Broken

"You piece of crap."

 

He said it quietly, deliberately, as he looked me in the eyes then walked away.

 

I took a deep breath, rubbed one of his classmates on the head, and turned to walk back inside the school.

 

He was having a bad day, my boy. He's called me names before -- stupid, ugly, dumb, old lady and, most recently, the scum between his toes. I've gotten good at letting it roll off my back.

 

"It's not about me," I tell myself. "I'm just the one standing in front of him, and he doesn't know what to do with all of his anger, frustration, rage, and sadness. He's broken."

 

That was in September, October...but it's December now, and "you piece of crap" kicks me in the gut. Not because of the words, but because it feels like all the work we've done -- all the work I've done -- these past few months has been for nothing. We're back to Square 1. He doesn't trust me.

 

It's a gut check too because we live in a world where an 8 year old boy can be this damaged, this broken.  He is funny, smart, so freakin' charming, sweet even...but sometimes, the light in his eyes goes dark and he is gone...far away in an instant and I can't get him back.

 

"You piece of crap."

 

The words echo on my heart. All the positive recognition, all the playful teasing, all the sideways-secret smiles, the sing-songy "JJ has his homework" on mornings when he approaches the homework bin, all those moments that he raises his hand voluntarily and I dare to hope we've made it -- all of that is dashed on the rocks with those 4 words.

 

It's not about the words -- I'm tough -- the words roll off my back. It's about the look in his eyes that says, "I don't trust you. You can't win this fight. I won't let it happen."



Kristin McCue
Nov. 2011