When the boys were younger, I volunteered at school a lot, but as they got older, the teachers were less interested in parent volunteers. And then, of course, there was the whole “opening a shop” thing.
Well, with budget cuts, came a loss of aides in the classrooms. One of the 5th grade teachers sent a note home asking for parents who could come in to help in the mornings last week. I don’t open the shop until 10, so I e-mailed her back and said I’d be happy to come in Tuesdays and Thursdays.
I saw her last Thursday, and we chatted about it a little. She told me that she had one student that needed to have someone help him with writing and reading assignments, partly to help him actually read the work, but also to keep him on task.
I arrived this morning and was not really surprised to learn that the young man that needed help was none other than the young man that had pushed Will into the fence on Friday.
My inner-10-year-old had to resist the urge to wring his neck or push his head into his desk.
My outer-37-year-old realizes that no matter what I think of this kid, helping him helps every other kid in that room. If I can keep him on task, the teacher has the opportunity to work with the other students.
And maybe, if he knows he has to see me twice a week, he’ll think twice about doing something obnoxious to my kid again.