I got home today and nearly collapsed on the couch.
I wanted to cry as my dog looked up at me, informing me he needed to go out. It was a long day. And sometimes after long days, you need a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and a Marlboro.
I grabbed my dog, and my unhealthy habits, and headed outside. On edge, on the verge of tears.
I went over my hellacious day in my head as I sat at a bench. There was one thing that had me near the "I-need-to-scream-in-my-pillow-or-my-ears-will-start-steaming" type of mood.
A kid at work decided to call me "bitch" at least twenty-five times today. Don't ask me why, because I don't have an answer for you. I was annoyed and have been a little annoyed the past few weeks at work.
Talking to someone who doesn't want to listen to you, is the most exhausting thing you can ever attempt to do. Another exhausting thing that I have found in my line of work is providing something called "support". Especially when it is thrown back in your face on a regular basis.
These are just a couple of annoyances I have discovered at a job that I love. We all have them... even at the jobs we LOVE. And I do love my career, but it's a type of love I'm new to.
I came inside from walking my dog and decided to mindlessly stare at my fishtank. This is something that I do called "zoning out" and I use it as a coping mechanism for stress and boredome. Any way, the fishtank is called a bio-orb and it is round with fluorescent lights, a bubbler and plastic foliage at the bottom.
One of the fish caught my eye. It is a small, black, angel fish with a couple of decrepid bottom fins and feelers. He was kind of swimming sideways like his equilibrium was a little bit off. I have heard this is a sign that an aquarium fish is feeling under the weather. It was no surprise to me that he might be feeling pretty awful.
My mind drifted off to a couple of days ago as I was "zoning out" in aquarium world.
I had noticed that the black angel fish was staying near one of the plastic plants more than usual that day. I screamed for Thomas in horror that the baby angel had his bottom fin and feeler wedged in between the leaf and stem of the plant.
Thomas to the rescue! He worked to wiggle the fins out of the plastic plant cunundrum. In horror, tears welled up in my eyes as I watched him try to set him free. (So, yes I am very sensitive towards fragile, vulnerable things. And yes I suppose I have assumed that the fish is a boy fish). He finally set the fish free and he could barely swim. Then had to drag his adult girlfriendhad away from the fish bowl after about 30 minutes of intently watching the injured little creature.
My mind came back to the present when I had one of those "Ahaa!" moments. I do have a soft spot for the fragile, vulnerable things in this world. That is just part of who I am. My compassion towards my fish, and the disadvantaged kids I work with, are not so different.
The student I was frustrated with is a vulnerable and misled child who cannot be held accountable for the plants that he has been snagged on. His acting out is a side effect of such damaging occurences. So instead of swimming sideways, he shows he is hurt somewhere by displaying erratic behaviors... like calling his authority figure a "bitch".
So I don't get it, but I had a normal upbringing. I am lucky. And I am fully aware that with the luxuries of having a normal childhood, I owe those who didn't; my wisdom, my advice, my supervision.
So maybe the little black angel fish won't make it, maybe he will. Maybe he will recover completely, but there is a chance he might not; that parts of him will never be the same. I have to prepare myself for all of the outcomes. And all of the side effects of his injuries. I have know how much control I have over the situation; and the truth is I can only do my best. I will give him what he needs to survive, but sometimes that won't be enough. I cannot get attached, or I'll never make it out in one piece.
So call me a bitch and I will try to understand where you are coming from. I will try to remember that you are just swimming sideways.
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I'm so proud of you Tasha. This is so beautifully written and you are so insightful. I can't wait to read the next thing you write.
ReplyDeleteMom
I wrote this nearly a year ago. It goes without saying that my passion for the field I work in continuously grows. It's not always easy or rewarding, but occasionally there are these glimmers of hope; however fleeting, but beautiful moments that remind me why I do it.
ReplyDeleteThe same student I speak of in this blog returned to the facility for a committed (adjudicated) sentence. Through much struggle and hard work, he eventually managed to obtain a certain status through good behavior. This status allows him to be active with re-integrating into society. He is allowed to get a job or join an athletic team or go job searching.
After earning his GED a year early, I watched this intelligent young man grow even more as a human being. He began to research colleges and other transitional plans for his post incarceration.
One of my responsibilities is to check the mail and distribute it to all appropriate parties. A letter came for this student in an envolope with the return address of "office of admissions" of his number one choice of schools. The student happened to be with one of my coworkers, the transition coordinator, near my office. This employee is responsible for overseeing the student's planning of their transition back into the community.
As soon as I received it, I brought the letter to my co-worker and the student. They stared at it with an equal intensity. They argued over who would open it, and finally decided that the student should be the one to do it. He carefully tore the top of the envelope and slipped the piece of paper out.
He opened it and read aloud "Dear Sir, it is our pleasure to inform you of your acceptance to Such and Such Community College". He didn't get through the rest of the letter after this sentence. The three of us cheered and the student shouted with joy. After letting his brain catch up with him, he collapsed in the chair behind him. He took a deep breath and began to cry and said "I'm going to college, man". As tears began to run down my own face, I stepped out of the room in fear of looking unprofessional. Even during incredible moments like this one, there is a place for boundaries.
I went back to my office, humbled and rewarded. I remembered an angel fish with a torn fin; I remembered a very sad and poorly guided boy. But in front of me, walking back to share the good news with his peers, was a healing young man. He walked with pride. The little angel fish could finally swim normally.