Dad on Duty #113

She sits alone at recess, against the fence on the playground, arms crossed, frowning.

She has been an emotional hot mess all day. Upset at the littlest things, difficult to redirect.

I have talked with her several times. I see other teachers going to her now, trying to engage her and in turn get her to engage.

She balks.

I do what I can to encourage and support her today.

But something is wrong.

At the end of the day, we can’t get her to come out of the classroom for dismissal. She is sitting at her desk.

The only person in the room. In the dark.

Writing.

I call to her from the doorway, impatiently, “come on, it’s time to go”.

Without looking up, she says “almost finished”.

Rather than choosing to stand at the door and bark at her some more (which was my initial inclination), I walk in and go to her.

She is writing cards. Several of them. One to each of her family members, including her siblings. 

“I don’t think I spelled my sister’s name right” she says. “It’s hard”.

She has decorated all the envelopes with stickers and little hand drawn hearts and flowers.

I have a slow moment of realization. 

“I think they will love them, all of them. Even your sister” I tell her.

I wait till she’s ready, then walk her out, and help her pack up.

I give her a hug.

What is going on at home? I can’t even begin to understand And I now realize I spent a total of about 15 minutes with her today, in 3 minute increments. 

It. Is. Not. Enough. 

I almost lose it walking back down the hall. 

The weight, of their little lives, is just so heavy.