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Choosing Students over Sunflowers

I can't do this anymore.

Maybe I'll quit - become a florist. Sunflowers don't skip school, daisies don't take drugs, petunias don't get pregnant... Florist sounds perfect. I'll consider it over break, when I have a second to surface. To catch my breath from parent meetings, child protective referrals, phone calls from police and e-mails from probation.

Fifteen years I've been doing this: teaching kids who don't always want to be taught. Modeling right from wrong, taking one step forward with a student thinking I've made a breakthrough, only to stumble six steps back and wonder what went wrong...

Like what happened with Latoya. Girl comes to my class at the start of her sophomore year, totally gothed out: spike dog collar, black clothes, chains, everything. She's brilliant, too; her test scores nearly off the chart. The only thing not surprising about this girl is her story - a love/hate relationship with a mom who wants to be a friend rather than a parent, identity issues (mom's white and dad's black, living somewhere with his 'new' family), and an abusive stepfather who only shows love to his biological child. As I listen, it's obvious to me how much Latoya hates her life and hates school; but it's far more devastating to discover how much she hates herself.

So I roll up my sleeves and get to work. I've lost a year with her already and experience has taught me that kids who come later into the program have a harder time achieving success. Her schedule allows four of the eight periods to be in AE: she'll take English and bio with me, have global with another AE teacher and be in my study hall. Perfect - we'll have lots of time to get to know each other. And we do. She's a sponge when it comes to positive attention and, because she's so smart, good grades come easily. Latoya adjusts quickly to the routine and her mother is amazed, telling me, "She actually wants to be in school now."

Toya soon takes advantage of all the outside activities I plan for my students as well. She volunteers to shop for families we 'adopt' from the school's service club, along with wrapping and delivering the Christmas presents. She's in the audience for our Alternative Education Alumni Assembly, where former students come back (some graduates, some not) to share their experiences in and out of school, offering the priceless advice: "Take advantage now. I wish I had, life would be so much easier..." Latoya also signs up for our annual First Friday in February Bowling Extravaganza -- the year's theme is toe socks and she even brings extra pairs for kids who don't have any. She's there ice skating with a bunch of us on a Saturday afternoon in March. And that April, she and her mother join me and some other students for dinner before attending our high school's poetry reading. Later that same night, in front of over a hundred students and teachers, Toya reads a poem she's written about self-acceptance. My hands shake as I videotape the performance.

Her sophomore year comes to an end with improved attendance, an optimistic outlook, a closer connection with her mom and nearly honor roll grades. She even attends our end of the year picnic, but can't come camping with me and the others because she has to make up a gym class in summer school. It's okay, though, we make plans to keep in touch via e-mail and I remind her that September is just around the corner...

But when the first day of her junior year arrives, Latoya's a mess - too much partying and not enough structure. Mom's trying to be a parent and Latoya resents the new limits. Schoolwork takes a nosedive with missed days and poor grades. She's even failing my English class, when before she'd never gotten below an 80. In a panic, I call a meeting. It goes badly. That night, Latoya threatens to leave home and live with Dad. And Mom calls her bluff.

Mid-October - Toya comes to class, tells me she's moving to Wisconsin.

I try being rational. "You haven't seen this man since you were six, Latoya. Why don't you visit first? Go there during your breaks; wait to move until mid-year."

But she doesn't, and by Thanksgiving, she's gone. I have to admit, I'm still angry; even though I understand why she feels she has to do this, meet the man who deserted her ten years ago. Toya needs to see for herself he's not the father she's made him out to be. Discover on her own that the grass is not a heck of a lot greener in Wisconsin. Problem is I also know it means her school year will be shot, and since lost credits equals a greater risk of dropping out, I make her promise to e-mail me and keep in touch. She does, too. Things even seem okay at first; she feels accepted into the family and loves being adored by her new, preschool-age stepbrothers and sisters. But the weeks soon pass and Dad still hasn't registered her in school. Toya spends her days babysitting, her nights doing the same. Her new 'parents' work split shifts and she's found herself cooking and cleaning, and miserable. An e-mail she sends in January shares suspicions that her dad is dealing. I send my reply: "Come home. Now," and call her mother.

Two days later and I'm with my first period English class in the back of the library. We'd just finished an excerpt from Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, the chapter where Tim takes off for Canada to avoid the draft. But once he gets there, within yards of the border, he can't go through with it; can't take the final step that might very well save his life. And I'd just finished reading the line where Tim says, "I was a coward. I went to the war," when Latoya walks in. The kids are shocked, but I share a knowing glance with her mom, thanking her again for buying the ticket that brought Latoya home.

After hugs and questions, the class settles back into the story. And I ask them, "Why does Tim make this trip if he knows - really knows, deep down - that he'll never cross that border?"

The kids look at their papers, each other, at me. And I wait.

Then Desmond raises a hand. "It's like Latoya."

"What do you mean, Des?"

"He needed to leave...so he could understand why he had to come back." Then he adds, "Isn't that what Toya did?"

I'm not embaressed to say I came close to tears.

It's these moments. These unbelievable teaching moments when everything you've ever experienced - frustration and annoyance and hurt and anger and feelings of inadequacy - are swept away in a single moment of brilliance. A clarity of understanding that illuminates the precise reason you are standing in front of these kids, teaching those who don't always want to be taught.

How could I ever think of doing anything else?

All speeches and articles are copyrighted by, and are the property of, Laurie Thurston, and may not be reprinted without permission of the author.