It had gotten to the point where none of us believed him anymore.
"Angelo's leaving again", became one of the running jokes in our junior
high school Special Education department. "Yeah, wasn't he leaving last
week?"
He had shown up, elated. "I'm going back to my old school; I'm outta
this dump!" By all rights, he should have been that happy to go. A
late comer in the school year, he had arrived in March, only a month after
I had. I felt a kinship of sorts with him, having myself come into a
strange place where everyone else knew each other. I remember sizing
him up, worrying that the other kids would make quick work of him in
their usual predatory manner. My fears were confirmed. The other kids
picked on him relentlessly: he was an easy target, being academically, if
not socially, bright. His diminutive size--offset by a big mouth and an
attitude the size of Montana--combined with what could hardly be
described as good looks, made his life there a living hell. Besides being
short, he had a milky-white complexion, with blue eyes, freckles,
glasses and braces. On top of this, his clothing choices were not always
the best. Nothing about Angelo was acceptable to the other very fashion-
conscious kids, whether they were black, Hispanic, or also white. They
constantly made fun of his clothes; he constantly provoked them. I would
often lean over and whisper to him, trying to show him how his own
actions contributed to his victimization by the others. "See? You just
called him a (whatever curse)-what did you think he was going to do?" It
never mattered. He didn't end up in Special Ed. by accident. He was
ready, at the drop of the wrong insult, to hurl a chair or book-
sometimes a garbage pail almost as large as he was. He wasn't
interested in causative connections between his behavior and the
resulting outcome. His M.O. was to stand up for himself; to be tough-
whatever the cost. And it did cost him. I would sometimes wince in
horror as he would provoke or stand up to the biggest kids, feeling a
sense of impending doom/inevitability. And yet? I admired him. I would
even make a case for him, telling the victor that I related to Angelo, being
only 5'3" myself, and also taking no nonsense from anyone. "Never
underestimate your opponent, right, Angelo?" I'd grin at him.
Sometimes, though, he'd get a beating bad enough to send him into a
long-lasting, dark mood. I would again feel helpless, having witnessed
that his inflammatory remarks had sparked the whole confrontation.
"Angelo. You know you started that. I can't defend the indefensible!"
I usually did, anyway. Aside from admiring his guts, I felt profoundly
sorry for him, something that I would try to hide. He had been taken
from his mother, and was with the second of two foster mothers, hoping
to go back to the first.
"She was good to me. She took me to see my mother." He would say
things like that, and it was all I could do to keep myself from bursting
into tears. I would take deep breaths, reminding myself that he was a
master at manipulation, often appealing to my sucker tendencies.
"You're one of my favorite teachers", he'd often tell me. "Open your book,
Angelo", I'd smile sarcastically, communicating that I saw right through
him like glass. He'd smile back, knowing he'd gotten to me, anyway.
"You're one of my favorite kids."
During one of the difficult-to-follow foster mother stories (the para
and I said, "Who? Which one?") he turned to me. "Ms. Baum, could you
adopt me? You're a nice lady; I know you would take me to see my
mother!" I was the means to an end. I told him that he had a mother,
but if I could, I would: Besides being a big pain sometimes, he was very
wonderful and unique.
He really was. He would come up with great answers to simple
questions, often digressing to subjects far more interesting than the
correct answer in Spanish. His insights could go on and on, and often
did, until I would have to bring him back, while praising his enthusiasm.
And humor! The little guy was funny, often the proverbial bright light in
the darkest of tunnels. He had an agenda on how the forty minute
period should be spent, and it had little to do with mine. I didn't know I
was soon to miss the happy enthusiasm he'd display, in between fighting
with the others. Enthusiasm was surely there, too, the first time he said,
"I'm leaving, Ms. Baum! I'm going back to my old school!" I was
devastated. "When, Angelo? I mean, I'm happy for you, but I'm going to
miss you!" "Next week! My foster mother's taking me back!" He beamed.
He danced around. "That would be your... first foster mother?" I was
catching on. He nodded. "And I'm gonna leave this dump! I hate this
place!" I had to be happy for him. He was getting what he wanted,
escaping a school he'd come to dread attending every day. I hugged him,
and took his phone number. I said goodbye.
When next week arrived, though, so did Angelo. "Um...not that I want to
get rid of you, Angelo, but-weren't you supposed to leave?" He gave me
some convoluted explanation about what he had to wait for, foster
mothers, etc., before he could go. "Well, okay...I'm glad you're still here,
then." That made one of us. Things would soon go from bad to worse for him.
Angelo's glasses, along with his spirit, were broken on the same
day. I wouldn't see him really smile again for his remaining time here.
Whether or not it was done on purpose, one of the other smallish kids
had cracked his glasses, rendering them useless. This created the new
saga: When would Angelo get new glasses? "The social worker's
supposed to call about it", he'd tell me whenever I'd persist. "I don't
know." So now, Angelo, aside from leaving every week, was "getting new
glasses" every week. Neither seemed to be happening. He became sullen,
refusing to do any work. "I can't see!" he would remind me, as if I were an
idiot. "You can listen, though, can't you?"
There was nothing Angelo was interested in listening to, at this point.
The other kids in my reading class became resentful, as I let him sit there
in his misery, doing nothing. I had tried, but, as I saw it, the kid had
enough battles to fight. As they saw it, he was a lucky little teacher's pet.
"How come HE doesn't have to do any work?" they demanded. Angelo,
though, had a better question. "How come HE"-he pointed accusingly at
James-"has new glasses, when he broke mine, huh??" No one could
answer that one. The room became quiet, as James looked momentarily
uneasy, then righteous, muttering something about it being too bad.
Angelo shot him a look of death, as I readied myself for a possible
confrontation. He controlled himself this time. Aside, I told him I
understood how angry he must be, and that I was proud of him, but I
could tell I was losing him.
By the time he came in with his new glasses, his attitude had taken
an even bigger nose dive. "Hey!" I said. "You got your new glasses!" He
had a "Yeah, so?" expression, but said, "Yup", as if placating me. My
heart sank. "I'm really leaving this time, Ms. Baum." This time, I believed
him.
Sure enough, the next day, I heard the kids talking. "Ms. Baum-
Angelo's foster mother is here. Go look!" I peered out into the hallway,
down to the next room. An Hispanic woman stood outside of it, waiting
for him. He appeared. "Angelo!" I called out to him. "No goodbye?" He
shuffled down the hall to me, in what appeared to be more out of a
sense of obligation than anything else. I hadn't reacted well to his passive
aggression the last few weeks; he hadn't been very friendly lately, and
probably wanted to make a clean break. I pushed that aside, and
hugged him, as he stood frozen, arms at his little sides. I remembered
that he had done that the last time he was supposedly leaving. I watched
him walk away with the woman for just a couple of moments, then went
back into my room. "Well, looks like Angelo really left!" I later found myself
attempting to make light of it to the other teachers. But I found no
comfort in my attempt at humor. If there was any comfort at all, it was
that Angelo would now be happier. That, in the end, made one of us.
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