Yesterday, I picked up my children after school.  They attend a public school, an urban school with a gifted & talented program.  I love their school.  And it is a very urban school, and I mean that in the best sense.  It resides near downtown, which allows for them to take walking field trips, to plays, concerts and museums.  As with any other public school, there are all types of students.  Some might have issues at home-poverty, violence or absentee parents. Some students are more privileged and their parents choose to keep them in the public schools. Honestly, if our kids did not get accepted to this school, they might not attend the public schools.  We’ve seen a few first hand and it’s tough.

There’s a girl Mae has mentioned, I’ll call her “Jane.”  Jane  was in Mae’s class last year. Mae has talked about how she likes her, she’s a great writer and funny.  At the same time, Jane has been in some fights at school-behavior that Mae had not been exposed to before attending her school.  But despite this, Mae was never afraid of Jane. This year, Jane has had a hard time, by Mae’s accounts (my assessment though).  Mae has always shown consideration when talking about Jane and always, always mentions how nice she is.  It was recently that Mae informed me that Jane was no longer at their school, after some incident.  I’m not sure what the set-up is, but Jane rides the bus with the students from their school still.  I think, until yesterday.

As we were leaving the school, I noticed a police car in front of one of the school buses.  Two officers were holding a girl, Jane, down with her hands behind her back.  Jane was physically struggling, yelling “leave me alone, don’t touch me!” Mae said quietly to me, “That’s Jane.”  My five year-old daughter was with us and looked on with concern, squeezing my hand tightly.  As we approached (we had to walk that way to get to our car), Jane started crying.  I felt hotness in my chest and tears welled in my eyes.  Jane probably felt she had no one there for her at that moment when she was being handcuffed.  Maybe Jane had no one there for her ever.  Jane was writhing around as the police officers tried to get her into the car, as the principal walked alongside, looking very grim.

While this might cause alarm for some parents, seeing the police at their kids’ school, that isn’t what bothered me.  Seeing Jane all alone was the worst.  Mae had a frown on her face as we crossed the street and said “Mom, are you crying?”  “I can’t help it,” I said, “it’s so sad.”  When we got into the car, Mae told me how she felt so bad for Jane.  I take a lot of pride in the kindness my daughter shows when she talks about Jane, who many no doubt see as a misfit, an antisocial, “problem-child.”  Being at a “good” school is important, yes. But being a caring, compassionate person even more so.  I’m not sure Mae would nurture those traits as well if it were not for the varying experiences of people she encounters everyday.  So seeing Jane was the worst, but seeing Mae was the best.