Chalupa

Today, after an extended battle between two aging bureaucracies, which are both responding hastily and often illogically to outside prescriptions, we lost Chalupa. Chalupa is a seven year old cognitively limited boy we had on our campus for two years. During his time there, he gained campus wide recognition. The kid was cute. The face was totally innocent. Whatever horrendous or disturbing behaviors he exhibited, you could never hold it against him. None of it was his fault.

When he originally came, they didn't know if he spoke Spanish or English. His mom was homeless and voluntarily gave he and his sister up to Social Services. She never reclaimed them. We have no idea where the sister might be. But I hope she didn't suffer the same plight as Chalupa. It's obvious he was sexually and physically abused in addition to the obvious neglect. He seems the size of 5 year olds and acts even younger than that. Accidents are the norm and at least one chase through the house a day. He could get into your nerves at time.

But he had a consistency of joy that could always win you over. It never really dissipated. Even after he was crying for a while, within seconds he was smiling. Even time he swore it broke your heart. Each action against you made your blood boil not because of how sad the behavior was, but just the mere fact that this small child was the perpetrator.

Now he's gone/ He had actually been making some serious strides i the recent months. More individualized attention lead to better verbal expression. He actually participated in activities for longer than 15 minute clips. He had stopped being the shift nuisance that was his biggest negative. But DSS is tired of our school, at least one office. They've moved most of the kids that we had in the past couple of months. And Chalupa is one of them. So he won't be going anywhere particularly better suited for him, like consistent individualized attention that we could never provide. It's basically the same deal. Just not us. That's a very sad thing. We started to be the only family he had. He actually started to make connections and build relationships. They all get stripped away because two agencies can't get along.

It's tragic. It's the system. But what's done is done. When Banana said her goodbyes on Monday, he came and hugged her and said "I'll miss you." He knew her yellow car and remembered the sign language she taught him. But no more constant requests for gum or silly dives into bed. The dancing to Gnarls Barkley "Crazy" never again to be viewed. Other boys' behaviors kept me away from him for most of the day, but I remembered to say my goodbyes just as he was about to fall asleep. I was about to leave when he asked me to tuck him in. And I wrapped him up like I used to.


I'm glad I'll remember him happy. I hope he stays that way.