disadvantaged children

I've worked with young children for more than ten years. Most of that time has been spent working with kids who have so much more than developmental disabilities working against them. I've worked in inner city Boston neighborhoods where shootings would happen down the street while I was inside a child's home. Where kids couldn't go out to play and apartments were kept shut up tight and dark, with curtains drawn. Putrid, grime-caked and roach infested high rise public housing projects where kids don't have any toys. Or beds, or any other furniture. Or food. Just filthy empty rooms. I've called the gas company when a family's heat was turned off. I've seen corrupt landlords rob their tenants of social services by claiming them as family members living at their address, to get more income for themselves. It's hard to imagine what these places are like (and to believe they're really that bad) unless you've seen them with your own eyes. In my current job I spend much of my time working with children who live in poverty. And most of those families are working poor. They're not lounging around all day collecting welfare checks and feasting off food stamps. In most cases that's a complete myth. Some of these kids come from loving families who do the best they can for their children. The best they can do is not always great, but those kids are happy and loved, and it shows. I've also worked with students who were homeless, or had drug addicted mothers, or abusive fathers. I've worked with 4-year-olds who needed counseling.

No 4-year-old should ever need counseling. 

Now that I'm a mother, my view of my job has changed. I still give speech therapy. In many cases that's all I have to do because the kids are well cared for otherwise. But in other cases, there are so many things that need to take precedence. Am I really going to sit a child down to teach vocabulary words that mean nothing to him (because his life experience is so limited) when his basic needs aren't met?

Now that I'm a mother I'm much more concerned about when a child's last bath took place, or why so many of my students show up at school, halfway through the day, with morning breath. Yesterday, one of my students' hands were absolutely caked with filth- days' worth. It was not only disgusting and unhealthy, but made me wonder: when was the last time someone really looked at this little boy? He didn't need speech therapy. He needed someone to give him a warm bath, and a laugh, and a good snuggle. He needs that every night, and if he had it he probably wouldn't be in my office in the first place. How can I help him at school when his basic needs aren't met at home?

Now that I'm a mother, I give my own child all the advantages she could possibly have. I teach her every day, just by exposing her to a rich variety of experiences. She always has nice toys to play with that are just at her level. She already has a wealth of knowledge and experience that my students at work may never catch up to. But. The most important things I give her are a warm bath, a laugh, and a good snuggle. A day doesn't go by when I don't lavish attention on every last bit of her. She is happy, and safe, and loved. That's what's most important.

Some of my students have so much against them that speech therapy doesn't even come close to fixing what's wrong. Maybe I'm shirking my job responsibilities a bit when I forgo grammar exercises to learn more about what's happening at home for a child. Or when I say that I'd much rather see that child smile, or laugh, or think of me as an adult he trusts and looks up to, than see him use a four word sentence. Or when I spend half of a speech therapy session in the bathroom teaching a child how to wash his hands. Again.

Now that I'm a mother, I worry so much more about what goes on in my students' homes when I'm not watching. Because I can't even fathom not taking care of Celia's basic needs. I can't bear to think about how neglected she would be if we didn't talk to her, read to her, constantly hug and kiss her, give her a bath every night, comb her hair and dress her in clean clothes every morning. I know how important those things are now. How they must make her feel so secure. How do my students feel?

This isn't the happiest thing I've written, but seeing all these kids after a summer at home (in another world) with Celia has really struck me. More than anything, these little people need to be taken care of. I don't doubt that they are loved in some way. But knowing that caring for Celia's basic needs is the most important thing in my life, it is so sad that some parents (for many reasons) don't do that for their kids. I could write a lot about the factors that play into this. A whole series of posts describing the never ending cycle these people are caught up in. Maybe another time. Celia just woke up and I have a tiny little monkey in footie pajamas to snuggle with. The best thing ever.

Oy. Maybe I should change careers and become a social worker. Actually, I've considered that many times...