A Mother's Intuition

A Mother’s Intuition

                It’s funny how sometimes a mother simply knows something has happened to one of her children.  It was the evening of July 16^th, 2008.  My son Devin had just finished playing baseball and we had arrived back home around 8:20 pm.  He asked to go out and play with the guys for a bit before bed, and I, being the nice mother, said sure.  I went into the house, made myself a cup of tea and was looking forward to relaxing.

I was just sitting down on the couch when I saw it.  A car, vaguely familiar, shot by our driveway, slammed on the brakes and reversed into the driveway much faster than necessary.  I recognized the car as belonging to a parent of one of Devin’s friends. It was then that I knew Devin was hurt. It was an instant realization that I felt in my brain and in my heart simultaneously. Devin was going to need me and I needed to be calm for him. Something was wrong.

 I very purposefully  put down my cup of tea, shut off the TV, picked up my car keys and my purse and was heading to the back door when my husband yelled, “Donna, Devin’s hurt!”  Then came the sound of crying, lots of crying.  My husband, Devin, our younger daughter Emma and all the friends Devin had been playing with came barrelling in through the kitchen door.   “What happened?” I asked.

“I fell off my skateboard,” Devin sobbed. “It really hurts mom! It really hurts!”

“Ok buddy, calm down.  You need to stay calm Devin or else you’ll throw up. Deep breaths, that’s it.  Can you move your fingers?”

“Yes, but it really hurts.”

“I know it hurts bud. What about your hand? Can you move your whole hand?”

“Yes,” came the frustrated cry.

The wrist was definitely swollen- but he could move his hand and fingers so I thought, bad sprain maybe?   The group of boys were just beside themselves so I shooed them out and called over our friend, Tina, who is a nurse for a little expert advice.  Tina had a look, asked Devin to move his fingers and hand again and although she too did not believe it looked broken, she did suggest an x-ray.

 I gave Devin two extra strength gel caps and off we went to the Cobequid Center.  It was 8:45 pm and the reality was, our night was really only beginning. The wrist was indeed broken, in two spots actually and Devin spent two nights in the IWK because it took several attempts to set the wrist properly. When all was said and done my husband asked me how I could be so calm when stuff like that happened? He had immediately burst into tears upon seeing Devin in the hospital bed.  I sent him out of the room just as quickly as I had just gotten Devin calmed down and to sleep. I didn’t honestly know what to tell him except for that I knew Devin was hurt when I saw the car; I didn’t need to hear him crying or hear the details of what had happened.  I didn’t have the surprise factor that he did.  In my being I knew I had to remain calm to keep Devin calm. When I stopped at the send of the ordeal to catch a breath while Devin slept I did feel bad for my baby, he was indeed hurt and had certainly suffered through some pain.  However, in the end, we were lucky. A broken wrist could be fixed; a head trauma could have played out very differently. By the time Alfred arrived, I was thankful...no longer uncertain of where the night was going.  Sometimes, a mother just knows.

Well...

Well! When I went to school…

If I hear these words one more time I am NOT going to be held accountable for what I do! When YOU went to school, you walked up hill, both ways, in 10 feet of snow with no shoes! I know. When you went to school, students sat quietly and respected not only the teacher, but one another. When you went to school, foolishness was punishable with a leather strap and a worse beating when you got home and had to own up to what YOU did. When you went to school, your mother and father wanted you to do well, be better educated then they were and to succeed.

Well fast forward to today because when I go to school every day, and I do mean every day because taking a sick day would mean going back a week in any progress that has been made, I work at making students into not only one day being useful citizens, but to be somewhat humanly behaved in the school building ! When I go to school, I listen to parents ranting and raving that the bus is coming three minutes early every morning and their son is missing the bus. What are we going to do about it? I’m going to come to your house every morning and kick that little bastard out of the house 5 minutes earlier every day so he doesn’t miss the bus anymore; he’ll be early!

When I go to school, I can be called to a parent meeting whenever parents want…because really, aren’t we in the business of keeping them happy? NO, I am NOT in the business of keeping parents fucking happy, as a matter of fact…their happiness does not ever cross my mind! I AM in the business of educating their child, only after I have fed him and given him the supplies he needs for my friggin’ class because he doesn’t have any. I am not going to be pleasant sitting through my lunch hour discussing your child that acts like he’s 6 instead of 13! Parents aren’t coming because they’re concerned over their child’s behavior…they need to vent because they too see the same damn behavior at home and are ready to lose any sanity they have left and where better to vent  than school…after all, they’ve spent years there, they know what’s going on!  “It wasn’t like that when I was in school!” No, of course it wasn’t.  You weren’t in a class of 27 with 5 unmedicated ADHD young males that have mastered every animal sound known to man! When you were in school, students didn’t refuse to move, or tell you to shut up or tell you you were a fucking bitch because you asked them to close their locker. You want me to call YOU every time YOUR son doesn’t come for extra help? I have 90 students, 15 who should come for some extra time…so should I call all of their parents as well, or are you special? Here’s an idea…why don’t we make your son accountable for coming to extra help? WOW! There’s a new one, whew! Oh, that won’t work because he won’t come? Well empty out his bedroom of everything but a blanket and a pillow and see if that will inspire him to get his arse to extra help- I offer it; I’m not dragging kids to it!

Oh, but please, don’t go away thinking all parents are like this…because truly they are not. We have, on the other hand parents who certainly have more education than I, albeit not IN the field of education, who feel that their mere presence should intimidate me into giving their bright, and they usually are bright, child an A. Well, they may as well by pass me and go directly to my principal because if they know so fucking much they should be homeschooling and not wasting my time. I will not spend 10 minutes discussing why little Janie got a B in English and all of her friends got an A. Her friends got an A because they earned an A not because I like them more because, really, see paragraph 3.  I’m not in the business of making people happy! If you earn it, you get it, if you don’t earn it, you don’t get it! Grade 7 English is not getting your child into Harvard law-perhaps you should be more concerned that your child is late every day, skips class and is hanging with a whole new crowd of friends. Get your head out of your ass and see what’s really important here. The A isn’t it!

Here’s what you need to know about when I go to school. I love going to school and I take my job seriously. I may not like your child, but I will always respect them. I will feed your child any day they tell me they are hungry. I will provide pencils and paper to your child every day, because I have bigger battles to fight.  I will listen to your child if they need to talk to someone, or refer them to someone else who can.  When your child is absent, I will tell them upon their return that I missed not having them in class…and I will mean it. When your child is rude, I will call them on it. I spend quite a bit of time explaining why their actions are NOT acceptable for class or school.  I will go up one side of your child and down the other if that’s what the situation calls for and then I will encourage them to do their best, because that’s all I ask. You are the parent, and I respect that. I have my own children.  I don’t need yours. I do not question what you do at home so why, why must you question everything that I do? I have three university degrees, working on my fourth, and almost 17 years experience. Before you decide you’re not happy, ask your child what they think. You might be surprised to find they really like set expectations and very clear guidelines of what is and is not acceptable.  Maybe the problem isn’t with the child…just maybe.

W

Until Bedtime

Until Bedtime

“Someday you’re going to have a daughter just like you!” Words viciously spat by a fed up parent .Why is it parents never say that to their child when they’re being good?

  Am I looking into a mirror when I look into your little face?

The eyebrows, the mouth, even the voice; you are my mirror image.

When you stomp your foot and scream, “BUT MAMA,” little hands on hips, sometimes, I want to laugh. Other times, I want to cry.

You are your mother’s child in that you are soft and caring and so easily pierced by an unkind look or word. Yet, you are fierce and determined…maybe even stubborn.

I find myself stopping after a particularly difficult battle with you, thinking, “Please give me strength to make it through until bedtime.” Whether God sends down a dusting of patience or my mother’s soul reaches out to me, we make it.

Every night, my little me, I cover you up while you sleep and I wonder how that holy terror who brings me to the brink of insanity each and every day can look so angelic in sleep.  The long lashes, the pudgy hands, the soft rhythmic rising and falling of your chest- you are a cherub, sent to bring me peace.

So, every night as I go to bed I take the best of you with me. I lay with the thought of you and it brings me a sense of serenity and of strength.  Tomorrow when you put your little hands on your hips (and you will) and when you scream, “BUT MAMA,” I’ll smile a quick, fleeting smile and ask someone, anyone, to please help me make it until bedtime.

The Fight

The Fight

On my way to course tonight I witnessed the most disturbing sight.

A fight: a full fledged knock down, three on one, hardly fair, fight.

The victim laid flat on his back, appendages flailing, head butting, biting.

Survival instincts had clearly kicked in.

What crimes had this poor creature committed to deserve such a beating?

Surely it must have been grave!

The attackers- all in black- continue to pummel the victim.

A more vicious beating I have never witnessed.

I wanted to stop my car, to interfere, to help; but, being a coward, I drove on.

I feared for my safety – gutless.

When I leave class I search the sidewalk where the beating occurred.

 I am certain that the victim did not survive.

I search for the lifeless corpse and just up the sidewalk, I find it.

The crow lies dead. Beaten to its death by his peers, his own kind.

I’m left to mourn the brutality of its passing.

I’m also left to wonder...

As humans, do we mimic nature?

Or does nature mimic us?

Safe House

Safe House

Children

Contentedly sleeping,

Dreaming.

SLAM! Wide awake.

Dad’s home!

Slurs, arguments,

Music on blast.

Pounding on door,

Hearts begin to race.

A drinking buddy, yet…

An intruder.

A mother’s scream,

“Kids get up! Run!”

“Where?”

“Just GO!”

Barefoot, running, hand in hand

Behind bushes, trees, hidden.

Silent tears, hearts pounding…

Then

The light, the voice…oh, the voice!

“Kids, come here. It’s safe…”

Sobbing, racing to open arms,

My uncle’s house-

Our safe house.

Nyah

Nyah

I love my dog in a way most people can’t,

or won’t understand.

She trusts in me whole heartedly

 that I will feed her,

and walk her

 and love her.

Her expectations are really very few,

yet her unconditional love is abundant.

I can tell Nyah my biggest fears,

my greatest desires

and my deepest disappointments.

She  listens

and kisses where appropriate.

She won’t share my thoughts with others,

or hurl my words back at me in anger.

Regardless of my mood,  Nyah loves me.

If I’m angry, she climbs into my lap

and is still.

If I’m happy, she brings a toy to play.

If I’m sad, she brings kisses,

 lots and lots of kisses.

I believe the world needs more dogs.

Sometimes humans are simply overrated.

Final Resting Place

Final Resting Place

There you lay, in your final resting place of unforgiving, gray concrete.  Dandelions shelter your remains,   you are wet and yellowed by both time and use.  Randomly chosen from amongst your pack, you were used, enjoyed, yet ultimately blackened and discarded.  You rest unlit not six feet from a no smoking sign…was that the cause of your demise?  Motionless you lay, being eaten by both ants and the elements.  Once a craved after member of a pack, but when your fire burnt out you were left as nothing more than a distasteful, dirty, cigarette butt.