Because of the slow bleed of students from Clayton County Schools, classrooms were shuffled about four weeks ago. One Friday morning they announced to the teachers that they should have all their students packed up and ready to go. Another 3rd grade classroom would be designated an EIP class, justifying the smaller number. At 1:05 two staff members walked in and gave us the list. We were gaining two and losing two. My supervising teacher (who shall be known as "Teach" from this point forward) had to go into the hall so the students wouldn't see her crying at the loss of two sweet boys. They tried to frame it well. They called it "winning a special lottery" and getting to move to another teacher's class. But one of our boys didn't buy it at all. He looked at me and burst into tears. I held him against me and told him we loved him. I told him that change was hard but that I knew he'd be great. I told him we'd see him in the hallway.
He didn't buy it. The front of my shirt was wet when he left. Within the space of two minutes the boys were gone.
However, we got Pippi.
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That's not her real name, of course. I'll call her that because sometimes she braided her shoulder-length hair and reminded me of Pippi Longstocking. The only white student, she had huge blue eyes and freckles and didn't smile at all that first Friday.
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We got her reading scores (high) and math scores (middle). We watched her out of the corner of our eyes. She was quiet at first, then slowly started to open up. She was sweet. And a voracious reader. We couldn't keep her in books. She had round wire-rim glasses. She asked us for help with a bully on the bus. Teach emailed the bully's teacher and then paid him a visit. The bullying stopped, and Pippi started to really open up.
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Last week we actually had to reprimand her for talking too much. I was glad, since it showed that she was relaxing.
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Thursday afternoon the phone rang. The secretary tersely told "Teach" that she needed to pack Pippi up for immediate withdrawal from the school and bring her to the office. She packed Pippi's bag as I took over teaching the class. Later Teach told me what transpired on that walk to the front of the building.
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They got into the hall and Teach told Pippi what was happening. She asked if Pippi was moving. Pippi said she didn't think so. Teach asked Pippi if everything was okay at home. Pippi nodded yes. Then Pippi quietly said, "Well, last night was pretty bad," and she began to cry. Teach stopped and bent down in front of her. She wiped away Pippi's tears and said, "I don't know what's going on but I promise you this: it will get better." When they arrived at the office, the counselor and principal shooed Teach out of the office.
And just like that, Pippi was gone.
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Relating this story to me at the end of the day, Teach's frustration was palpable. She won't be told anything more about the reasons Pippi left. She'll fill out some paperwork and turn it in and that will be that.
Looking around the room, Teach said, "We have to do better by these kids. We have to know how to help them. We have to find a way in." She moved her hands in the air as if grasping at invisible straws. "We have to do better by them."
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And now she's gone. Was she a January girl? I'll never know. And I'll never get to tell her that she is stronger than she knows. Whatever is happening in her house, it won't last forever. She can heal and have a good life. I hope somebody finds her and passes that along.
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