By Coleen Armstrong

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.

After so many hours together, they speak freely, without embarrassment. Beth talks about her battles with her alcoholic father, Tim his troubles with the law, Donna her fight to finish school while caring for her two-year-old son.
 
They understand each other. They know that when Doug folds his arms and huffs, “I ain’t gettin’ into this one,” he just wants to be coaxed; it won’t take long to bring him back. They know that when Jerri begins to speak, they’ll be there a while, as she figures out at length what she’s trying to say.

It’s the best kind of class a teacher can have. Not intellectually gifted by any means; in fact, some members are barely passing. Not the next generation of movers and shakers, not the kids we tend to highlight when pushing public image. Just good, solid, cooperative citizens. The kind who grow up to pay their taxes, take their kids to church and work hard all of their lives. The sort we once regarded as heroes. And should again.
 
It’s important to resolve some things. Their time together is limited, with graduation and adulthood mere weeks away. Never again will they have the chance to sit in a group of such diverse backgrounds and viewpoints to mull over life’s dilemmas.
 
How does one find lasting love? Success? How important is money? How does one become a real person?
 
A few already know. Bill has been through drug rehab. He relates what it’s like to cry in shock and bewilderment when entering a locked facility and watching his parents walk away––and then to cry again for a much different reason weeks later when it’s time to return home. How could the toughest three months of his life spawn such cherished friendships?
 
Jay is concerned about his neighborhood. It’s disintegrating. Sounds of gunfire at night make it impossible to sleep. He wants to leave in June, but worries about his two younger brothers. Should he stay and try to protect them––or seize his one and only chance for a better life?
 
Michelle is getting married. She’s sure it’s the right choice. Although she’s already a young mother, college is still in the picture. She swears she will not become a statistic. She’ll create a loving home for her husband and baby and attend classes part-time. Still––can she really do it all?
 
Only occasionally do they pause to ask what I think. I answer briefly; otherwise I try to stay out of it.
 
My spectator status allows some astonishing things to happen. Jay, listening to Bill’s earnest account of his struggle to stay off drugs, extends a hand across a desk (and a universe) to murmur, “I’m proud of you, man.” Beth, confessing that she’s afraid that some night her father will act on his threats and kick her out, begins to weep––but Michelle scribbles her phone number on a scrap of paper, hands it over and declares, “If that happens, call me.”
 
Anything I say would be disruptive. I remain quiet. Sure, I’ve been eighteen and on the threshold of adult life. But not in their world.
 
How can anyone make sense of a country where war is fought and victory heralded, yet the vanquished dictator is still a threat? Where convicted child molesters vow to commit their crimes again and again, yet they’re still released on parole? Where there’s always plenty of money for professional athletes and their coaches, yet schools, hospitals and food banks continue to struggle?
 
I can’t. Maybe they can do better. So now, in our final weeks together, I let them try. They unfold and explore, skip from topic to topic. By thinking aloud, uncensored and uncriticized, by listening to each other instead of me, they’re learning to teach themselves. Which is how it will be from now on.
 
So I just sit back and watch the show, reveling in the interplay of lights, colors, textures––and voices. The perfect tapestry of active minds seeking a common truth.

Coleen Armstrong’s distinguished teaching career includes several state and national recognition awards.  She is the author of Please Don’t Call My Mother:  How Schools and Parents can Work Together to Get Kids Back on Track and The Truth about Teaching:  What I Wish the Veterans had Told Me.