As I tightly pulled my hair into a French braid not letting one strand stray, still tying to mentally figure out how I was bamboozled into this one, I had no idea in just a few short hours I would look back on this task with gratitude.
Cathy, the other unlucky parent volunteer, and I grabbed the lice-checking kit, got a class roster for the two classes we would be doing today, and with no great hurry or conviction. lollygagged our way to the classrooms. We donned rubber gloves and armed ourselves with disposable sticks to separate and poke through the kids' hair, and in pairs, we called the kids out of their class.
Out the kids came, and one by one we went on a hunt for those impossible to get rid of little bugs. We saw a few with eggs, a few with bad dandruff and I saw one kid who in Grade 4 has more gray hair than me!
As Cathy popped her head into the class for the next two, only one came out. I called for the other one again and he repeatedly dodged me, running to the far end of the class, other kids yelling for him to come and see me.
There was a substitute teacher there today who was a little confused about what to do. So when I finally was able to walk up to this little guy as he leaned against the door frame, I realized in a split second he was not avoiding me to be difficult or troublesome. In fact, there was an absolutely blazing terror in his eyes about me going near him.
I knew in that moment I was out of my element, so I searched the halls for help and found it in the form of our school's vice-principal, who followed me to the class.
The little boy was leaning against the wall outside the class when we came back, and Mr. Black went up to and slowly reached out and put his arm around his shoulders and talked very gently and softly to him. My heart broke for this little boy who so obviously has seen more harm than hugs.
Mr.Black explained who I was and what I needed to do, explained who my kids were. His deep brown eyes were wild with terror, you could sense every muscle in his body could flee faster than anyone could catch if need be.
Mr. Black stood in the hall protectively keeping his arms around his shoulders and used his body to stop any passerbys from seeing, as I gently and slowly looked at his head.
The boy's hair was too short for him to be at real risk for lice, but I knew in that moment with him having no idea who I was, he was giving me something that was very, very fragile and an absolute honor for me to receive: his trust.
He did not move a muscle, but seemed to somehow sink into Mr. Black's arm and body. As soon as I was done, I looked at him deeply in the eyes and said Thank-you. Then, in a moment, he was gone.
I felt emotionally weary and worried for him. Before I could say a word, Mr. Black told me that his family had just recently joined our community and that he had come from a refugee camp in Africa and he witnessed his sister die in the camp.
I leaned against the wall and felt so heavy with the information. I was so acutely aware of what it must have taken for him to let me touch him. Mr. Black told me as I was welling up with tears that they were so happy with him and right now they are just focusing on him being there everyday, which is huge when a child has never been to school before and gone through and seen what he has.
When I picked up my youngest from kindergarten we went to the playground. As the other kids came out for lunch I was chatting with my older son when my cherub came out of the school. As I watched him, I fell in love.
To watch him run was freeing for one's spirit and when he looked at me as he raced by, I would not say he smiled, but his eyes seemed more appropriate for what he is: a child.
So I now have a little bag all full of sweets and chocolate, and I am hoping to sneak it to his teacher to give him tomorrow, for my heart has been stolen and I can think of no one I want to give a Valentine to more than him.
