YESTERDAY

Yesterday, I went to my doctor for my annual physical (which I hadn’t had in 3 years).  Actually, it was a return visit from about a month ago, when I went in for a minor respiratory and eye infection.  The doctor busted me and “insisted” that I make a follow-up appointment for a physical.

So I went in for the usual poking and prodding, female exams, and an EKG.  Praise the name of Jesus, everything was fine.  All the important numbers were down:  blood pressure, sugar, and weight (hallelujah!)  I still have a few tests to go, but after standard blood work, urine test, and a newfangled tetanus shot (the next one is at age 59) I was good to go. 

This was surprising considering the kind of week it had been at the school where I work.  My doctor sat patiently with obligatory look of sympathy on her face as I vented the frustration I was feeling.

Monday of this week, one of our students was shot and killed by another student a couple of blocks away from the school. An earlier altercation between a number of students and the shooter was said to be the cause behind the tragedy.  To add insult to injury, the student that was shot was not the intended victim.  He was merely in the wrong place (off school premises during school hours) at the wrong time. 

So I vented.  I vented about my frustration at the senselessness of it all; the shooting death of yet another student whose mother sent him to school that morning expecting him to return home that afternoon.  I vented about the violence that plagues our inner city schools on a regular basis, enough for it to be considered the norm.  I vented about the fact that a quiet day is considered an anomaly.  And I was thankful someone listened.

My doctor pleaded with me not to give up on the children.  I’m sure the despair in my voice betrayed me.  Maybe I have given up just a little, but only because the feelings of helplessness are overwhelming.  The children are hurting; they’re broken through no fault of their own.  They don’t come into this world broken.  We break them.  Life breaks them. They grow into broken adults who go on to break their offspring, and the cycle of generational curses continues.

My mind has been reeling since the incident occurred.  I’m trying to wrap my brain around some normalcy again.  Each time something like this happens, it takes longer to recoup.  My prayers are with all involved; students, parents, teachers, friends and enemies alike.  I’m praying that I don’t give up completely.  Unfortunately, this probably means leaving the system after 11 years of service in order to keep my sanity and to avoid becoming bitter. 

Whatever it takes to keep my numbers down…