Things I've come to realize.

During our last eighth grade open house, I got partnered up with Autumn to handle a group of four silent kids. Autumn and I sit next to each other in class, so we kindof know each other. We're comfortable around each other.
As we would leave tech areas, I would often be talking with people that were there. Like when we were leaving Media Broadcasting and I wanted to get my hug from Josh. Instead of taking the group right down the hall, she waited for me at the door with the group. I totally didn't expect it at all. It struck me as odd at the moment, but it later occurred to me that she respected me. She respected me enough to wait for me even though we were walking just down the hall.
My classmates have my back. They think it's crap that our teacher says one thing and then turns around and doesn't follow the rules he makes. He plays favorites with people who haven't been in our class for very long, and my classmates think its total crap. So when he had Rachel do the afternoon Raven Report instead of me, Autumn and Kat and Ty and Joe and Amanda asked why.
And even though our teacher never answered and probably never even heard, its really nice to know that they will stand up for me. In the kind of environment I'm beginning to realize our school is, it's a relief to know that I don't have to ask for their support, and to know that we'll all stick up for each other. Because we're classmates. And we're close. Sure, I don't see any of them outside of school, but I know where they work. I know who they date. I know which classes they hate, I know what they think about school lunch. And I know we all are fed up with the crap we go through in that classroom every single day.

And as I walk around the school with my group of eighth graders, the juniors and seniors in the technical areas know me. I have no idea who most of them are, but they know my name and they'll tell my kids that I'm not going to put up with their crap. I opened a door for one girl today after school and she says "Thanks, Joy!" and runs up the hallway. I doubt I would recognize her if I saw her again tomorrow. I don't know if it's due to my two broadcasts on the Raven Report or my pathetic interaction with most of the teachers in the school that's led to it, but it's certainly nice to be known. Like at my middle school. I go back for Sally's moving up ceremony and the girl who opens the front door of the school for me is so excited to see me. All I knew about her at the time was that her sister was a year ahead of me at Tech and was in Media Broadcasting.

Today I found out a little more about her.
She's in Health Pro, a junior, doing clinicals. While my partner and I were out getting interviews for our Media Broadcasting story, I see her in the hall right before she was going to go in and take a skills test. Light conversation ensues. Near the end of my Sociology class, she pulls an empty desk up next to me and tells me her results. A perfect hundred. I thought it was a little weird that she was having a conversation with me, but I was cool with it. She talks about how she looks a lot like her mother, so almost anyone, including her step father, could pass as her father. I tell her how different people tell me I look like my mother and others think I look like my father. "I think you look more like your mom" she says.
The gears are turning in my head --when did she ever see my mom? I shake it off. And the bombshell.
"I saw your portrait...... He was one of my patients..."
And it didn't really surprise me.
"I was waiting for something like that to happen."
She had come over because she wanted to give me kudos. When she found out my father was in that kind of condition, she couldn't believe it. And since she discovered that she had been trying to figure out how to get me to bring up my dad in a conversation so that she would be able to tell me.
And it amazes me how much respect people have for me in my school. I've been realizing how much my classmates do, but even my teachers. My social studies teacher told me he was getting divorced long before he announced it to his runners or the class. My Spanish teacher told me about how torn up she was after her grandmother died and how she picked up the phone the next Saturday and dialed her grandmother's number while trying to dial her father's because she had done it every Saturday for over ten years. My yearbook teacher tells me about how worried he is about forcing his little girl to grow up too fast. It reminds me of a question my mother has asked me --"Is it normal for kids to have that kind of connection with your teachers?" But I still don't know the answer. Because I don't know why they tell me things like that. And I don't know why people know my name. And I don't know why I still feel so stupid when... when I can't talk to people that I want to. When I can't make the words come out and when I can't pick up the phone to call my dad or my grandmother or my aunt or my friends. When I can't stand up for myself when people are tearing me down to my face. When I can't tell people that their stupid jokes about people having seizures or strokes or oral sex or dying because they didn't take their pills really pisses me off. And why I can't make myself care about things that I want to. My friends, my family, the world... things that are important and that are falling apart all around me. Why I can't seem to wake up.