Over the last two months I have been thoroughly absorbed on my teaching and students. Working again is exhilarating and exhausting; the struggle to balance everything keeps me on my toes. Many funny, wonderful things have happened. Those days I feel like that song "ten feet tall and bullet proof". Sometimes, I loose sleep over my worries. Too much work, not enough resources, no support and things keep piling up. But I am used to all that. What I'll never get used to are kids like BJ. At first, I had a hard time telling him apart from the other kids. He blended into the background, a thin, quiet kid with brown hair, brown eyes in a uniform. Slowly, I began to see him--I mean really see him. First came the obvious--poor, tired, always hungry. Falls asleep in class. Wears the same shirt (forever untucked) all the time. Free supplies from counselors' office. No calls returned from Mom. BJ couldn't read on level; math skills are so low he can barely count. Worrying about his academic progress, I began to take notes. How do you write about a vacant, pained look in someone's eyes? How do you read sarcasm in a 9-year old? Is he being disrespectful? Is he lonely? Does he even know where he is half the time? I understood this kid was "jaded" but when I say that no one else understands. He is disappointed and hurt. Definitely neglected. He's been lied to before. He doesn't know his dad. He doesn't believe anyone or anything anymore. But he is only nine--and he hugs me fiercely before he leaves class. And his eyes shine with pride as he begins reading and participating in class, little by little. He gets a treat at the end of a very hard-working week, and as many animal and peanut butter crackers as he can eat in my class. New uniforms. Brand new 24-box of coloring pencils--he likes to draw and color. And then he's gone. Out of my life, like a wisp of smoke. Whisked away to another extended stay motel--no phone number, no address. Checked out on report card day. Without saying goodbye. I am just another stop in a long line of disappointments, places where he doesn't belong and probably will never see again. I have met many others like him before, but he is my first this year. As the familiar mixture of pain, longing, and anger seep into my heart, I remind myself that this goes with the territory. Maybe BJ will remember me. I pray he is ok. I hope he grows up and builds a better life for himself. I would have liked to say goodbye and wish him well. I wish I could have done more. Goodbye BJ. I will keep trying to be the teacher you needed, even if I never see you again.