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I'd like to think I'm an observant person, but when it comes to my students, there are times I simply am not.
I mean, I can tell if my student gets a haircut or a new piercing fairly easily. I can read their moods and know, for the most part, when they need an ear or a hug or both.
But I don't exactly look at their bodies.
Some examples:
I saw one of my students out of the corner of my eye and thought he was standing on his desk. I went to say something and realized he was not standing on his desk; he was just really tall. I never saw him standing before.
My first student-teacher (shout out to Jenna J!) asked me when a certain senior of mine was due. "Due for what?" I asked. "Um, due to have her baby. She's pregnant." This student literally sat less than five feet away from my desk and I never once looked at her stomach. I had no idea she was NINE MONTHS PREGNANT!
This is not the only time. My pregnancy-obliviousness was rampant. Another time, a colleague called to see if I was in my room because a student of mine didn't want to walk to my room if I wasn't there. I was confused as to why she didn't want to walk to my room and said as much. The colleague asked me if I noticed that she was SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT and that walking had become difficult for her. Again, no idea.
So yeah, I'm not the most observant when it comes to noticing my students below their heads. To me, they are brains, and the rest of them are just, well, the vehicle to get them around.
That being said, sometimes when you are walking through the halls, it is ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE to miss a pregnant student, proudly wearing a skin-tight belly shirt with her baby bulge exposed for all to see. (Never MY students, of course, OTHER people's students... ;) )
And yet, when you are a teacher, even if a student is practically giving birth in your classroom, you never, under any circumstances, ask if she is pregnant. God forbid you were wrong!
So, no, I didn't ask when one of my students in my Regents lab, a tiny Asian girl with a thick accent and long dark brown hair, starting wearing noticeably baggier sweatshirts and seemed to be thickening around the middle.
But she told me. Once the student breaks the seal, yeah, then it's ok to talk about it.
"Miss, I have such a hard time walking," she told me, "you know, because of my baby."
"When are you due?" I asked.
"January."
It was late November.
I asked her if she needed anything. As a foster mother, I literally have bins in my attic for every season, sex, and size from newborn to 24 months. If she needed something, chances are I had it in duplicate.
She assured me that she had everything, but I didn't believe her.
Each class, she told me more of her story:
Her baby's father (who she referred to as her husband even though there was no legal or even religious marriage ceremony) was in prison "because he loved her" and stole a car because he "didn't want her to have to walk." She did not know when he was getting out. His family did not like her because she was "a bad girl."
She told me that her own father was in jail for trying to murder her older brother, that she didn't know what jail he was in, and that she and her family hadn't seen him in five years. (a fellow student told me that her father had been deported, but I never knew whether this was true or not).
She lived with her mother who had had a series of strokes when they were still in the Thai refugee camp prior to coming to America and that she hadn't gotten any medical treatment. There was an older brother and a younger sister, all who lived in a tiny two-bedroom apartment. They were all, apparently, "very excited" about the baby.
She told me she had gotten pregnant on purpose, so she and the baby's father could "be together forever" and so his parents couldn't keep them apart. The prison system, however, was doing a fine job.
I found out who her ESL teacher was and pretty much begged her to allow me to give her, if not help, then some resources. I gave her the number of CareNet, recommended by Bram's mother, which gave free parenting classes and allowed expectant moms to earn baby supplies with certificates from workshop completion. I also gave her the number to Rebecca at MVCAA who I worked with when I had Bram. I knew that between the two, she would get some support.
I had the crochet club that I advise at my high school make her a layette set: a blanket, hat, sweater, booties, and mittens all in pale blue, yellow, and green yarn. She accepted it happily.
Every day I would ask her who was going to watch the baby while she was at school.
She never had an answer.
