In which Sheila goes from refilling ink cartridges to "Why I homeschool"

Have you seen that movie Being John Malkovich? If you thought that was odd, you should try being in my head. The ceilings are just as low and my hair is about as crazy.

This morning I was in the shower,thinking.
I noticed my left index finger was stained. Well, that happens every time I refill the ink cartridges on the upstairs printer. I'm too lazy to put the little plastic plug over the bottom opening so I just use my index finger. The ink washes off eventually and I couldn't care less about how my finger looks most days.

My black and purple finger (I had to refill 3 different cartridges.) reminded my that my finger looked the same way during my Organic Chemistry classes while I was in college.

I had to take Organic Chem lab as part of my credits. I would have taken it anyway since I am a big time science nerd.
In lab we had to do a series of reactions to determine an unknown material. This amounted to putting said unknown substance in a test tube, adding reagent, and noting the results. If a particulate formed, you'd have to pour off the liquid and then figure out what the two substances were...the liquid and the particulate.

I loved that stuff. But I was a bit lazy. I was supposed to use a rubber stopper on the test tube. Instead, I would just cover the top with my index finger and give it a quick shake.
This was not a safe practice since more often than not, the additive was some sort of acid. Eventually, my index finger developed a thin, black scab and then my fingerprint sort of peeled off.

No biggie in the grand scheme of things. My finger is fine and I got an A in both organic labs.

But the lack of fingerprint did cause trouble when I started my education practicum.
I was assigned to the C-STOP program at the state youth detainment center. I was thrilled...really. I love a challenge and these kids were challenges.
C-STOP is the Chronic Status Offenders Program. It's a short term (maximum 60 days) kid jail for chronic truants, probation breakers, and runaways. To volunteer to work at the center, I had to be fingerprinted.
When my left index fingerprint didn't show up...the Officer jokingly asked, "What did you do? Burn your fingerprint off with acid. Ha, ha, ha."

Ummmmmmmmm...yes actually. I did.
He gave me that crazy woman walking...watch out look and then seemed to keep a close eye out on me for the rest of the semester.

As a college student, C-STOP didn't bother me that much. These were some bad kids. But as an adult and parent looking back on the experience, I am just horrified.

I can't imagine any child being treated this way for such minor infractions. The children slept on thin mattresses on cinder block tables to elevate them. They had no privacy at all. The toilets had no doors. The shower stalls had no doors. The rooms had a door that stayed locked at night but had a large window to the hall. The lights were on 24 hours a day. They could not wear their own clothes and were not given uniforms. Instead they wore "state clothes" that were given to the state from charitable organizations. These were the clothes that would not sell in the thrift shops. They were out or style, ill-fiting, and humilating for 11 to 15 year old children. The most shocking thing was that there were children who had been there for over a month and their parents had never visited them.

Looking back, I think...Of course these kids acted so terrible. They were taken away from home and put in what I saw to be a worse situation then treated with no dignity at all. Then they got proof of what they had always felt...that their parents really didn't care about them.

Most of the kids I met said that they were dropping out as soon as they could. There was no sense in staying in school when they were so far behind that they could never catch up.

I wonder how they all turned out.

The beautiful, tall, black girl who was all smile even though her Mamma's boyfriend beat her until she felt she had to run away, repeatedly. She would put on her "state clothes" every Friday night and put on a variety show. It was hysterical. She had a light in her that should have mattered to someone.

The pretty, blonde girl who just wanted her mom to tell her that she was special. But since that never happened, she was so desperate for approval and love of any kind that she ran off with various older men, across state lines and ended up pregnant twice by 14.

The angry boy who glared at me each time he saw me. When I gave him an extra fudge round that I brought, he asked me what I wanted in return. I told him, just a smile. He crammed it in his mouth and grinned a chocolate grin. From then on, he would grin at me like a maniac until we both started laughing.

I wanted to do so much for those kids. In the end, all I could do was hang out with them on Saturdays while they waited to see if their parents were going to visit. And then try to cheer them up when they didn't show up.

I wish I knew how society failed them. How could parents care so little about these precious little people? Who let them down and who could help them?

When I started teaching, I wanted to save them all. But there is precious little one person can do in a 180 hours. I did what I could to make them feel intelligent and worthy of respect. But I know I didn't do nearly enough.

A few weeks ago, one of my former students was arrested and charged with home invasion and endangering a child. He was a handsome, smiling, quiet boy in 7th grade when I last saw him.
Now he's facing serious jail time.

I can't save those other children but I can do my best for the 4 lives I know I can change. I will not fail them.


This is why I should refrain from filling ink cartridges. I promise the shower wasn't really that long.