The Dream Keeper

 I lay on the massage table in the dimly lit room.
"Okay, clear your mind and focus on your breathing." the massage-lady instructed.
I immediately imagined Lola delicately arching her back in the original downward facing dog, then settling on the table for her massage.  My mind flashed to her sitting in a comfortable chair, her feet soaking in hot sudsy water. 
"That's it! You found your happy place!" the massage-lady stated.

"Trayvon's mother is here, she wants to see you." another teacher informed me.  Shit.  I had emailed her earlier in the day about her ass-slapping son's latest antics.  I had a feeling I was the one in trouble.
I walked into the office.  The administrator raised his eyebrows at me and left the room, leaving us alone.
"Hi, I'm Hilary.  I know we have spoken on the phone, but it is nice to meet you in person."  I shook her hand.

"I read your email and came down here right away.  I was already on the bus line on my way to school, but I decided not to go to class.  This is more important.  He is my son.  He has enough time to play and he plays enough.  I watched him when I got here and he didn't know it.  School is not playtime.  He will be in middle school next year.  This has to end.  He has to understand how to be in school."

"I have spoken to him about responsibility.  I am changing careers and I go to school all day.  When I get home, I take care of him and his brothers and sisters.  When they go to bed, I stay awake and do school work.  He has to learn to do this."

My mind flashed to the late seventies.  My mother was in school all day and raising the three of us on her own.  We were also on public assistance.  But I never really related to Trayvon or felt a like-mindedness or parallel experience. Was it racial?  Did I think my white mother with her three white kids on welfare while she went to college was somehow better?  Did I think that what Trayvon's family was doing was some kind of far fetched day dream while what my family did was realistic and practical in some way?

"I am studying to be a chef and Spanish food is my specialty.  I've told him that learning Spanish is important, that there are jobs that I could have gotten if I was bilingual.  I've told him that I might move them to Spain to learn more about cooking.  I want him to realize this is important."

I thought about what she said.  My immediate reaction was that it was a far-fetched goal.  A second later, I realized that she was not a daydreamer, but a guardian of dreams.  She had not looked at her situation and become bitter and angry.  She was still approaching life in the way a prosperous young college student with the world at their fingertips might.

I think it is a gift.

Normally when I have to speak to parents, I really have no idea what I am doing and just throw stuff out there.  I admit it.  But she wasn't blaming me and I wasn't blaming her.  I wasn't a bad teacher and she wasn't a bad parent.  We had to work together in order to help Trayvon.  We came up with a plan.

"So, we are going to try this.  If it doesn't work, we'll come up with something else.  But we are going to get him on board."

I actually really meant it.  I am committed.  I will continue to work with this child and his mother because it is important.  And I will work hard.  We have a partnership.  I will not view Trayvon as an annoyance in my day.  He is a human being that is very much at risk and I will work to help him get the basic skills that he needs to make it through school. 

I looked at "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" book that I had bought Oliver.  It was a Spanish translation.  I bought it for him because I heard that it was his favorite.  I told myself not to get to excited about giving it to him.  He is different minute to minute, sometimes giggling and hugging, only to stare past you a second later and not even notice your presence.  There is a reason why they call kids with his condition 'the child that won't love you back'. 
"Come here, Oliver, I have something for you."
He got up dutifully and walked with me to where my bag of tricks was.  He had his 'no giggle' face on.  As I bent over to retrieve the book, he caught a glimpse of the cover before I reached in.
"THE VERY HUNGRY CATERPILLAR!"  he called, grabbing the book from my bag and clutching it to his chest.  He immediately began flipping through it.
"Say 'thank you', Oliver, say 'thank you'"  Marsha instructed him.
"Thank you!" he said staring at the book.
"No, say it to her!  Who gave you this?"
"Wagner, Spanish teacher, thank you!" he said, staring at the book.

If you have never read "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", it is a story about a little egg lying on a leaf under the moon that later hatches a small caterpillar when the sun gazes upon it.  The caterpillar eats and eats throughout the book and submerges into a dark cocoon, only to dig himself out after a couple of weeks.

When you open the last two pages, a huge and colorful butterfly covers both of them.