For Her, I Will Be

I came to my computer tonight ready to post about something entirely different than the soap box I am about to climb upon, but a friend's recent post about a scene she witnessed this weekend struck a chord with me.

Before becoming a stay-at-home-mom, I was a public school teacher. I completed several internships that exposed me to children from "both sides of the tracks". Of all the suffering, struggling, families I came into contact with, one little girl changed not only how I viewed life, but everything and everyone in it.
I stepped into that kindergarten classroom still a student myself. At 18 years old, I had a passion for kids and an energy that I couldn't wait to bring to those 20-something smiling, dirty little faces. I'd always had a way with kids, and I couldn't wait to show it off. I remember walking into the classroom that day, chatting with the teacher, and getting the "run-down" on what I would be doing over the next several weeks. As I took the head of the classroom and began to tell the students about myself, I noticed one student sitting away from all the other kids. As the others giggled and chimed in on what their names were, their favorite colors, or what they had for dinner the night before, she sat alone...absorbed in her own little world. The teacher later told me that she had behavior problems and came from a "poor home". The more I learned about this little girl, the more I realized the teacher wasn't referring to her socioeconomic status.

And "poor" was putting it kindly.

For the next week I watched as she lashed out at other students during play time, sat alone, rocking on her heels during circle time, and literally jumped if you walked too close to her. She never spoke. I sometimes wondered if she could even hear when we spoke to her. Although I felt pity for her, I often became frustrated at her obstinance. This was supposed to be my "thing" and I couldn't make her do anything I asked. Couldn't make her cooperate. Couldn't make her smile.
Then one cold and dry November morning, I entered the classroom just as the students were lining up for Related Arts. I found her at the back of the line, in obvious distress, clawing at her lips. I got onto my knees to talk to her, and noticed her lips were so severely chapped they were peeling. I reached into my pocket, took out my 99 cent chap stick, and rubbed it on her lips.
And that is when everything changed.
Her eyes lit up with a light I had never seen. The most beautiful smile spread across her baby face. She reached out her little hand, clasped onto my own, and didn't let go until we reached our destination.
I spent a lot of time that night wondering what could have sparked her change.
From the moment I was born, someone loved me. Someone held me when I cried. Someone cared for me when I was sick. Someone comforted me when I was scared. Someone held my hand, rubbed my back, and brushed my hair.
Someone gave me chap stick when my lips hurt.
But no one did these things for her.
As time went on, our bond strengthened. My mom also worked at the school, and was able to pull some strings so I could spend more time with her. We eventually contacted the family and I got to do some things with her outside of school. Things I knew no one else took her to do. Like get an ice cream cone.
This beautiful little soul opened my eyes to so many things.
Like what it means to be loved. So many of us naturally take for granted what it means to be loved.
I don't know why her mother abused her. I don't know why no one came to her Christmas program. I can't understand not loving her enough. I just know that she wasn't loved enough.
Maybe no one loved her own mom enough. Maybe drugs had stolen a mother's claim on her child.
But I don't care what the excuse was. Because it wasn't good enough.
As parents, it is our job to love. We all slip up. We all lose our patience. We all say or do things that we regret. But we can never stop loving. Our children are people. Lives. And they learn how to love themselves by the way we love them.
I wanted to take her home with me. At the age of 18, I wanted to put her in my car, drive away, and never let her look back.
The next year I headed off to college and her family eventually moved. I saw her in a grocery store several years later. A very long time in the eyes of a five-year-old. She was riding on the back of the grocery cart when her eyes locked with mine. For a moment, I could see her contemplate before she lept off the cart and ran into my arms.
I will never forget her. She taught me. She inspired me.

For her, I will be the best damn mother I know how to be.