I have a list of all my students in order of the last time I called them and I do my best to work through that list. I've slacked horribly in the last couple of weeks, but my timing was perfect when I called Kate today. She hasn't been working in my class for the last couple of weeks because she's been in pain, the kind of pain that only teenagers can claim to have. Maybe it was just the timing or maybe it was some open tone to my voice, but she shifted the weight of a bad breakup and a family split off her shoulders and into my lap. We talked for at least 20 minutes about her anger and grief. Her sister called her trash and cut all ties with her over, admittedly, a tasteless joke on Facebook. Her boyfriend told her he didn't love her anymore after two years together. She's been burning everything she can that reminds her of him. This last one worries me a little, so I will keep an eye on her and continue to suggest she channel her rage more into her writing than her pyrotechnics.
There have been so many other things in the past week, including a full day of Professional Developement, which signified nothing, but this conversation with one lonely, isolated student with a beautifully dark humor is what brought me back to my own journal.
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