Tantrum
My right arm has a gash
Where frustrated, dirty fingernails
Clawed my right arm
My left arm is splattered
With bruise speckles
Where agitated fingers pinched
No words to shout protest
Translates student fingers
To teacher pain
And my inadequacy
My utter failure to "hear"
The students' discomforted cries
My inability to solve the problem
And ease student discomfort
Usually
But, then miraculously
One day a gift
A student, clearly proud
Sincerely delighted with himself
(As he should be!)
Sat on my lap
Outweighing me by more
Than thirty pounds
He's allowed
But, wait...
A staff person in my room
(I'll call her Judas)
Reports to my boss
This lap-sitting "inappropriateness"
Pinching the teacher? ok
Scratching the teacher? ok
But loving the teacher
Like a nine-month in a
pubescent boy's body
Not ok
I'm apparently allowed
To bear brunt of pain
And sadness
But not celebrate
Pride
Or joy
My boss' response?
"'Judas', it's how he communicates
Leave it be!"