Help where you can

This evening while reading I was reminded of all the pregnant women I currently know and a random thought popped into my head. When I was pregnant with Alex we decided to do the birthing class thing, because I was determined to not have a c-section and I wanted to know the relaxation tips and tricks and such.

(Incidentally, I ended up not going into labor on my own, being induced a week early because they thought he was big but my body wouldn't do anything, so I came back almost 2 weeks later - and after being induced a second time, and 19 hours of labor, his damned head was too big and I needed a c-section anyway.)

But again, I digress. I do a lot of that. Anyway, while at this birthing class we of course ran into some interesting types. One girl was 17 and came with her mom - the father never showed up but she and her mom seemed like nice, together people. The kind who, if she didn't decide to give the baby up for adoption, you knew would have a loving, supportive home.

There was the crunchy couple who were determined to have a natural birth - which, by all means, if you don't want drugs, don't get drugs. But damn, did I like me some drugs. Anyway, this couple's baby was breech, and they regaled us at every class with the natural ways they used to turn the baby, because they were determined to avoid a c-section at all costs - they even went with acupuncture. The baby finally turned just before our last class, so whatever they did, it worked, I guess.

Then there was this woman who came with her friend. She looked about 17-18, decent enough girl. But I saw in her eyes what I see in the eyes of some of my kids - that hopelessness, the, "I've never known a better life so this is all I'm going to hope for" kind of dullness. I don't remember exactly what the story was, but she told us about how she was walking out of a 7-11 and got shot in the back. And this happened while she was pregnant, so it was obviously recently. She talked about it with a wry smile on her face too, like everyone walking down the street gets shot, and yay! she survived it, no big deal. It made for a very uncomfortable moment when everyone in the class squirmed in their seats and made small, "Oh...wow," or "Thank god you're ok," remarks.

I think working at my school has done a lot for my acceptance of things like this. Growing up I lived a very sheltered, upper-middle-class life, and went to schools where even the least popular, poorest kids still had at least an apartment in a decent neighborhood to go home to. I've been to some of the "homes" of my kids - the trailers, hotel rooms, apartments where there are roaches on the floor and nothing but popcorn in the kitchen.

I took one of my kids home one day, after taking him shopping for some clothes because he came to school every day dirty and smelling like pee. He lived in a hotel room with his mom, stepdad and older brother, and the room didn't have a kitchen or microwave or anything, and they were eating popcorn for dinner. I paid for their hotel room that night, secretly, just before I left, because 2 weeks before this they had gotten kicked out of their apartment and his mom told me that they didn't know what they would do soon. I did all this knowing that my student's parents were both mentally ill, and possibly drug-addicted, and I wasn't surprised when a couple of weeks later his mom approached me, no shame or even pride on her face, and asked me if I could give them some money. That time I said no, and made sure our counselor and CPS knew what I knew. The boy is now living with his real dad and making strides. He's still not ever going to be accepted by the other kids - he has some mental health issues and god only knows what living with mom and stepdad did to him. But at least I know that I helped him a little, and I hope he remembers me for taking an afternoon to spend just with him.

The year after this I took a couple of girls on a shopping trip. One, I'll call her "Sydney," whose mother had been in prison for a long time, who basically abandoned her, and who was living with her aunt. I still have a good relationship with her aunt - we're on a first name basis. She told me recently that she uses my influence as a way to keep Sydney on the straight and narrow, by saying, "Is what you're doing something Mrs. B. would approve of?" It apparently works, which makes my heart swell every time I think of it - that I've had enough of an influence on this child that even years later as she's entering teen years I'm still making a difference in her life. She calls me to chat and occasionally texts me to tell me about her life and things she's going through.

The other girl, "Shauna," has been through the ringer. Molestation, drug-addicted parent, a sibling with enough issues to cause her problems with friends...the poor thing, from day 1, thought she had to not only care for herself but everyone else, and she never had a chance to be a kid. When I talk to her it seems like she's 25 years old sometimes, and then she'll turn around and do something that I'll think is terribly pre-teen of her. Recently I got a call from Sydney, who is still friends with Shauna even after moving and going to different schools. The call started normally, with me asking about how school was going and if she was being picky about boys, when suddenly she burst out, "Shauna's gone!" and started crying.

Apparently Shauna had run away, met up with a boy (who was VERY NOT her own age) and was gone for almost 2 days before the police caught up to her and him. Sydney told me that she heard Shauna was cutting herself, wearing "emo" clothes and being depressed, and that she had sex with this "boy" (who turned out to be VERY NOT a boy, but a man who should have known better). I imagine it has something to do with the fact that I'm a rather self-centered person, but all I could think when I was hearing this was, "If I had been more involved with Shauna's life the last couple of years, could I have prevented this?"

This is why I do what I do, I guess. I originally got into teaching because I love to teach - to impart knowledge to others and watch them light up when they have that "AHA!" moment, knowing that I had a part in that. But when I started teaching I didn't realize how much of myself I would end up giving to these kids, just because they need me. And I beat myself up every day because I don't have more I can give - I have my own life, with my own kids, and I have to keep the two separate or I will literally go crazy. But I end up loving these kids as much as I love my own, especially the ones that are hurting the most, and all I can do is help where I can.

I'm taking Sydney and Shauna out for lunch next week.