We all have personal emergencies, and this morning, another one has been added to my long list over a lifetime. George, my cat, a big Persian long hair, fell off our balcony. I found the old boy at the front door yowling in pain and blood everywhere. I wrapped him in a towel, set him in the cat carrier, and headed to the vets. The vet, a young girl originally from Queensland, had that special animal empathy, so when she grabbed George and took him in the backroom, I wasn't too worried, for she worked with my other cats before. At that moment, I asked to use the phone to ring the school and inform them I'd be late. An hour later, she brought George back out looking drugged but pain-free. He had cracked a few teeth and lost one, but otherwise, the old man would live for another day. Returning home, I made him a bed with food and a water bowl beside him and headed for school.
Driving to the school, it started to rain in droves. Never one for superstition, I take much heed in omens; however, that said, the rain seemed to always presage some catastrophe in my vicinity. Not necessarily a catastrophe for me personally, but instances of bad luck or drama around my world.
I arrived at the end of the third period, just in time for morning recess. Grabbing a coffee in the teacher's lounge, my colleague, Mr. Phillips, sat next to me.
“We might have a problem with our project, Bradley.” he said.
Sipping my coffee, “What happened?”
“That's the problem. The boy said he won't talk to anybody else but you.”
“You're joking, right? I said.
In the doorway with her arms akimbo stood the vice principal. Looking serious as usual, she beckoned me to follow her to her office. I noticed that Bradley sat in a chair outside her door with his head bowed.
“Something has happened to Bradley, because he came to school crying and distraught. His home group teacher attempted to find out the problem, but he remained quiet. He said he only wanted to talk to Mr. Middleton.”, so she palmed him off to me. Why do you think this is the case, you're not his home group teacher?” she asked.
I thought for a moment, and said, “I teach the boy English in the last period. Over the last two weeks, I guess we have developed a rapport. His father deserted the family a few years ago, so really, your guess is as good as mine.”
“Okay, you can use my office.” she said.
Once sitting the boy down, he immediately began to quietly cry, streaks of dirt tears running down his cheeks.
Finally, he opened up: “ I got in a fight with mum because she wouldn't make dinner. She got furious and put me in the hall closet. I couldn't get out. She locked it somehow, and I had to sleep in there. I finally pushed the door open. I was late for school and didn't want to get in more trouble...”
When anyone hears a story like this. First, emotion is a shock that turns slowly to anger. At first, I didn't know what to say, but asked, “Have you ate anything since last night?”
“No,” he said.
“Okay buddy, stay right here, and I'll be right back.”
During this time, public schools were better financed, so we had a welfare officer. I discovered the vice-principal and the welfare officer standing just outside the door. I related the story and observed the same sequence of emotions run through them as I had experienced a few minutes ago.
“I'm going to the canteen to get him something to eat.” I said.
In low-income neighborhoods, the battle for substantial teaching and learning is on-going. Because 95% of families cannot afford the yearly school fees, including books, uniforms, and basic supplies, the school or individual teacher ends up paying the bill. For example, a month before school begins, we sell second-hand uniforms to families for close to nothing. This also includes used books and cheap notebooks, pens, and pencils. In a situation like Bradley, the school could not afford a trained welfare officer only a few years later, leaving the problems up to the administration and teachers. This problem, lack of proper government funding for public schools, to my knowledge, still exists. This is certainly a government problem, giving private schools money while leaving the public with scraps. If it was up to right-wing leadership, they would privatize the school system, leaving the poor excluded to profit.
We ended-up having a meeting with Bradley's mother, where she brought along her babies. Through child care agencies and others, we discovered that she was a recovering heroin addict, a single mother, and simply trying to make ends meet.
Our receptionist would secretly take Bradley's dirty uniform for the rest of the year, replacing it with a clean one every week. This was done before school started, ensuring Bradley's school mates wouldn't know the difference.
After that particular meeting, from that day forward to our knowledge, this student was never put into a closet again.
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