When there isn’t a happily ever after…

Once upon a time there was a high school English teacher. She was teaching a reading improvement class and a certain student was assigned to her class. This student was an African-American male, about 14 years old, and healthy. He was average height. He attended regularly and, in terms of academics, maintained adequate progress.

 

Then life intruded.

 

This student lived with his grandmother and his biological father. His mother lived in the Washington DC area. Over the course of four years, this student deteriorated. He now had a more “thug-like” exterior. He was constantly angry and in trouble. He was in physical altercations. He was, by all accounts, an undesirable member of any class.

 

When I taught this student the first time, he was 14. The second and last time, he was 18. It was like he was a walking time bomb. I never had any issues with him personally; he came in, put in his ear buds and stayed away from other kids. I let him do that because it prevented problems. He had a 3% in my class. I honestly can’t tell you what he did to get that 3%. I don’t remember him doing anything. But he never got in a fight on my watch.

 

Ultimately, he was transferred to a school with a more intensive, therapeutic environment for him. It took a lot of meetings and documentation to get this to happen. This student’s grandmother, his primary caregiver, was elderly and unable to help him get Medicaid for individual treatment. This student’s diagnosis was only school related, not medical – ODD, ADD, ED. The acronyms were endless.

 

I saw this student in March at a gas station. He was happy to see me. He said hello. He said he was doing well in his new school.

 

Then, in April, he pretended to be a delivery person, broke into a house, and held a family of five captive at gunpoint while he robbed them. The family included two small children.

 

When someone asks me what the hardest part is about being a teacher, this is it – this right here. When I think of that family, all I see is my son’s face. Then, I see the student, as he would have looked as a toddler or a preschooler. He was one once. And now he’s a felon and in jail, charged with robbery and abduction, among other things.

 

I HATE THIS. I HATE that so many resources went into this kid and there was no difference made. I HATE that we didn’t get through. I HATE that we probably never had a chance in the first place.

 

I have so many kids I adore – a couple just graduated. Kids who hated my guts at first when I made them buckle down and learn. Kids who adored me by the end. I know we can reach them. But, there are certainly times when it is probably too late by the time we get them. At 14, this student had already been abandoned by the people he loved. He’d built up a wall around him until there wasn’t even a crack to seep into.

 

When I think about this student now, I think about the family he terrorized. I used to think he’d be one of the ones I’d see in ten years, working a job and raising a family. I don’t really think that anymore.

I know this is a sad post. I don’t have much else to say but this: when I think of my legacy as a high school teacher, I’m going to try to remember this student when he smiled and tried to joke with his classmates or me. He so desperately wanted to be a part of something. Now, I guess he’ll be a part of the penal system.