Catching Up, part One

I considered never blogging again... but I now work with about 100 middle school students... and they provide more fodder for writing than perhaps any other group I have ever observed... if only being their teacher did not also mean having zero free time... still, let's try to catch up. In pieces. Bit by bit.

Rewind to June...

Adam came home. I quit working out immediately.

But seriously! The above statements are both true... but they misrepresent the delight and joys of his homecoming. His return certainly defined the summer. I could wax away on that, but I'm feeling shy.

My job... my delighful job as a clinician for students with learning disabilities ended. Everyone there took it in stride except for Mr. L. I could tell he was having a hard time when one afternoon, towards the end of our sessions together, he stated that he wanted our daily drawing of a tornado or hurricane or earthquake (he had a slight fixation with natural disasters... and near death experiences... and scorpions) to be replaced with a drawing of a tree. I love trees. He knew this. We had the following conversation:

Me: Mr. L, why don't you want me to draw a tornado? You love tornadoes!
Mr. L: I'm sick of tornadoes. And natural disasters.
Me: Really? Wow. Okay. (I commenced drawing a tree...)
Mr L.: I think you should keep this tree drawing. Then you can look at it later, and remember me, and remember all the good times we had.



If you knew this boy, and the unrelenting infatuation he has with all things destructive... and his utter disdain for all things mundane (like trees)... and how difficult it was for him to notice other's interests... you would be as touched as I still am everytime I look at that tree drawing... it always makes me remember such good times.

Later, that same hour, he noticed my arm... apparently for the first time.

Mr. L: Oh, Miss Hannah, you need to go home and shave your arms right now!
Me: Why?
Mr. L: Because! They have hair on them!



I tried to tell him that hair on arms was okay. He was unconvinced. His face showed lots of caring concern... mayhaps he had been made fun of for hairy arms. Goodness knows he's born the brunt of many jests and crushing comments. The truth of spending time with middle schoolers: Words can kill. His words had been meant as protection... I think few people have cared about me as much as that memorable Mr. L... I have a tree picture as proof.