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Nov. 28th, 2010 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shuftiFor a few weeks, Shufti volunteering at Jack's school seemed to have a good effect. Jack had kept his nose clean, his kindergarten teacher said he'd been less trouble, and his grades were... well, still not that great, but better.
The volunteering was mostly PTA paperwork, combined with occasional classroom help. Painting class, usually, like today. Shufti had explained to the teachers that her literacy skilly would probably be a bad influence on the kids.
One of the kids hands her a drawing without putting his name on it. She picks up a pencil to write it on and stops. Chase. That's the kid's name. But she's never seen it written. She hesitates, then writes 'Chays' lightly at the side.
A couple of the kids peer over her shoulder and snigger.
Outside in the playground, trouble is soon brewing. She steps out to the worrying chant of 'Fight Fight Fight!'. Uh oh...
She strides over there and seperates the two scufflers. Unfortunately, the aggressor turns out to be Jack, punching a small bespectacled boy in the stomach.
"Jack Theodore Manickle-Johnson!" she hauls him off. "Stop hitting Chase right now!"
The kindergarteners laugh hysterically as she takes her errant son over to the other side of the playground.
"Jack! Fancy showing me up like that! I'll have to tell your teacher, you know."
"Me showing you up?" Jack yells. "You're the one that's always showing me up! You sent me to school with a stupid haircut, and you can't send a text, or an email, and you spell kids' names wrong! You turn up in weirdo clothes and then volunteer and tell me off in front of everyone and you're a stupid mom!"
Shufti has faced battle, and fear, and near death. But this... is like being stabbed.
She swallows.
"Don't speak to me like that." she says, trying to think how to put this without getting angry or making it worse.
"Everyone laughs at me and it's your fault!" Jack yells.
Shufti gets down to the angry five-year-old's level.
"Everyone's different in this world." she says. "If you want to be smart then you need to work hard in school. I never got to go to school, that's why I can't read very well. I can't make you cool - only you know what's in fashion in your peer group - so you have to tell me. You know your Dad'll buy you clothes you like."
"It's not 'cool', Mom, it's 'sick'!"
"Well never mind that. Is this why you've been beating up other kids? Because they laughed?"
Jack nods.
"I'm gonna get a gun and shoot them."
Shufti stares in shock.
"Jack! I don't want to hear you saying things like that ever again! I will ask your teacher to sort things out with the other kids, but you've got to keep your fists to yourself. You're five years old, and I'm not having you behave like a gangster."
She takes Jack to the Principal's office, missing his look of fury as they go past his classmates.
The volunteering was mostly PTA paperwork, combined with occasional classroom help. Painting class, usually, like today. Shufti had explained to the teachers that her literacy skilly would probably be a bad influence on the kids.
One of the kids hands her a drawing without putting his name on it. She picks up a pencil to write it on and stops. Chase. That's the kid's name. But she's never seen it written. She hesitates, then writes 'Chays' lightly at the side.
A couple of the kids peer over her shoulder and snigger.
Outside in the playground, trouble is soon brewing. She steps out to the worrying chant of 'Fight Fight Fight!'. Uh oh...
She strides over there and seperates the two scufflers. Unfortunately, the aggressor turns out to be Jack, punching a small bespectacled boy in the stomach.
"Jack Theodore Manickle-Johnson!" she hauls him off. "Stop hitting Chase right now!"
The kindergarteners laugh hysterically as she takes her errant son over to the other side of the playground.
"Jack! Fancy showing me up like that! I'll have to tell your teacher, you know."
"Me showing you up?" Jack yells. "You're the one that's always showing me up! You sent me to school with a stupid haircut, and you can't send a text, or an email, and you spell kids' names wrong! You turn up in weirdo clothes and then volunteer and tell me off in front of everyone and you're a stupid mom!"
Shufti has faced battle, and fear, and near death. But this... is like being stabbed.
She swallows.
"Don't speak to me like that." she says, trying to think how to put this without getting angry or making it worse.
"Everyone laughs at me and it's your fault!" Jack yells.
Shufti gets down to the angry five-year-old's level.
"Everyone's different in this world." she says. "If you want to be smart then you need to work hard in school. I never got to go to school, that's why I can't read very well. I can't make you cool - only you know what's in fashion in your peer group - so you have to tell me. You know your Dad'll buy you clothes you like."
"It's not 'cool', Mom, it's 'sick'!"
"Well never mind that. Is this why you've been beating up other kids? Because they laughed?"
Jack nods.
"I'm gonna get a gun and shoot them."
Shufti stares in shock.
"Jack! I don't want to hear you saying things like that ever again! I will ask your teacher to sort things out with the other kids, but you've got to keep your fists to yourself. You're five years old, and I'm not having you behave like a gangster."
She takes Jack to the Principal's office, missing his look of fury as they go past his classmates.
