I hated thunderstorms growing up... and by hate, I mean, I was terrified by. I blame the fact that lightning struck the building of the school I was in - not once, but twice - and set off the fire alarm. Come on.. I was 8. You were scared of weird things when you were 8 too.
Thunderstorms often meant that my dad, who worked for the local electric and gas company, had to go out and help restore power. He went to this magical land known as the "substation" at all hours of the night in the middle of worst storms. Meanwhile, my mom would come sit with me in my bed because I couldn't fall asleep on my own on nights like that.
This weekend, one of my students was in a semi-grumpy mood for no reason. She was whiny and tired and just not her normal self. I put my arm around her during our church service and she leaned her head on my shoulder and cried.
She's got a lot of reasons to cry.
She currently doesn't know where her mom is.
Her mom, who had to take the kids and run from the father of the kids because he was so violent.
So she hasn't seen her dad since she was 5 or 6.
I should also mention, her mom was a drug abuser for the entirety of the time that my student can remember.
Oh right.. also, she's 12.
When she was a younger, no one just hugged her and told her they loved her.
When she was in a bad mood and just wanted someone to hold her, no one did.
When she was scared, she toughed it out with no one to sit in bed with her until she fell asleep.
So I held her, fighting back tears because I'm 26 and feel like I can't really do anything to help her.
Because sometimes... life isn't fair.
