I'm 5'1", and she's a head shorter than I am. Little, spunky sixth grader with long lashes that radiate from eyes of vivid blue. "I hate my eyes," she pouts, but she's adorable.

Each time my back is turned, she writes on my whiteboard. One day, it was "Dear Ms. [Goalie], you are the BEST teacher eva! That's why I love you!" This week, she just hung by my desk whenever there was free time in class.

I stayed late after work today, and she came bursting in my door with a friend. They wrote on my board and acted like children...until she perched on a table and looked at me intently.

"Can I ask you a question? I need your advice on something. My mom goes to the bars, and I don't like that. So we made this deal--that she'd only go one night a week. But when I'm gone, I know she goes then. So how do I get her to stop going? I've told her I don't like it, and I've written her notes. I tell her good things, but then when she reads 'bar,' she rips it up and throws it away. She spends all this time with her boyfriend and puts him on her calendar, but she never has time for us."

How, child, do I tell you how angry I am toward this woman you love? How do I tell you you're right without spitting out how wrong she is?

"I gave her a Valentine's present, and she didn't even say 'Thank you.' It was this fluffy white dog with a red collar that said 'I love you,' and she just took it and nodded and put it in her room. She didn't even say 'Thank you...'"

I had nothing to say, and was struck by the realization that I had almost shooed the girls out because I had "work" to get done. A sigh of relief that I had not done so.

"I'll pray, okay?"

She looked at me in a confused sort of way as her friend pulled her out the door to their awaiting ride.

And I will. I don't know in what way, but I will.