Jarvis

We went to see "Blind Side" the night before Thanksgiving. If you get a chance to see it, do. I thought about my Jarvis throughout the whole movie.
My first teaching job was in Fort Worth, Texas, at a poor, black school in Como--one of (if not THE) scariest neighborhoods in the city. I didn't know any of that when I took the job, I just knew it was kindergarten, and came with a paycheck. It was a difficult job, but ended up feeling like home, oddly enough.
My second year there, a boy named Jarvis was put in my class. Everybody warned me about him--crack baby, emotionally disturbed, out of control.  The first day of school he walked in with his big brown eyes, looking terrified, and I led him to a ball of play-dough on a table.  He picked it up and started playing with it, as sweet as pie.  That may be when I fell in love with him. He rarely talked--was very shy--pulled his arms and head into his shirt a lot, and occassionally hid under a table, but was never a big problem. 
He lived with his mom, who was still on crack. One time he was out for a few days, and when he came back I asked why he was gone, and he said he was sick (throwing up). I asked who took care of him: "my brother." I asked how he helped him, and he said, "Gave me potato chips and Coke." :(
The day I just about called the state and begged them to let me adopt him was when I sent the kids out to recess and he didn't go, but just stood by my elbow looking at me. I asked him why he didn't go play, and he just shook his head. I asked if he felt bad, and he shook his head again. I asked if he wanted to go talk to Mr. Williams (counselor) and he shook his head again.  Then tears just started streaming silently down his cheeks, one after another. It broke my heart--I had to pull him onto my lap and just hold him. He never would tell me what was wrong. Oh, I loved that boy.
The year after that, when school started I saw him, and he didn't know where to go, so I was showing him, and he reached out to hold my hand! That was very rare for him, too. That was a great moment. I think that was also about the time he started living with his aunt, who was a good woman, and a good mom (I had her son one year.) That was great for Jarvis, but meant I would never get to adopt him--and I had been seriously wanting to, single as I was.
He was finishing the 3rd grade when we moved to Idaho. Before we left I took him to McDonald's for lunch. I picked him up from his grandma's, and bought him a kid's meal, and let him play on the playground. I can still see him, a great big 9-year-old grinning ear to ear laying on his back in the ball pit. Then we moved to Idaho and that's the last I know about him. Why didn't I get more involved with his family, so I could keep in touch with him? Why didn't I at least get his address, for heaven's sake, so I could write him? Why didn't I do more to help? I have prayed for him faithfully, but my fear robbed me of a blessing.
The year before last I went to Fort Worth for a funeral and was able to visit our friends the Lasiters and go back to Como for a visit during the school year, which is something I'd been wanting to do for a long time. One of my fellow kindergarten teachers was still there, and the secretary, Mrs. Leonard. I think Mrs. Leonard has always been and will always be at Como. So I asked her if she knew anything about where and how Jarvis was (he's 24 now) and she said she thinks she heard he was in the military--maybe the Navy. I was thrilled to hear it--that would be great for him. I hope someday to know for sure that he's okay. But for now I'll just keep praying for him...and looking for him every now and then on facebook...