One more week here at this wonderful school, and then i am off to Phoenix. Beautiful day. My sweet angry third grader is here with me, working on the computer. I walked him to and from the cafeteria, so that he could get his lunch. The poor kid was struggling to hold his food tray and his pants, because he doesn't have a belt.
I am homeless by choice, and i am not even that homeless because i live in a quiet, lovely house, with civilized people. Most of my important needs are met. I have managed to develop a modicum of impulse control and mental health. Even in the most ideal circumstances, I still have melt downs and times of decompensation.
This child has no idea what a peaceful, abundant life looks like. He is 9 years old, and almost feral, unable to connect with kind people who want him to be successful. He has no idea why he is so angry.
Yesterday, the school nurse told me that his mother is a prostitute, and has solicited johns with the kids in the car.
One of the paraprofessionals is a minister, and his church adopted the family for Christmas. Parishoners spent the Sunday before Christmas, listening to carols at the church and wrapping the many toys and articles of clothing they had purchased for the family. Several church members take the kids out on the weekends, to breakfast, to six flags, to do anything that will make them forget for a little while that they are in a shelter.
School is their safe place, where things are peaceful, and people speak nicely to them.