradicting my every word?

I wish there were an easy explanation. I wish there were a class I could take that would teach me how to help the students who need it the most. Not the ones whose test scores we need because they're on the verge of proficiency. I want to know how you convince a child that a bubble map is worthy of their time - more worthy than raising their younger siblings or avoiding conflict at home. I want to know how to sell the idea that school really is the way out. 

If I could figure out a way to do that, I'd do this job forever.