We got one today. Well, two, a mom and daughter, and “refugee” was the right term for those poor people. The daughter was skittish, not surprising. And the mom–I have never seen, nor do I hope to ever see, anyone who looked more soul-tired than that poor woman. I had to rein myself in so I wouldn’t drive her up the wall, I wanted so much to help.
Believe it or not, after at least five e-mails on how we were supposed to just take the kids, no questions asked–when I called the district to get things set up, they tried to make us go through the open enrollment process because they don’t live in our area. That means more paperwork for mom, and more time out of school for the young one, not to mention the district pushing problem kids on us, because we couldn’t take her without taking everyone on the “waiting list”–a nice euphemism for all the kids my principal has refused to accept, since they want to come to us after assaulting people at their neighborhood school or something.
But I have the great good fortune of having another wonderful lady you don’t mess with, in the position of my principal. We will have our refugee. Mom wants us and we want her. And we’re not taking all the little arsonists/con artists/well-on-the-road-to-habitual-criminal kids, either.
That may sound cynical, but I ask you–if your kid gets in trouble for throwing something at a teacher, and then the principal won’t change their schedule because it’s already been changed three times and he gets in trouble with every teacher, do you really think another school will make a difference? Come on, people. If your twelve-year-old is throwing things at teachers, it may be a clue he needs help.
Getting him new targets does not qualify as help.