One of my first pieces of a teenager, I remember, I had taught my grandmother. Tender age of twelve, she had pegged at the soul, the passion of the text, which, in the wee hours of a light chick, saves you from the narrow life and destiny set.
This text, short and everything I write, said the encounter between a young girl ... and a sick child. There was question, already, to tell stories to care.
My grandmother gave me the text with a half smile: "You make the picture, she tells me.
Today, I make pictures. And I keep in my head, take snapshots, each time I hear of a child.
Sometimes it seems to me that my depth of field is much greater than I can not see them, it is in the way adults talk to me about him I can see the composition, the lines broken supports.
I could never see ST. There is so little there. His time of schooling in this class of integration is so short, so often prevented by these moments where he runs like a top, to escape the harassment.
He uses everybody, he tries, sticks, grabs, and rejects in turn. You a class apart, pushing a seasoned professional to the limits of his patience and above all, it seems, since he stopped playing cluster bombs, filling those around him, an intense compassion. What is not given to everyone. ST
Because, frankly, it accumulates in the biography with a chainsaw. Born with a handicap of severe psychiatrized mother and father never identified, he saw accidentally break the only link he had established firm with a first host family. He did not recover. Grandparents are very old they can, but can with one breath so short. It is so worn there. A
these handicaps, he joined that of being born in a period which saw the collapse credits offered for the daily care of these children who are injured from contact with reality.
So while the departmental structure in charge of disability has made a wonderful decision guidance, no structure has room for him before ... Bah, say 18 months.
So we tinker. ST wanders, an IME, normally scheduled for two days of smaller, home to a child three days or drop-in center emergency, which he saw so many people that go in the Salle des Pas Perdus , he who is both.
That is what is revealed in this meeting, while the team of children's home, almost humbly, ask the school if she does not attend school half a day longer.
is where I press the shutter button. Because clearly that's not that ST needs. He needs that we take this shot very quickly, accusing all the contrasts, without the details. And in this maelstrom, it is emphasized in broad strokes what is so acute for those who do not know: this child is mad about not being able to land somewhere and it is being drowned. Nothing will have meaning for him if the faces are constantly swirling around him, if he can not empty the bag he lugs around a bed to another.
I sent the photograph to the house of disability. And I did the rage in my heart, because any solution urgent for ST is going to deprive another child, equally needy.
0 comments:
Post a Comment