Not Pimpin’

“Not pimpin””, he says with flare. The other kids burst out laughing. One girl spits tomato soup and water all over him; I am laughing so hard I’m crying. He laughs looks at his shirt, now covered in dripping red liquid, and says,”Spitting tomato soup to the person on the left of you–not pimpin’!” The hysterical laughter continues. The kids are beside themselves–except for one. He sits in the corner looking at them like they’re crazy. Every once in a while he tries to insert an inappropriate joke, but the other kids are caught up in the “not pimpin’” comedy act. Finally the innappropriate joker shoves his chair back and runs outside. The other kids don’t notice. I follow him. Outisde I sit on the swing next to the inappropriate joker and ask him if he’s upset. He shrugs, picks up a grasshopper and tears its legs off then places it on an ant hill and watches them swarm aroudn their new found dinner. He doesn’t seem to care about anything I have to say. He tells me that he hates when the other kids say “not pimpin’”. He is visiblly agitated as he fidgets with whatever catches his attention.  I talk about possible resolutions to his frustrations, but he seems uninterested. I tell him I’m going back inside and he eventually follows.

Inside it is a disaster. The other kids are now even more annoyed with him because he ruins their fun. The night continues on with all the bumps and curves (and even a few extra) that you could expect with five teenagers having to live in a “family” that’s not theirs.

At the end of the night as I sat in the office watching the kids sneak in and out of their bedrooms, I thought about how “not pimpin”  life really is for them. Inapproriate joker is on more meds then a 90 year old man. He wants so much to be accepted, but he doesn’t have the skills to interact. His mom seems insane and the abuse he’s experienced is undeniably awful.

“Not Pimpin’” is barely half way through his teen years and has been charged with things that turn my stomach. On the average night he’s fighting me about chores, bedtime and why he has to eat vegetables.

Somehow, though, every once in awhile I see a glimpse of a kid. Just a kid. I see it when inappropriate joker goes to his room to play with lincoln logs. I see it when “not pimpin’” realizes how much joy there is in making people laugh, rather then cry. I see it when I pick up a Runner from school and he’s hardly able to contain his excitment about getting 14th out of 87 in his latest meet. Those are the good times. The times when I love where I am and what I get to do.

And then “Not Pimpin” pushes the book case over onto another kid, Inappropriate Joker thinks I’m sabatoging his meds, and Runner tells me I’m a MOTHER F***** and that I should go to hell.  Those are the times I want to pull my hair out. Those are the times when I wonder why I spent four years, getting two degrees, to babysit teenagers. But in the midst of the pity party for myself, every once in awhile I remember to stop and look at it all through the eyes of these kids, who have had the shittiest of lives.Their eyes remind me that joy can be found every so often in the chaos of it all and that it is good to find a way to laugh even when life is just “not pimpin”.