Understanding

I admit, and with some shame having experienced what I have with my daughter, that I used to be the person who was making mental judgments on people and going along with others with our smirk and a nod "secret hand shake", when I heard about someone's relative, friend, child, or husband who had problems with alcohol or drugs.  The automatic yoke of 'lesser person' would be attached to them mentally and no thought of compassion would be able to squeeze through that burdensome label.

I don't do that now.  My first reaction, actually, is more of respect.  A respect in understanding that somewhere down inside this person is a hurt or imbalance of some kind and this person put down their  healthy coping tools for a moment for something that seemed better, and have now misplaced the appropriate equipment to manage their fears. Though I can't fully understand what is going on inside of their minds, I can now appreciate the struggles they have in trying to deal with daily trials.  I can appreciate that while everyone is fundamentally the same in being human, we're all so uniquely different in who we are and how we use the gifts we've been given--gifts I might add that come with no user manual--that sometimes, or many times, we will all mess up.  I understand better, now, that some of those mess ups can feel debilitating to some people and they turn down a harder path. 

Few people I know view it like this.  They are me a few years ago.  My core friends understand because surprisingly, they have either gone through it on their own or have a family member who has, but most people do not.  I can still see that 'secret hand shake" look when the topic comes up at work about a parent of a child in school, or their relative who is struggling with drugs or alcohol.  Now, I offer a tiny nudge toward understanding by saying something like, "What a horrible thing to happen,"  or "They must be really struggling."  Comments like that to try and soften the judgement.

It's like that with a parent of a student that just came into my class.  Before the meeting, from my supervisor and counselor, the secretary and another teacher, I was told about how the mother is. She's an active drug addict.  She can manipulate. She can be confrontational.  She can cause trouble.  The dad is also into drugs, but he doesn't say much.  Sometimes the neighbor takes care of the kids. With that last comment, there is a look that means neighbor care = mom is using.  "Okay."  Was my response.  I learned along time ago to use what other people say about someone else as a kind of a seasoning about who the person really is.  (Once, I received paperwork on a child that stated he,"liked to break things, so be careful."  After getting to know him, and asking him what he liked to do, he told me he liked to take clocks and various little machines like that apart, but once he got them apart, he didn't know how to put them back together.  He wasn't breaking anything. He was discovering how things work).  So, I listened and went into the meeting.  Both parents were there.  Both had the shadow of attractive faces, though the roughness of their lives showed in their eyes and disheveled hair. The mother had no teeth.  She looked much older than her young thirty-five years.  I could smell alcohol on the dad.  My first impression was, "Wow, they've both come."   I was impressed.  After talking with them  and explaining my classroom and how it runs, they had good questions and concerns.  The mother was not being argumentative.  She was making sure her child was being placed in the right environment.  She has another younger child, who's name she said.  Both of her children have beautiful names.  After she said her youngest's name, I stopped her, repeated both names, and complimented her on what beautiful names she had chosen for her children.  Her face softened, she smiled and thanked me.  After the meeting I walked her to my classroom so that she could see where her child would spend his day.  The youngest child wouldn't leave the arms of the dad.  When we returned to the classroom, the oldest child jumped up and hugged her.  Regardless of their situation, this is a family who loves each other very much. 

The mother has sent in notes almost daily, saying how happy she is that her child is in my class.  Her handwriting is beautiful. Her spelling perfect. 

Out of every bad situation, good can grow.  For me, the good that has grown from my situation here is that I am more understanding.  I am more willing to take off my black leather heals to try on someone else's moccasins.  I can walk around in them and and be willing to appreciate the path those moccasins have walked.