They're taking Romeo away.

They're putting him at the school his brother goes to in 2 weeks.  I know that sounds like a good idea, but he likes it where he is, and we like having him.  Not that he isn't one of the most difficult kids in the class; that goes without saying.  He's the one who told me to "fuck off" my first day working in there.  But he's still mine and I love him and I don't want him to go.

The counselor today started to tell me about all the horrible things going on in his and Tyrone's lives.  And I know it wasn't even scratching the surface, but it was really hard not to cry.  I know that parents usually try their best, and that some situations aren't ideal...but my kids.  My G-d.  How is it I grew up so close to them, but we've had none of the same experiences?  That they don't go home to parents who love them and want to read books with them?  Or tell them they did a great job or ask them about their day?  How do they end up living with their 99-year old grandmother who can't even take care of herself?  How isn't there an organization that goes in and fixes these things?

I know we have ACS, aka Child Services, but they're clearly understaffed and under-trained (Nixzmary, anyone?).  But really - this is so hard.  He doesn't want to leave the school, the systems we have in place, his friends (today, he stood outside for 10 minutes hoping Justin would show up, I know because I found him and stood with him and saw his disappointment when Justin remained absent, another worry of mine), or people like Ms. N and Mr. K who are there for him all the time.  He will never tell you this, but he loves it at our school.  He feels safe there.  But because his brother's been getting into a lot of trouble, and his aunt wants the two of them to be at the same school (even though the schools are an avenue and about 3 blocks apart, if that), he's leaving us.  None of us want him to go, but he is.

It's not the teaching of lessons that will make teaching hard for me.
It's things like this that will slowly kill me.