Overwhelming Responsibilities Realized. Hopefully not too late.

At 2:40 the bell rang. I thought I was in the clear.
And then there he was on the rug. Flopped on his back like an upside down turtle.
Refusing to put his jacket on (properly, mind you, which spurred this all) and leave the room. 

So close.

It took some coaxing to get him down the hall and under the watchful eye of his grandpa.

On days like that I feel relieved to go home to a childless house.

Later on, long after I was home and settling into my weekend, it hit me.
Just as the hard part of my day was ending, his was starting.

Little things for me, rationing water intake because I don't have a spare second until 11:30. Frantically getting papers from mailbox cubbies to folders to backpacks and out the door.
Big things for him, who will pick me up from school today. Will my dad be home when I wake up in the morning, or will he have decided to leave again.

I thought of the day just before, when he melted in the afternoon and I walked him down to the nurse for a nap. I asked him if he wanted me to sit with him for a minute while he closed his eyes.
He said yes, and grabbed my arms from his lying down position.
He looked at me like he was drowning and I a life vest being thrown to him.
The tiny smile you can muster up when you are so glad someone is there but it does not overtake the fear and sadness that is pulling you down. His eyes wide open, staring at me. Studying.
I sat on that bed until seconds before the tears would have come, from me, if I stayed there another second.
The sadness I had for his exhausted little body. For the confusion that starts when the school day is over. For the overwhelming feeling of responsibility that I know I have toward him, and the twenty-two others just like him in the other room. It hit me right on the plastic coated bed.

For some of these kids, this year, in years past and in years to come, maybe I am the only thing they've got. The only consistency they know. The only smile they get that day.

I realized, when I was back in my cozy house, that he might not have wanted to leave.
While I was looking at the clock, waiting for the bell,
maybe he was dreading it.
He wanted to stay here in this school, in this classroom. He knows where his desk is and his spot on the rug, right next to me.
"You know, everyone in this school likes me". He tells me at least once a day.
 What about at home?

That, that should be the way that I teach them.
From that completely selfish, overwhelmingly egocentric, unbelievably narcissistic piece of my heart that feels like I am the best thing they've got.

Some mantras that sit above my desk. 

I have a feeling there will be many more to come.