The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real by Neta Jackson Read Free Book Online

articles to show Denny, then I went back to Google to search for information on learning styles. Hakim Porter might be back in my classroom, but his mother was still opposed to testing him for a learning disability. And maybe the problems he was having weren’t a learning disability at all. Avis seemed to think it could be related to posttraumatic stress after his big brother was killed . . .
    A familiar wave of nausea sent me to the bathroom. I rarely threw up, but the feeling was so strong I sat on the side of the tub for a few minutes just in case. It still seemed like a cruel cosmic joke that the little brother of the boy I’d hit with my car last June ended up in my third-grade classroom—unknown to either his angry, grieving mother or me.Not till that awful day we’d faced each other at the first parent-teacher conference.
    No, no! I know You’re not into cruel jokes, God! God had to have His reasons, didn’t He? God is merciful, full of grace and truth . . .
    Trust. “This is where trust comes in, Jodi,” Avis had said. “Trust that God has your good at heart—and Hakim’s good, and his mother’s too. Even if you don’t understand it right now. Or ever.” Which was certainly true; I didn’t understand it.
    I splashed cold water on my face and returned to the computer. Avis had promised to see if she could arrange counseling for Hakim with a school social worker. The loss of a sibling was reason enough, but Avis suspected that having no father in the home compounded Hakim’s loss. And I was following a hunch. Hakim was obviously no dummy—he’d proved that with his math skills when we’d used a balance scale to find the missing addend. But he absolutely bogged down when it came to reading and writing. Not to mention his defiance and lack of cooperation when it came to group work.
    Whatever was blocking him, I needed to find a key to teaching this kid. I wanted to see the triumph in his eyes again, like when he’d put the exact number of weights needed on the scale and said scornfully, “Didn’t you know that?”
    BY THE TIME DENNY got dropped off by one of the other coaches, I’d printed out a bunch of articles to help me brush up on various learning styles. One phrase leaped out at me about “the logical learner,” described as capable of abstract thinking at an early age, able to compute math problems quickly. That sounded like Hakim. I needed to read more about that.
    â€œHi, babe.” Denny kissed me on the back of the neck. “Did Amanda get out to Patti’s house okay?”
    Amanda! She’d never called—and I’d been so en-grossed in my searches, I didn’t call her either. I nearly fell over Willie Wonka in my haste to get to the phone, but a quick call to the Sanders home assured me that she’d arrived safe and sound and the girls were now hanging out at Yorktown Shopping Center. “Want me to have her call you when they come in? Though I don’t expect them for an hour or two. They wanted to see that Tim Allen movie. Santa Clause 2, I think. Hope that’s all right.”
    â€œOh. Okay, thanks. Yes, have her call.” Grrr. Amanda was supposed to check out any movies before she saw them, not after. She’d argue that she knew this one would be okay, but still.
    When Denny got out of the shower, I followed him into the bedroom, reading from my printouts about the Mexican quinceañera while he got dressed. “See? It is the Mexican version of a debutante ball, except it’s focused on just one fifteen-year-old. A huge fiesta, with a fancy dress, gifts, food, musicians, dancing . . .”
    â€œSounds like fun.” Denny was splashing on some aftershave.
    â€œDenny! There’s no way we can afford something like this for just a birthday party! Maybe when she gets married in ten years, Lord help us.”
    â€œI thought José wanted to throw this