“Hi, mom?”

“Hey Sweetie, what’s up?”

“Can you come pick me up?”

“Now?  Are you done your work?”

“I have to leave now, they said I have to leave right now.”

“My lunch is in 10 minutes.  I’ll come right there.”

It’s been a rough school year.  The plan was to transition my daughter in to the regular stream and help her feel successful.  She was so excited to go back, see old friends, and get back to learning.  The plan was to have a modified schedule, with extra time for support at the school, and access to the Healing Arts room whenever she needed it.

Things started out fine.  Science was great, and her english teacher ended up being my oldest son’s childhood football coach, so we had a bit of a chuckle about that.  The drama teacher was taking a special interest, and inviting her to classes to participate which she absolutely loved.  She spent tons of time working on an audition for the school play, knowing full well that new students don’t usually get parts, but she was so excited she was even willing to mop the floor if it meant she could just watch and learn.

Then, it started.  A rumour began to spread about the pink haired girl who liked to cross her legs in her desk.  She also would stand outside in her bare feet, and would wear colorful flowy clothing.  This was no normal girl – she must be up to something.  The drama teacher posted the parts list for the play, and as expected, she didn’t get a part.  No worries – surely working on sets, cleaning up, mopping floors would be a way to enjoy what was happening, but the teacher said no.  Since when did a teacher say no to someone helping with no agenda – just to be helpful?

I picked her up from school, and with tears she told me about what happened.

“Why won’t he let me in?  I can’t even mop the floor, and he won’t even look at me.  He just says I have other things to deal with – I need to focus on my classes?”

“There must be a misunderstanding.  Why don’t you go talk to him, and ask him to explain what happened and why the change of heart?”

“Yeah – ok.  I’m going to send him an email, and tell him how passionate I am about this, and how it excites me.  He has to know I’ll do anything to catch up – and will work really hard. I’ve got to try.”

The email was written, but the response was the same.  No.  Absolutely not.  Don’t ask again.

No is not my favorite word, and if I’ve learned one thing about myself – I don’t always respond very well to it.  Give me an unreasonable no, and I just can’t stand by and accept it.  So, I did what any mama bear would do.  I went in to the school, and sat in the office until someone would explain to me.  I sat there for over an hour, just waiting.  Another 30 minutes went by – still waiting.  Finally, the guidance counselor invited me in to her office to talk.  She told me how my daughter was using drugs, and dealing drugs in school.  She told me how the drama teacher got spooked by her involvement as a dealer.  She told me she seemed distracted, and bounces from thing to thing at school.  How she’s jittery, and can’t concentrate – just like kids on drugs.

“So, where did you get the information that my daughter is a drug dealer?  Do you have any proof?”

“Well, we’ve observed her and she has the behaviors of kids that are using.  Could you provide us with a drug test?  Have you even had her tested?”

I sat and listened in shock.  After everything we’ve been through, and now there’s drugs involved?  Could it be true?  No way. Maybe?  Seriously, no way.  But I’ve been wrong before.  I can’t believe this.

“I don’t believe it.  I need proof.  She’s been tested repeatedly over the last year and a half.  Every program she’s been in tests regularly, and I’ve never heard anything about drugs.”

“Just watch.  We’re saying we’re very concerned.  Maybe if she changed the way she looked – people might not be so suspicious.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

I went home, and sat down on the couch, and was just honest with my daughter.  As the tears rolled down her cheeks, I tried to reassure her that judgement should never be made because of how someone looks, but unfortunately it happens.  We made a plan and had YCUSP reassure the school that there had never been even a trace of drugs or questionable results in her tests.

That was the start of the downhill slide.

Fast forward to today.  Make no mistake, I know full well that my daughter is very behind in school.  She’s missed many classes, sometimes days, and has spent a lot of time hiding in the bathroom.  Kids she grew up with have shunned her because she’s weird and abnormal, after all, kids who have pink hair and pierced noses must be trouble makers.  Teachers have made comments in front of the entire class and made her sit alone from the rest of the class because she’s behind.  Teachers harrassed her in the hall, making her explain every day why she is there later than other kids.  And today.  Today she was removed from a room of kids studying and doing homework, because she hadn’t done enough work.  I had made special arrangements for transportation, we had made a plan with teacher for success, and yet in front of the other kids she was told she had to leave the school immediately.

“I’m on my way.  I’m coming in – I want to talk to whoever is in charge.  This is ridiculous – we had a plan.”

“Your daughter is not happy here.  We feel she is sliding backwards and getting worse.  This is the wrong environment, and she can’t be here.  There’s nothing more we can do for her until she is better.  She’s just not ready.”

That’s what this year was supposed to be about.  Transitions.  Ready or not, we would work at it and try to make things work.  The regular school system has a lot of help for regular kids, doing fairly well with regular grades, regular hair, regular clothes and families, and regular interests.  Take a kid who attends regularly, finishes the majority of the work, and feels anxiety in class – there’s no end of sympathy and help for them.  Take a kid with colored hair, different clothes, a piercing or two, that shakes from their anti-depressants or ADHD meds, and has enough anxiety that it’s hard to enter the class room, and they get sent to the office for being a dramatic and lazy – just looking for attention. “There’s nothing we can do with you.  You don’t do your work.  Why do you even come here?”

I sat and watched the tears roll down my daughter’s face today, as she spoke about the treatment she has received over the last 5 months from students and teachers.  The Vice Principle sat and listened, and even admitted her job hasn’t been to assume positive intent.  She’s an administrator, and if there are suspicions, she needs to get rid of them.

We left the school with their words ringing in my ears.  “This is not the place for you.  We want you to get healthy and be happy – see a smile on your face.  You’re not ready for this school or any really. You need to feel successful before you can fit in to this kind of system.  I’m sorry we couldn’t do that for you and wish you the best.  You can always come back.”

“Did I just get kicked out of school?”

“I really don’t know.  I don’t think they can actually do that, but it kind of feels like it, doesn’t it?”

“Now what?”

“I don’t know – I really don’t know.  We have some thinking to do.  I’m tired – and I need to think.”