I was lucky to have an extra week's holiday than most teachers in the UK and so today, while I waited for JB to finish his last day before he too broke up for the summer, I decided to go shopping in the town where he teaches (I used to teach at the same school so it's all familiar to me.)
I generally avoid shopping in this town as there is a high possibility that I will bump into ex-students who tend to shout you across the street, nothing horrible just the odd, 'oooiiii Miss...' which is rather embarrassing. Anyway today I braved it.
I was in Primark, riffling through their cheap t-shirts and searching for my next bargain when I saw an ex-student of mine. For reasons stated above I tend to make a sharp exit but this particular student was one that I don't mind speaking to.
For two years I was her tutor, she was only just 12 years old when I meet her. Em, as I will call her,was in a difficult place - always getting into trouble both in and out of school and her support network at home was virtually nonexistent.
I remember spending most of my non-teaching time with her, trying to get her back on the straight and narrow, checking up on her in lessons and generally looking out for her. We had arguments too, she would truant and I would tell her off. I told her she had disappointed me and she cried for hours. She has spent probably 90% of her time on report but had been making progress, some would say she was even developing into a good student. I remember attending a meeting with her where we were discussing her future at the school, she stormed out punching walls and hitting anything in her path; I ran after her and she eventually calmed down. Then she spent a month on a special programme aimed at disaffected youngsters, I went to see her regularly, hugged her when she'd finished the programme and celebrated with her mum and sister. When I left the school last year she cried, I was sad too and I felt like I was letting her down. Then she started to write to me, big bubbled handwriting and smiley faces would be littered across the page. I would write back too.
Ans then I saw her today, it was the last day of term and she had her school shirt signed with messages of goodluck and goodbye. She gave me a big hug when she saw me and I asked her why her shirt was signed. She's only 15 so wouldn't be leaving yet. She took me to the side. She had a large smile on her face. 'I'm pregnant,' she announced. She was leaving school to go to a special unit for young mums, 'it's really nice there,' she told me. I asked about the dad. (JB tells me that the dad is 14) Em tells me that, 'he doesn't know what to do because he's so young,' and I resist the temptation to fire back a comment about being old enough to have sex etc etc. After twenty minutes we hug again and she promises to write. I know that she probably never will.
As I drive home I am silent. I can't believe it. I know these things happen. I know that just because she is young doesn't mean she won't be a good mum and I also know that deep down I always knew this would happen. I am sad for her. She would hate me saying that because to her this was planned and she thinks this is the best thing that could ever have happened for her. But I am sad. She is a child. To a stranger she may look all grown up but to me she is still that vulnerable young girl. I hope it's not too late for her and I hope that she is right and I hope that, in her words, 'this will be the making of me, Miss'.
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