They were always eating. Or at least, always wanting to. I don't know if it was a side effect of drug use perhaps or just the hunger in their souls.

For almost four years, I taught in two different alternative schools. My students were high school students who had either just been expelled or just gotten out of jail. For whatever reason, the principals felt extreme structure would be good for these students so one rule was "No food or candy in the classrooms." I think part of the reason is that chip bags, etc., could have been used to bring in illegal substances so it helped to just outlaw it all together.

Alternative school students are at this school because they have already broken rules so, not unexpectedly, the "no snacking" rule was also one they treated like a challenge. I hated being "the food police," but one of the points was they needed to learn to follow rules. It's a skill that most of us use in jobs, while driving, etc. A stop sign means stop, even if it's the middle of the night, and no other car in sight.

So these were "the bad kids." However, as the saying goes, "It's hard to hate someone once you know their story." And working with these same kids for four years, I got to know them pretty well. You can't spend every day with someone, year around, without them becoming part of you. They may be the thorn in your side, or the person you always complain about, but they are part of the rhythm of your day.

Many of my students lacked self-control. Like many teens, they lived in the moment, but even more so. Our goal was always to reduce our arrest rate. It wasn't uncommon to have huge fights, even over something as small as another student stealing a piece of their candy. The spring was always the worst. The population of our school fluctuated according to the rate of expulsions and arrests, so went up in the spring as many students "got their last strike" at their old school and were expelled.

It was pretty common to have two to four arrests during school each day. Many of them were due to behavior and fights, but others were due to whatever the students had done previously. The cops learned the best place to pick up a "wanted" kid was to find them at school. We have many "security guards," but also have two cops who dressed in full uniform (handcuffs, etc.) because it was best to already have them on campus for arrests.

The most dangerous times as a teacher were the fights, whether they were in your room or not. We all wore radios to contact security as needed, but used ever changing codes because we did not want the kids to know the "come quick to room ___" code. The times that they realized meant often my students would try to fight as they then knew I could not get security to come. In our meetings, they impressed on us over and over, whatever you do, do NOT let a kid out during a fight. We had about 15 guards on a good day, but if all 200 students joined in a brawl, they could quickly overwhelm security. All students went through metal detectors and were physically frisked every day, but a big one was girls hiding weapons in their hair and/or any student hiding razor blades in their mouths.

Every day was an adventure. Some days were pretty calm. Others ended with me having to give a police statement due to what happened.

I know it sounds like a hostile environment (and it could be), but I truly came to love my students. There were a few who, well, it was very hard to reach, but there are still some I think of.

Seven of them have now died. (Maybe more, I don't know for sure.) Ashia Raquel Oliver died in a fight one weekend. She was murdered. She was a lovely girl, trying to turn her life around: https://www.royalfh.com/obituary/6511192

Mustafa Bearfield was a special education student who was always hungry. He was murdered by a man because he stole the man's lunch. He dropped the lunch box, but the man still shot him in the back as he ran away. The story of his death is here: https://www.al.com/news/huntsville/2018/05/mustafa_bearfield_jonathan_sco.html

The photo of Mustafa was taken in one of our classrooms. He is wearing the white uniform shirt the school required at that time.

Khayree Austin was murdered one night. He was such a card. He always had a shy smile. He had an excuse for everything, but when I'd call him out on it, he would laugh. He'd say, "I just can't put one over on you, Ms. C." Khayree wore his hair high, and was proud of it. We would joke that he did it just to look taller. He would laugh, but never denied that we had guessed his motives. Khayree: https://www.al.com/news/huntsville/2016/07/police_still_following_leads_i.html

Justice Perryman was a twin I taught. Many of my students were huge men, 6 foot 6 inches. Justice was one of them. When I first started teaching, I worried about the larger students, but later learned they were often the calmer ones. The students who were most fiesty tended to be the shorter ones. Maybe they were used to being picked on, so they learned to strike first and run fast.

I don't believe Justice could read very well (which was a fairly common problem.) Justice was trying, but often got discouraged. He became a father as a teen, but committed suicide. https://www.royalfh.com/obituary/6509757

James Townsend actually had the same first name and same birthday as my son. James T. was so determined to do better. He was trying really hard to improve both his grades and his behavior. He would say, "I'm going to graduate, I promise, Ms. C." This is James' story, or the ending of it anyways: https://www.al.com/news/huntsville/2018/04/taco_bell_shooting_murder.html

I admit, I can't pass that Taco Bell without thinking of James T. He had a sweet spirit, a shy grin. He had a crush on one of my female students and would ask me for advice on how to get her to like him. I really thought he would make it out of that life, out of the path he was on. I guess he made it out. I just had hoped he would get a chance to grow up.

Brandon Thornton, oh gosh, Brandon, I had high hopes for him. With Brandon, I hate to say that I taught both him and the student who murdered him. T., the murderer, did have a bad temper. I used to see him on a street near mine, wearing a backpack. The rumors were that he was dealing drugs. He got into it through his uncle who also dealt. T. had a cruel side, but I honestly never thought he would become a killer. But maybe I was naive.

Brandon was about to start fresh back at his old school. I saw him at the open house there, carrying a pizza. (These kids were always hungry!) He walked up to me, all excited about his new opportunity. He had a fresh start. He and James Townsend would have graduated from high school the same year as my son.

Brandon sometimes had trouble processing information, but one day he casually mentioned that while his mother worked, his older brother used to tie young Brandon to the porch. Then his older brother and his friends would beat up Brandon. Brandon, of course, couldn't get away. He said sometimes he would pass out in the fight and wake up still tied to the porch.

None of my students had easy lives. And sure, where were the parents? In Alabama, too many of the dads are in jail. No matter what they did or didn't do, my students needed dads. This left mothers trying to make it, in an economy that sometimes I think thrives on desperation. If no one was desperate, they would never be willing to take certain jobs for so little pay and then where would the business profits go?

So Brandon is also gone: https://www.al.com/news/huntsville/2018/01/brandon_thornton_huntsville.html Whatever he might have become, good or bad, we'll never know. He had a gentle smile and big dreams.

I taught Terran Burt. After high school, Terran and another of my students killed a lady. They landed in jail where Terran later died: https://www.al.com/crime/2020/10/arrest-made-in-madison-county-jail-inmate-slaying.html

My students who died were a mix of good and bad. Some of them made bad choices that led to their fates.

My years with them are in the past, but often they still cross my mind. Are the ones in jail safe? My state has some of the worst jails in the country. And what of the deeper questiins. If they did crimes, do they deserve safety and a second chance? Can they change? Which ones are past redemption? Is anyone?

Bernardo is still in jail here. His parents took a second mortgage on their home to hire a lawyer for him. He is their only son. I'm not sure if Teriq got a lesser charge: https://www.waff.com/story/31437476/2-teens-arrested-on-robbery-charges/ My daughter now works at the store where they stole a car.

Jataveon was arrested again in February. I really struggled with him to help him get his work done to graduate on time. Was it worth it? I hope somehow his education helped, though it appears he keeps landing in trouble.

I don't know why I still remember their names, and google my former students now and then. Most are not in the news so I am hoping they went on to have happy lives. Why do I still search for them, mindlessly snacking on the crumbs they left behind, the threads of their stories after we parted ways? Does searching feed my soul or are the questions in my mind a hunger without an answer?

I don't know. But I hope some part of them knows happiness, friendship, and comfort. I hope they make it, and find the love and peace they always seemed to hunger for.

"Bye!" she murmured, and closed her apartment door.

"Did she just say, 'good-bye'?" the rocking chair (RC) giggled, still moving a bit. Miss had jumped out so fast, R.C. was still swaying a bit, even after the door closed. "Boy, it feels so good to stretch," R.C. sighed as her movement slowed." "Miss doesn't sit enough."

"Hmph," mumbled the bookshelf. "You don't need to brag. We all know she touches you a lot more often than the rest of us."

"You're full of B.S." R.C. giggled.

"No, I'm not, that's just what you call me. B.S. makes about as much sense as a name as R.C. does for you." B.S. snorted.

Thump. One of the books on B.S. fell over, now lying flat on the shelf.

"Oof, why'd you do that for, I.M.?" B.S. grumbled.

"I had to do something to get your attention! Stop bickering. It's Sunday, and you know what that means. Time for stories!" I.M. squeaked. "Story time, story time!"

"I'm full of stories." B.S. insisted.

"Of course you are, books have stories, but let's do what we did last week. Let's tell our stories. It's fun!" I.M. replied cheerfully.

"I'm in. It's not like I'm moving again anytime soon. What's the idea this week?" R.C. asked.

"Hmm...well, like you said, moving. Where were you before we moved into the apartment?" I.M. inquired.

"A furniture factory. Short story." B.S. chuckled.

"We weren't always boards you know," R.C. took on a more thoughtful tone.

"Boards or papers..." I.M. interrupted.

"Oh yeah, papers, sorry, I.M. No offence." R.C. said.

"None taken. You first, B.S." I.M. replied.

"Well, you all may not realize but I'm not from around here. I don't mean, not from NYC, I mean, I'm not from the U.S. Before I was boards, I lived in Latin America. I was from a big family, the Mahoganys. Between our whispering leaves and our linked roots, we were always trading the local gossip. I loved being part of the family. So much security, you know? I grew up and oh ... " B.S.'s voice trailed off.

"You miss someone?" R.C. whispered.

"I had grown so tall and strong. The day the axes came, the day they came, it wasn't enough that they took me, they.... Just chop, chop, chop, jagged uneven cuts right through all those careful layers of my trunk. Do you know how long it takes to keep a trunk diary like that, do you? Seriously, it's so hard. The story of my forest life, written layer by layer and now, now, just look at me! Look at me! If you were trying to read this, I just look like these disjointed letters and words. I promise you, I wrote it so carefully. I used to make sense, my history, my life... used to make sense." B.S. seemed on the verge of shouting or tears, it was hard to tell which.

"You said, it wasn't enough that they took you... they...?" I.M. prompted.

"They trampled my seedlings. So small. I had sheltered them, dripped only the best rain drops through. I was so proud of their growth! I just knew they were going to succeed. The season before, the drought had taken my babies, but this crop... trampled. They never even had a chance. I sent them as much nutrients as I could, quickly through our root system, as they chopped, but ... I doubt any of them made it." B.S. choked on her words.

"We all did what we could." R.C. whispered.

"And only stories remain ...." I.M. murmered.

They had not realized the passage of time. B.S.'s voice had drowned out the ticking of the clock by which they lived their lives. Tick, tick, tick, such a quite life after the excitement and noise of the squirrels and birds they left behind in their childhood forests.

Their conversation stopped abruptly as the key turned, and the apartment door swung open. "I've been waiting all day for this," Miss sighed, dropping her briefcase and sinking gratefully into R.C.

Miss grabbed I.M. who stifled a squeal.

R.C. rocked Miss gently and steadily, imagining in her mind that she was swaying yet again in the wind of her far away maple forest. The longing for the bright company of her fellow maples, clothed in star-shaped leaves of red and yellow, caused R.C. to squeak a little as Miss rocked, but Miss never seemed to notice.

Miss read, her imagination communing with the words on the page, as I.M. breathed out as much life as she could through her pages, the energy she used mixed with Miss's thoughts until whole worlds were becoming clearer and clearer in the air of fantasy. Together they dreamed and breathed, I.M. enjoying the only way she could grow now. Up and up in flights of fancy, it wasn't a trunk that could stand, but as long as Miss was reading, I.M. grew and stretched in dreams.

"Funny how reading makes me feel less lonely," Miss sighed, shutting I.M. and leaving for her shower.

"I don't know why she thinks she does it alone," I.M. sighed. "I guess it's my life. Always looked at, but never seen."

"Why do we call you I.M. again?" R.C. whispered.

"Because you judge a book by her cover, apparently," I.M. giggled. Plain as the nose on Miss's face, they all could read her title, "Idol Musings."

The writers write, the pages whisper, the chair rocks. All begun by the sharp, swift blade of an axe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ideas on tree communication from:
https://e360.yale.edu/features/exploring_how_and_why_trees_talk_to_each_other

Some info on tree trunk records:
https://www.climate.gov/news-features/blogs/beyond-data/how-tree-rings-tell-time-and-climate-history

Most new moms are all excited to move their toddlers out of a crib. They think it is this amazing step into growing up.

Then, in the middle of that first night, they feel a slight breeze, open their eyes, and find a small face RIGHT in front of their eyes saying, "Mom, are you awake?" It's eerie. If your face moves, you bump foreheads. Any closer, the kid would have been kissing you. It's a heck of a way to wake up! Somehow, in all the rush for a pink bed with Frozen sheets, the new mom forgot this meant the kid is now "free" to move about the house all the time. No matter the hour.

And thus the "stay in your bed" wars began. These wars last years. Darkening curtains are installed because the child never sleeps past 5am. I have three kids and I resorted to hanging an old, thick, dark comforter over the blinds. Surely, if I made the room totally dark, they might sleep 'til 5:15am? I was so tired. That's a big cloud over all my memories of their childhood, my feeling of a undying urge to sleep.

In desperation, moms try to teach time as young as possible. "Do NOT come to Mom's room until the little hand is on the six," we tell them. This rarely worked with my kids. They would "think they saw it right." I heard from my sister that the latest "sleep device" for kids is some alarm clock that shines a colored beam of light when they are allowed to leave their rooms in the morning. This was not available when mine were little.

So from the time they are born 'til maybe 10 or 11 years old, the kids are sweet dew drops of the morning. They wake up, like my daughter S. in this photo, all cute and smiling bright in their Barbie nightgowns, clutching Teddy Bears. They romp and play with the dog, so cheerful and loud every morning.



They smile. It's "Can I get up yet, Mommy? Can I? Yay!" whenever you come in their room each morning.

And then, around 11 years old or so, this cheerful morning glory of a kid morphs. It literally happens overnight (every night?) They go to bed, often even cheerful, or at least neutral, and then, oh man. Then comes the morning.

My alarm goes off. Big gulp. Coffee first? I probably need it. Because exactly what will I wake up this morning? Will it be my darling daughter? Or some angry lion with tangled mane and fangs (I swear, I saw fangs!)

Then I remember. She is a senior. This is her last year. It's even March now, so it's her last 3 months of school. I know this will shock everyone, but, she is "over it." College has caught her eye so finishing high school somehow just seems tedious and annoying.

Every morning, I hover nervously at her door. Sometimes I even bring a cup of coffee for her. That's a big risk though. Some mornings, she loves coffee, "Wow, thanks!" but other mornings it's "Why would I want that? You know I switched to tea." (I swear, the switching happens middle of the night in whispers so there is NO way I can guess right.)

I don't know what happens every night, but she can change into this growling beast overnight. Or maybe that's the dog. Every morning, I feel like I'm spinning a roulette wheel when I knock on her door. What exactly am I going to wake up today? Will it be human? Or some really p--sed off hyena?

When she's really cranky, there is OCCASSIONALY moments that, if I randomly make up a silly song, she will actually laugh. But this trick is also scary as sometimes that is the "worst thing ever, so dumb" according to her.

It's a toss up. And I've tried having her set an alarm. She often sleeps thru it. She even had an alarm clock that shook her bed for awhile. That was loud and quit working. We haven't tried that alarm clock that runs away, but I think even I would find that annoying.

So every morning I brace myself. And what do I find?



(Photo above shows a sleepy in a bed with an equally sleepy pit bull)

And I try to remind myself that supposedly, this September, I will stand in front her empty bed and wonder if she is waking alone in her dorm room. Supposedly I will miss this morning dread and deep fear. One day I will no longer wonder if I will wake a human or some demented version of a haunted Chucky.

But that probably won't happen. You see, she has a younger sister. My guess is S. will pass on the dark magic to L.B. of how an evening Beauty can wake up a morning beast!

(I agree with the below meme:)

As a child, solutions seem very simple. Always taller and (shall I say) curvier than my peers, there was probably no nine year old girl that looked less like a ballerina than me. But that, of course, was my ambition: to dance, to glide like the most delicate butterfly.

To become a ballerina, I would need lessons and shoes, but I decided the first logical step would be to put "musical ballerina jewelry box" as number 3 on my Christmas list. As one of seven kids, the number 1 wish was always my own room (not achieved until age 16), and number 2 was always a dog (not achieved until age 12.) At nine years old, I knew both of my top wishes were unlikely to come true, but perhaps the jewelry box was a possibility.

Christmas morning, I opened my gift and there it was! I wound the key. As the plastic ballerina twirled, I heard the tune, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." That tune became my special treat, the soundtrack of my dancing dreams.

As I reflect on my childhood, it seems the rainbow dream I chased for decades was my parents' approving love. For decades, I checked their eyes for glimmers. Were their eyes glowing? Maybe it's rainbow time! I'd dance or achieve a grade, get married or have a baby convinced that this time, somehow, would be my stained glass moment. This time I'd be the one soaking up my parents' approving love. Surely there had to be a way to earn it!

I've never quite gotten it right. Like well... ever. I always was the awkward ballerina with the low ACT score. I didn't achieve the natural childbirth, or get the successful career (yet?) It's taken me decades to see that some clouds only produce black rainbows, no matter the weather, the barometric pressure, or the increasing desperation of an all-too-human daughter.

Ironically, I finally reclaimed "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" as a joyful anthem in 2019 when my cousins sang it at my second wedding. With our combined joy, I'm trying to project a new family rainbow for our kids, with red for love, orange for fun, yellow for warmth, green for growth, blue for peace, and violet for grace. Violet stands for grace because what could be more majestic than acceptance even after mistakes?

I don't think I'll ever find the somewhere that contains the rainbow of my parents' approving love, but I refuse to live a life of darkness anymore. My goal is that our rainbow will shine so bright that our kids feel they live in a sunny prism, with colors dashing about everywhere like fairy ballerinas. I don't approve of all of my kids' choices, but I don't want them to live gasping for the oxygen of my approval. I feel my main role as a parent is to embrace my kids in any way that shows them they are always, always worthy of love.

I would never pretend my life is all bluebirds and roses. It's chaotic, choppy, and hectic, but the clouds never fully extinguish little glimpses of colorful love.

The only constant is change. That's what I have come to see after 43 years of living.

So what lies ahead? What's in my path for 2022? I guess we're all about to find out.