the intricacies of basic math. Finally the ladies
arrived, and I told the story of my visit. At my
insistent urging, they took off for the doctors, and
the waiting began. The morning crawled into the
afternoon without a word from the ladies.
Brandon regained consciousness after lunch, but
he was slow in achieving any level of energy
required for regular schoolwork. His socks had
come back clean and dry, and I had replaced
them while he slept. When he woke with his shoes
off, he put them on without a word. The class
lined up to head outside for our daily hour of
physical training. He sat on the sidelines, as my
other students and I did our workout. After
working up a sweat with calisthenics and yoga in
the warm sun, the boys began their run. I went
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over to Brandon and asked him to walk with me.
Surprisingly he got up eagerly, and we trotted
behind the line. He started talking immediately.
He told me of his friends up North, the drive to
Tennessee and the people he lives with. His mind
seemed to be working at hyper speed, and he
could not keep on a single topic for more than a
few moments. I tried to ask questions, but he
didn’t seem to hear them, as he was talking so
fast. I decided to walk and listen. He didn’t need
any encouragement to open up.
Toward the end of the day, the ladies came back
but did not have the medical information I was
hoping for. They had gotten caught up with
another assignment for another client and were
lucky to have gotten the medical release where it
needed to go. Though disappointed, I understood
their predicament, and I thanked them for
running around for me. Luckily, I had my
conversation with Brandon to reflect on. His
rambling flood of information was a lot to digest
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and dissect. While his parents had proved to be
untrustworthy, Brandon’s stories seemed to be
linear and sensible. His steady stream of speech
made me believe at least the majority of his story.
A few days went by, and Brandon came to school
in his typical zombified-state. We developed a
routine in which he would sleep in the morning
and get his academics in the afternoon while the
other students were involved in independent
activities. Each day I would take off his shoes and
have his socks washed while he slept. One day he
came in particularly dirty. The ladies went to the
school’s clothes closet where lost and found items,
in addition to donated items, wound up. They
found some clothes that fit Brandon and had him
change his clothes in the restroom before he went
down for his morning nap. We sent his clothes
across the hall to be cleaned. The day got ahead
of us all, and before we knew it, it was time for
the kids to go home. Someone realized that
Brandon did not have his clothes, so we ran next
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door, grabbed his clothes, and stuffed them in his
backpack as we shuffled him along to the bus.
First thing in the morning, I was called to the
office, and as I approached I saw Brandon and
his father through the large glass walls of the
office. Brandon’s father was holding the clothes
we had sent him home in the day before. As soon
as I stepped into the office the yelling intensified.
My principal promptly stopped the man’s public
tirade and suggested we step into her office where
the three of us could speak privately. Her
presence was very commanding, and she was
exceptionally effective at controlling the most out-
of-control parents.
In her office, Brandon’s father attempted to yell,
but was deftly quieted by the principal. In softer
tones, he expressed his frustration over his child
coming home in clothes that were not his, while
his own clothes were stuffed into his bag. When
he stopped, my principal spoke of the high
standards her teachers have for their students and
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the positive impact a clean appearance can have
on a child. She spoke clearly and calmly, showing
a lot of respect for the man and his feelings. Then
she turned to me, as if to suggest it was my turn. I
took responsibility for having sent Brandon home
in strange clothes but assured his father that they
were new and clean. I also told him that we had
cleaned Brandon’s clothes at school because he
had gotten dirty and we did not want him to have
to go through his day wearing dirty clothes.
Insinuating that he had gotten dirty at school, not
that he had come to school in such a condition.
With my vague explanation, I was sure not to
blame, offend, or upset anyone. And it worked.
Brandon’s father thanked us for our time,
apologized for the misunderstanding and exited
the office. As we all walked out, the principal and
I noticed that the man had walked by his son
without speaking to or even looking at him. I
woke Brandon up and walked him to class after
thanking my principal for her assistance.
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Then the day came in which our medical release
form had worked its magic. Faxes began to roll in
concerning the doctors the family had visited with
Brandon and the medications he was prescribed.
His prescriptions were not the same medications
that the parents had told us he was taking, more
accurately, he was being prescribed and
dispensed more medications than the family
admitted to giving him and more than Brandon
had told us that he took each morning. As
expected, the prescriptions were for evening
medications that were being given in the morning
to make him drowsy. Brandon had told me
repeatedly that he stayed up most of the night
while his parents entertained people from the
neighborhood. He had told stories of people
coming and going at all hours throughout the
night, and because he slept on the couch, he was
not able to get much sleep. His parents, he said,
gave him his medicine in the morning so he
would sleep through school, so as not to discuss
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what happened in the house at night. He too had
been coached.
When he first told the ladies and me, this fact it
seemed like a plausible story, but now with the
verification that he was indeed being prescribed
evening medications, his story became
significantly more credible. With the situation
teetering on a viable case of abuse and neglect,
our team went back to the principal and informed
her of the new developments. Together we
decided to conduct another home visit, but this
time we would go as a group and present
ourselves as if we were making a typical home
visit. There would be no phone call beforehand.
A few days went by, and we solidified our plan.
We got our story straight for the family regarding
why the principal had accompanied the
classroom staff to the home. When the day came,
the anxiety I felt after the first visit returned. The
day went by too quickly, and I wanted to keep
Brandon after school, so he would not be at home
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while we descended on his family. I put him on
the bus with the rest of the students, and
accompanied by our principal, the ladies and I
drove out toward Brandon’s house.
We met up at a restaurant close to the house and
piled into the principal’s SUV. We drove over in
palpable anticipation. As we pulled into the
driveway, we noticed several cars in the driveway
with various out of state plates. The yard was in
even more disarray than before. More toys, more
trash. We paraded up the walk and onto the
porch. I knocked on the door. There was a quiet
commotion inside the house. A young girl in
tattered clothes opened the door. By the look on
her face she recognized me, but I told her who I
was anyway. She turned around and shouted,
“It’s Mr. Love, Brandon’s teacher.” I heard a
door open and Brandon’s father’s face appeared
around the door.
“Hey, uh, what’s up?” He said shakily.
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My principal stepped forward, and stood in front
of me, introducing herself. The door came open
against its will.
“Can we come in?” She asked as she pushed by
him leading us all into the house. The room was
crowded with five adults standing just inside the
door. We positioned ourselves around the room. I
walked closest to the couch where Brandon was
sitting in the same spot I had seen him in last
time. He had an electronic football game in his
hands. He looked up and put the game down.
“Hey Mr. Love. Do you wanna play Monopoly?”
He asked as he leapt from the couch. “Not now
Bran. We don’t have time for that.” His father’s
voice had an edge of uneasiness. He backed
toward the bedroom door closest to him. The girl
that had opened the door was now in the kitchen
making dinner. Brandon ignored his father and
maneuvered between the adults to a crumbling
stack of games and boxes by the television. He
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found the game and brought it back to the couch
where he proceeded to set it up.
“What piece do you wanna be, Mr. Love?”
Brandon asked as he set out the colorful money.
“I said ‘not now’ Brandon, put the game away.”
His father’s voice was stern this time. Sadly,
Brandon began to pack up the game.
“Brandon, we have that game in class. Tomorrow
morning we’ll play with the class.” I said trying to
cheer him.
“I just wanna play with you and me.” Brandon
replied.
“All right, you got it. You and I will play in the
morning. How’s that?” I said.
At the promise he smiled my smile. “OK,” he
said while he packed up the game with
enthusiasm.
We spoke with Brandon’s father for close to ten
minutes, explaining Brandon’s sleep and
academic issues. We told him that we were
concerned and asked if there was anyway we
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could help. He declined every service we offered.
The young girl in the kitchen called the kids in for
dinner. I watched Brandon abandon the game
and run to the kitchen. He jumped up into a
chair and waited. The girl had cooked dinner for
the other kids. She pulled a cookie sheet full of
fish sticks out of the oven and placed it on the
table. Next to it she slammed down a bottle of
ketchup. One of the other children poured a pile
of ketchup onto the cookie sheet. The cook
dumped a jar of baby food onto the tray of the
high chair then lifted the baby from the floor, and
placed her into position. The baby fed herself
with her hands from the thin pile of mashed food
on the tray while the other kids ate fish sticks and
ketchup from the cookie sheet. In seconds, they
were all done eating. I was trying to return my
attention to the conversation going on in front of
me when I saw several small gray kittens emerge
from the kitchen and into the living room.
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Brandon’s father noticed me looking at the kittens
and changed the subject quickly, “Mr. Love, ya
want some of them kittens? Take as many as you
want. I don’t even know how many there are.”
“No thanks. I’ve got a cat of my own. But I
appreciate the offer.” I said with a smile of
satisfaction.
Sensing it was time to go, my principal
announced our departure. “Well, we’re here if
you need us. Just give us a call or stop by the
school if you need anything. Anything at all.” She
smiled her generous smile and extended her
hand, which was shaken with enthusiasm.
“Thanks for stopping by. Come by any time.
Take care.” He said looking around the room as
he continued shaking the principal’s hand.
We made our exit and piled into the SUV. When
the doors were closed, we all spoke at once. Each
one of us noticed multiple “red flags” that made
us question the safety of not only Brandon, but
that of his siblings as well.
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Brandon did not come to school the next day or
the next. We all became concerned when the
phone number only gave a recording that the
number was out of service. Michelle and Renee
took a drive across town to check the house. They
called from the road to tell me that there were no
cars in the driveway, and that there were a lot of
bags of trash, more than usual, in the front yard
that looked like they’d been picked through by
wild animals. I asked them to come on back to
school so we could think through our next step.
When they arrived, we decided to call the police
and ask them to do a courtesy “welfare check.”
The officer that performed the check came to the
school to tell us that no one was living at the
residence; the house appeared to be abandoned.
Brandon and his family were gone. We never saw