As a senior high school teacher, I fell in love with my students every single year. My stories will make you laugh, cry, and cringe at the reality of the lives of our wildflowers. Kids are kids, however, these kids needed me more than your average child of priviledge. Most parents love their children, however, a mother at the age of fourteen, I believe, cannot offer what a mother at the age of thirty can offer. For many, violence and poverty were their facts of life. Many came to school for food, hugs, love, and support. My priceless experiences in the 'slammer' proved to be the most rewarding of all. Each day I thought how the situations in which these kids found themselves, was more often than not, the result of faulty parenting. Growing up was not about Tball, picnics, vacations, and college. Growing up for some wildflowers was all about survival. My career involved love, baby showers, funerals, talent shows, proms, and courtroom appearances. I believe everyone is given a gift. My gift was the uncanny ability to communicate with atrisk teenagers. I spoke their language. I understood that there were reasons, not excuses, for their problems. These wildflowers were born into this world just as sweet and innocent as every other child. Their surroundings dictated and directed their futures. For years, I went to bed worrying about them and I awoke wondering what would happen each and every day to my wildflowers. They loved me because I loved them. If reading my book helps just one teacher to help make a difference in just one wildflower's life, my promise to my father to write this book will have made it all worth while. Wildflowers a memoir of an inner city high school teacher By Judy Fitch AuthorHouse Copyright © 2013 Judy Fitch All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4918-1375-1 CHAPTER 1 Introduction We call it "The Valley". Those of us who are from here, knowthat once upon a time, millions of years ago, a glacier cut throughthe area, carving out our huge metropolitan park known as "TheValley". Games are played down there, roller blading is done downthere, lots of 'making out' and drinking of beer is done down there.People sled, hike, kayak, cheat and meet down in the valley. It's a beautiful place. One can come across deer, foxes, skunks,snakes, frogs, and lots and lots of flowers. Wildflowers. No one tendsto them. No one fertilizes them. No one manicures their beds. Theyjust grow. They are strong, beautiful, healthy, perennial wildflowers. I am an English teacher, so I think in analogies, comparisons,and metaphors. I live in a wonderful little city, streets lined withhouses, each with its own little yard. We are in the Midwest, sowe have very distinct seasons. When the winter finally breaks, andspring has sprung, that is when we become reacquainted with ourneighbors. Everyone seems to have the same mindset; get their yardsin order. People are mowing, trimming, mulching, fertilizing, andgenerally manicuring their little slices of paradise. We run to thenurseries, purchase starter flowers and herbs, and begin to designwhat we've dreamed about all winter long. We weed and seed,and prune and fuss, using our specialty tools. We hire professionalsand plan ahead as to the color schemes we intend to display in anunspoken contest with each other to win this year's "best yard".One can easily pinpoint those who have cheated and used MiracleGrow, the steroid for gardeners. This is what we do to produce ourflowers, but unfortunately none of them are the best. Why is it that the wildflowers growing in the valley always winthe contest? No one's flowers are prettier, larger, stronger, or moreplentiful than those wildflowers, growing in the valley. Just imaginehow these flowers would flourish if they were to be given the leastbit of attention! As a former high school English teacher in an inner-city setting,in the Midwest, this is how I've grown to view my students.... aswildflowers. I've since retired and can sit back to reflect on my life as ateacher, on stage, influencing lives every day. I loved my job andthey knew it. Every year, they knew it. My one and only child, a son, went through my journey withme. He recalls that every fall, at the start of yet another school year,he would hear me lament, "These kids are different. I hate them.I'm never going to make it!" Every fall his reply was the same, "Give it time, Mom. You knowyou always end up loving them." The boy was right. I always did.Each year beat the last. As the years went by, I became better andbetter at it. It was a gift. You had to love it. They had to love you.This was the secret, because if they loved you, there is nothing theywouldn't do for you, including trying Shakespeare! People ask me what I miss now that I've retired. I miss the hugs,the group hugs, the individual hugs, the hugs from those kids who"came out" for the first time to me, the hugs from the girls whowent into labor in my classroom, the hugs from the parents whoheard from me