When Chad told his parents that his fifteen-year-old girlfriend Mindy was pregnant, he thought his father would never stop yelling. For weeks all he heard were endless rants about responsibility, precautions, and stupidity.
While Chad certainly understood his father’s fury, he thought it a classic case of overreaction. He intended to do the right thing, after all––marry Mindy and find a job to help support both her and the baby. He’d also finish high school, then attend college part-time. Where was the problem?
Craig’s father was dying. He’d been sent home from the hospital, but was now bedridden. Craig had been absent from school for the past six weeks. Today he was back, hoping to salvage whatever was left of his quarter’s credit. We stood together in the hallway while the rest of his class worked on an assignment.
“It doesn’t look good,” I told him, scanning my grade book. “You know, with so little time left, you might be wiser just to work hard the last nine weeks and then be sure to pass the exam.”
“You’re probably right.” Craig’s voice was flat, unemotional.
“How are you doing otherwise?”
He shook his head. “Not well.”
Some of Craig’s friends were giving him a rough time, he told me, razzing him about missing so many days, even insinuating that his father’s condition was a handy excuse to stay home.
Jerry came back to visit, just as I’d always predicted he would. The previous June he’d shaken his head, insisting that once graduated, he’d never darken Hamilton High’s halls again. But here he was.
“I just thought I’d stop in and see how y’all were doin,” he grinned.
He tiptoed to a back-row seat and sat listening intently (far more so, I noted, than he’d ever done as a student) to my opening remarks. Once the class discussion was underway I caught his eye. His expression was a mixture of intrigue and bewilderment.
The topic was teenage responsibility. What did young people owe their parents, teachers, employers? “As little as possible,” several kids shrugged. “We didn’t ask to be here.”
I let them ramble for a minute; then, instead of breaking in, I asked Jerry what he thought. He hesitated. “What I’ve learned about responsibility since graduation,” he said slowly, “would fill three books.”
By early spring, individual personalities in every class have blended into a perfect weave of hues and textures. Each person plays an important role; take away Matt or Karen or Ted, and somehow the entire group loses its luster.
My second year of teaching second grade, I had a student named Wendy. Wendy came to school on the first day, and she did not speak a word of English. She was very shy, did not ask very many questions, and it took a lot to get an answer from her, even in Spanish. Wendy worked very hard during and after school to learn the language and to excel in the 2nd grade. She would bring me stories and journals that she had written after doing her nightly homework, and her parents were also very involved and concerned about her success in school. By the end of the school year, Wendy was speaking, reading, and writing in English almost perfectly fluently!
I was very nervous to have Wendy in my class because, although I speak Spanish, I knew I would not be able to give the bulk of my instruction in Spanish; and I worried she would lose important concepts in the translation. I did not let my fears get the best of me though. I tried my best to translate the important concepts of each lesson and, for the most part, in the beginning of the year she was able to grasp some of them. I believe that the freedom we have to create and modify our curriculum here at NEW Academy Canoga Park, gave me the ability to focus more on Wendy’s needs as an English Language Learner, which I believe, added to her success.
Craig’s father was dying. He’d been sent home from the hospital, but was now bedridden. Craig had been absent from school for the past six weeks. Today he was back, hoping to salvage whatever was left of his quarter’s credit. We stood together in the hallway while the rest of his class worked on an assignment.
