Free January First: A Child's Descent Into Madness and Her Father's Struggle to Save Her by Michael Schofield Page B

The teacher wrote “January,” which will automatically make Janni tear it up.
    “So how did she do?” I ask, stupidly, hoping for some good news.
    The teacher, a nice enough young woman, fresh out of college, shrugs. “She had to go to the principal’s office for a while because she wouldn’t stop hitting.”
    My daughter is five and already being sent to the principal’s office. She knows him by name, something I am certain no other child in her class does.
    “I also really need her to write her name,” she adds.
    “Yeah, I know. She doesn’t like her name,” I reply.
    “But one of the requirements of kindergarten is that students be able to write their first names by the time the school year is done. She needs to do it. It is a California requirement.”
    This isn’t unreasonable, but it still pisses me off. She has a 146 IQ, but they don’t give a damn about that. All that matters to them is the stupid rules.
    “What about teaching her science?” I ask.
    “I do. In fact, when it’s just Janni and me, she’s wonderful. It’s only when I have to move on to help another student that things get rough. It’s like if I could be with her all the time, she would be perfect.”
    I look over at the whiteboard. Every student’s name is up there in one of three columns: green, yellow, and red. The teacher calls it the “Streetlight System.” Names written in green are the students who are following directions, green meant to indicate that they can “go,” or continue as they are doing. Names in yellow are students who have been asked to “slow down” and think about what they are doing. Names in red are students who have been told to stop. Janni’s name is always either in yellow or red. I have never seen her name in green.
    “Red again,” I comment.
    The teacher is sympathetic. “The system works well for other students but not for Janni. She doesn’t care. That is why I had to send her to the principal’s office. That’s the next step if a ‘red light’ is ignored.”
    I hate putting Janni through this. I know this isn’t where she needs to be. The other kids are learning their ABCs and Janni knows the periodic table of elements. I look down at the floor, wishing we could just solve the violence. If we could fix that, then we could home-school her.

CHAPTER TWELVE
Saturday, March 8, 2008
    E ven though today is Saturday, I am working. I signed up to grade the writing exam every CSUN student must pass in order to graduate. I get $250 for six hours of work, money we desperately need. College lecturers don’t make much.
    I thought about not doing it because it means Susan has to take both Janni and Bodhi, but she already hired a babysitter for the day, a young college girl named Shawna who manages the toy store in the mall, the same store Janni destroyed two years ago. She saw Janni tear through the store for about a year but seemed to genuinely like her, even engaging her in conversation when she ran behind her cash register. Susan said she has experience as a nanny and works with her autistic nephew, so she understands meltdowns. She is going to help Susan with Janni and Bodhi while I am gone.
    I read through the exams, although my mind keeps drifting to what might be happening with Susan and the kids.
    By late morning we’re given a break and I go out into the corridor and call Susan. “How’s it going?”
    “Not well,” Susan answers, her voice like I’ve never heard it before. She sounds … broken.
    “Where are you?”
    “Right now I am parked outside the ER at Henry Mayo.”
    Panic squeezes my blood vessels. “Why are you there? What happened?”
    On top of my fears of Janni hurting Bodhi, I now live in constant fear that Susan is going to put Janni in a psychiatric hospital. Dr. Howe keeps pushing for it because Janni is not responding to medication. Susan agrees, but I can’t accept Janni going into a hospital. If we put her in one, I feel like we will have crossed a point