Given To Grandma That Night

I go to classes and everybody cheers. The teacher is cheering the loudest of all, the kids laugh at this. I am her thirty minute break, and it is a time for me to play with children who needed one also. You are funny! They tell me. We love you, one says. Some run to me and hug my butt, and stuff. I do not k now about funny, but I get to know them now so when their grandma dies, or their cat spits up a mouse in front of them and they cry uncontrollably, I can lead them away, to a safe place to show their feelings. I went to check in with my gangster six-year-old yesterday. We will call him Tony. I have been checking in with him on a regular basis, as he is sometimes in trouble, at home, in a bad place. In my twenty-three years as a school counselor I had never picked up a kindergartener who said this to me: “I do not want to go with you.” Eyes glaring. “Come on,” I coaxed him. “We will play a game or something.” When we approached my office door he turned and warned me. “Why do you want to know about my business?” I was shocked. Savvy at five; wow! “I don’t,” I replied, “I want to learn about you.” Our conversations after a week led the authorities to his house. They rescued him from a bad dad, and a stand-by-and-watch-mom. He was given to grandma that night, which NEVER happens. I went to get him yesterday. He refused to come. This surprised me. On his way out, he gave the teacher and I his saddest, maddest, most angry face. Two seconds before we reached the door, I turned to see him pull another child out of his chair and throw him into a wall. He is back with dad. Thank you Social Services. Great job.