And I Saw Him Standing There

I plopped the hot pink, flower-topped pen into its holder at the sign in desk of Soccer Boy’s before school care program and turned to give him a final wave.  But something at the corner of my eye distracted me from our pat routine.  Standing all alone, wedged between the two racks that hold the first and second graders’ coats and backpacks was a student I knew from All-American High. 

Surprised, I said hello and asked him what he was doing at the elementary school.  “Well, I brought my little sister to school, but now I don’t know what to do.  It’s still early for her, but I’m late to school.”  One of the saddest parts of my previous job was that I often learned the sordid details of students’ family situations.  I knew why this young man had brought his sister to school.  Or maybe not exactly why, but I knew it was likely his mother was “unavailable,” either because she was in jail or because she was unconscious.  I could see the struggle in his eyes:  how could he leave his little sister, but how was he going to explain his absence from first hour?

I asked him to point out his sister to me and saw that she was around the same age as Soccer Boy.  That being the case, I knew it was likely she could easily make her way from the cafeteria to her classroom.  She was still waiting in line to get her breakfast, so I assured him that by the time she got her breakfast and ate it, it would be fine for her to go to class, that the teachers would be on duty by then.  He still looked unsure, so I told him to go talk to her and make sure she felt okay about that plan.  The relief he felt from having someone, particularly someone he sees as an authority figure, tell him what he should do was palpable.  He talked to his sister and then headed to school.

The more I thought about the situation, the more I worried.  I knew he had no one who could “call in” his absence.  He’s been working so hard the last couple of years to pull his life together and make something of himself, all with no home support. He’s joined one of our athletic teams and is making the practices and keeping his grades up. He’s working to help contribute to the family, and, clearly, doing much of the childcare for his younger siblings.  I didn’t want him faced with a truancy on top of all those challenges.

So I called his principal.  I shared the story with her, and she assured me she would take care of the absence.  She also said that she knew some people might criticize her for being “too easy” on this particular student, but she just felt the need to watch out for him.  I completely understood.  Someone, or in this case a lot of “someones” at All-American Public Schools, has to look out for him.  Because he’s doing his best to look after himself.  Because he’s seventeen years old.  And, because the people who are supposed to be watching out for him clearly abdicated that responsibility long ago.

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