16- Plunger Stick

A few days ago my student, Nelson, came to school with a bruise on his face. He acted very self conscious about the bruise and spent most of the day trying to keep it covered up with a Band-Aid. Sensing how uncomfortable he was, I decided not ask him what had happened. My gut instinct old me that something was wrong, but I ignorantly chose to pretend that Nelson’s injury was innocent. I wanted to assume that he had gotten it while playing ball with his friends or climbing a tree with a classmate.
Today, in the middle of a Guided Reading lesson, Nelson chose to share with me (and the rest of the class) what had happened to his face. He started making comments about being hit by his mother. The other students looked frightened by Nelson’s comments, so I quickly ushered him to the corner of the room where we could talk alone. Nelson was eager to let his secret out.
Nelson is a Mexican boy who lives in a trailer park located a few miles away from our school. He is raised by his mother, who is his only relative living in the United States. His story brought me to tears, which I fought to hold back until he and my other students were out of the classroom.
A few days ago Nelson came home from school in a bad mood. His mother asked him to pick up the mess in his room and he, like a typically cranky kid, told her he didn’t feel like it. In response, his mother became furious.
She went outside and got the plunger stick. The thing that people use for toilets, except my mom uses it to beat our dogs when they do something wrong. I didn’t know what she was doing until she came back in my room a little while later. She made me hold out my arm, straight out. Then she hit me in the elbow many times. So many times I couldn’t feel it any more. See my elbow? Nelson pulled up his sleeve to expose large black and purple bruises all around his elbow. I started crying and she told me that she’d break my other elbow if I didn’t stop being such a baby. Then she told me to get ready to leave, we had to go to the store. When I followed her out of the front door, she still had that plunger stick in her hands. Real fast, she turned around and hit me in the face with the stick. Mean, like she does with the dogs. That’s how I got this bruise. Nelson pointed to the yellowing bruise on his face. She also hit me on the back of my head. It still hurts now. And my elbow hurts so bad, I can’t fall asleep at night.
With his final statement, Nelson fell silent and looked up at me. His brown eyes were pleading for me to reassure him. I felt like I was finally looking at him for who he truly was; a terrified little boy, desperate for help. My heart pounded in my chest and I choked back sobs. I was at a loss for words. I couldn’t tell him that everything would be all right; I didn’t want to lie. Finally, I knelt down and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him as tight as I could.
I ended up calling Mr. Thorpe, who took Nelson into his office and kept him there for the rest of the day.