The Ache of My Job

I love my job.

I love when my students smile and scream every time I walk into class like I'm famous and follow me around the yard like I'm super cool. 

I love how emotionally open both the girls and boys are that I meet.

I loveeeeeeee when my students choose not to give up on themselves and prove to themselves, that despite how "well" something might or might not be/look-- it's done. They did what they said they couldn't "ever" do. 

But with every job, there are areas you cannot change no matter who or what you are. My heart aches and breaks when I hear stories of my students and their home life, one that I admittedly took and still can take for granted. The only difference is I know better now. They don't and if they do, well, they grew up quickly and there's likely a bigger picture behind the scene. 

I understand my job is not to criticize or judge the families and I am not. I am not there to fix their home life, I am there to help manage their school life and the thoughts and feelings when they are at school. Yet, I can't help but observe and think-- what about the parents? What more can we do? Is my only option to call FCS? That rips families apart and if you could see what I have, they are already torn. Across the board. I have worked at 4 or 5 schools in Waterloo and that's not that many, but I've seen so much. So much potential with zero motivation and zero encouragement. AND THEY ARE LITTLE FIREFLIES!

LET THEM SHINE! I try my best to protect that light in them, which allows them to shine, to be their authentic self and not the kid stuffed into a box. 

I've always said that having a child is like getting a permanent tattoo on your forehead-- it's there for good. You can b!tch and complain that you have them, or work with what you got. I would suggest the latter if we're talking little humans, they can't guide themselves and for no other reason than WE SUPPLY THEM WITH THE SURVIVAL TOOLS OF HOW TO LIVE- NOT JUST WHAT. 

Every family has their problems whether it's financial, mental, emotional, domestic, alcohol or drug related. I'm very aware. But that doesn't mean it's impossible.. Anything is possible. And these kids need us. 

I wish there was something we could do. I wish that parents would see that, as educators- a CYC- a student, child, sister, human I know and understand what it is like to be in their exact seats an that being-- we just want to be heard and loved. It's exhausting I get it "Can I tell you..." x 20423058403 or "LOOK!" and it's like "K I've looked 65 times and as much as I love you, nothing is really changing." BUT that's being an influence in their life, and hopefully a positive one at that. You're an adult, so come up with a way to let them down easy versus grounding them and yelling. THROW THEM IN THE LAKE! THEY'LL THANK YOU LATER! Trust me, the yelling and hitting, they just pass that on at school. They mimic you. 

If I could go back in time and change the way things happened to me, these are the specific areas: and for the record, I love my parents we're doing just fine now, I'm not "living in the past" merely referencing it

:

Everything you do your child sees. Every word you speak your child takes in. When you fight, I see it and it scares the living hell out of me. I can't understand your words or why they are so loud, but I know it is not good. I only hear of that in the bad books I maybe listen to at school. 

Please, care about my schooling but not the grade. Unless I'm failing miserably, but even then. There is something deeper than just me being inadequate. Don't give up on me, please help me figure this out. 

If you hit me or even push me I will never forget it and I will know it is wrong, but be too afraid to ever say anything. Ever. ( This is more a message to everyone, not just my parents) I will think this is ok, but it's not. Never has been. -- a student came to me today and told me the multitude of times their parent hits them and yes "kids say things," but I have faith in my students when they are talking to me. That's what makes me good at my job. 

Just let me cry and be a kid. Seriously. Just let it happen...Don't tell me to get over it. Don't tell me I'll be fine. Maybe just hug me and be silent.  

We need our parents. We need you, adults. 

Love 

Dorothy