little man

i still think of him every time i see a two-liter bottle of orange soda. i can see him, standing in the middle of a field, hoisting the full bottle to his seven year-old lips, taking thimble-sized sips over and over, and occasionally splashing a bit on his tiny face.

he was in the first grade when i started my final student teaching rotation in the boston public schools. most notable for his utter lack of ability to keep attention and control, he was a bright student with an even brighter smile, especially since he was missing teeth. i saw him a few times a week for literacy skills, for one semester during my senior year of college.

within the first week, i had heard plenty about his family life-- his father was very elderly, his mom was a vague, nebulous concept, he had a twin brother and three (rumored-to-be) emotionally-disturbed and violent older siblings. once, school personnel had gone to his house to personally retrieve the father so he could attend one of the state-mandated special education meetings. during the drive back to the school, the school administration had to keep the windows rolled down because he stank like none other. the occupational therapist at the school, a gifted knitter, had made a few sweaters out of durable fibers for this boy to grow into. a week after she gave it to him, he wore it to school with a giant hole in the neck.

one time he came to school burning with fever. we had only a part time nurse, so we had him lie down in the dark office, shivering on the vinyl couch, despite his wearing all the random clothes we had pulled out of the lost and found bin. he couldn't really get home without the school-provided bus, so we bought him room-temperature gatorade, which he drank from a straw and fed him saltine crackers. another student teacher and i took turns visiting him throughout the day; he was thoroughly wiped out and could barely hold himself up to snack.

he absolutely needed to come to school every day b/c then he could get two free meals, paid for by the state. we worried about him during week-long vacation periods, and many of us would bring food from home with which to stuff his little first-grade backpack: cereal, pasta, cookies, bread-- anything lurking in the pantry.

one day he came to school, telling us that he had a new mother. he seemed his happiest then, showing us little trinkets, bracelets and clothes this mysterious woman gave. we deduced that it might have been a social worker, but we didn't know.

i got to accompany his grade on a field trip in May of that year. we went to Plimoth Plantation, which is a living history museum in Plymouth, MA (and one of my favorite places! love period places!) the kids had to bring their own lunches and snacks, and this little man had gone to the corner store, bought a giant bag of doritos and a two-liter bottle of orange soda. in between mini-handfulls of doritos, he used both of his spaghetti arms to lift the bottle to his mouth. i will remember him like that, standing in the middle of the field at this museum.

and i'm scared to think of what his present is like. he must be 16 by now.