From School Walls to Prison Walls

As Doug and I were coming home from Portland two nights ago, we witnessed a really strange interaction between a man and a woman. We pulled over and watched them for a while because we both wanted to make sure that the woman was okay. We ended up calling 911 because if I was being attacked in public, I would want help too. Three police cars ended up confronting the couple, and it resulted in the man in handcuffs. I wanted to find out what exactly happened, so I went our newspaper's website to check the crime reports. I knew that the chance of the report being immediately posted online was slim, but curiosity got the best of me. My night changed due to that decision.

I couldn't find what I was looking for so I decided to click on the inmates' pictures in the county's jail. I started going through them one by one, looking at the crimes they had been convicted of. (Slightly morbid, I know.) Wouldn't it be sad if I saw one of my students on here? I thought. About five minutes later, I did.

"Freddy," who I had in American literature four years ago, had been convicted of attempted aggravated murder and a slew of other charges. Memories of him in my class immediately flooded my mind. I remember him joining my class in the middle of the semester. He'd come, dressed in a navy blue or black shirt, and quietly sit. Freddy spent more time heading his paper, carefully writing his name in calligraphy, than doing any other work. His handwriting was a very slanted cursive. I'd catch him shading his name, encourage him to get to work, and he would reply with a bashful, sheepish smile and say, "Okay." A few months after enrolling, Freddy started dating a fairly popular girl, who was also in my class. They broke up a month later. I remember a lot about him, and in a way, it's haunting. I would have never guessed that this would have been his future.

I've had other students who have been locked up. I've dealt with my share of parole officers. But attempted murder? Really? How in the heck did he wind up in this position? Did he not see in himself what I saw in him?  I kind of want to visit Freddy. I don't even know if he would remember me; it wouldn't matter. I wonder if students fully understand how much so many of their teachers care about them.

Then there are the moments that bring a glimmer of hope to my existence.

Two weeks ago, I was in a class working with some students. I didn't get much sleep the night before. I was lying awake thinking about two students in particular. I had discovered how messed up their home lives were. So there I was, functioning on little sleep and extremely frustrated with them for screwing around. I pulled "Juan," "Ricky," and "Zack" aside and told them why I had gotten very little sleep the night before. I flat out said, "I'm working my butt off for you guys. I want you to pass this test so you can graduate. But I can't want it more than you." They were quiet for the rest of the period and worked hard. I thought to myself Yes! Maybe I got through to them. I was really disheartened when I had to break up a fight a few periods later that day that involved Juan. It's hard to break free when a person is caught up in gang culture. I left that day feeling defeated; I didn't get through to them.

However, last week I was in the same class. They were taking a very important exam and "Johnny" was trying to distract Zack. (I had ticked Zack off the day before when I had to physically turn his desk because he wouldn't shut up during the same exam.)

 I hissed, "Johnny, c'mon!" and gave him "the look." (Everyone knows what the look means. And I've been told by students it's quite scary.)

Out of the blue, Zack responded to Johnny. "She's saying that because she cares." All I could do was smile. He got it. He listened.

I know I'm not going to make a profound impact on all of my students. Kids like Freddy and even Juan are still going to make their mistakes. I try not to dwell on it. It's hard not to though. I hope, in the end, all kids leave my class knowing that I cared about them-- be it telling Dean I like his new haircut, complimenting Julie on her shoes, or congratulating Vanessa on her soccer win. Because who knows who or what they have to go home to.