I left my job at the elementary school for a temp job that sent me to different schools, still doing behavioral intervention. My first assignment was in South Los Angeles, not far from Compton.
After I checked in with the office, I had to walk past a security guard and through a metal detector to get on campus. There were many bungalows, each one guarded by a burly security guard. Nearly all of the students were African American, many were in foster care, on probation, or both They were the property of a broken system.
I have worked in many impoverished elementary schools in New York, I worked with a branch of the Harlem Children Zone for a period, but this was something else.
This was middle school.
My student was a thirteen-year-old young man. He was small for his age but had a big personality. He skipped his first class, so security was trying to find him. Eventually, they found him after he got into a fight.
He walked into the dean’s office with a gait like Tupac, and two security guards behind him. They told him I’d be working with him today. He looked me up and down, gave me this repulsed look, and said, “Who is she? I ain’t working with her! I don’t know her! She could be a rapist!”
The dean chuckled a little and said, “We do background checks. She’s okay.”
I tried to talk to him and he ignored me, but let me follow him to class. The whole way to his classroom, he stopped and talked to everyone he saw. All of the security guards knew him. Most of the kids, who were twice his size, did not want to talk to him.
We got to his class and they were watching the movie, “Ruby Bridges,” about the first African American child to attend an integrated school in Louisiana. At one point, the actress who played Ruby was crying and this female student started laughing and said, “What a little bitch.”
My student, who I’ll call Marshall, instantly snapped, “Don’t laugh at her!”
“What you gonna do about it?”
Marshall kicked her desk over and she went down with it. He leaped on top of her and started waving his fist in her face saying, “I will sock you bitch!”
Security came in and he got up and walked out with them. They talk to him for a minute and allow him to cool off outside the classroom. To try and connect with him, and break the awkward silence, I said to him, “I just want to say that I admired you standing up for the girl in the movie, I just didn’t admire the way you did it.” He looked at me, probably for the second time all day but didn’t say anything. “Anyways,” I said, “You seem like a very bright young man, what do you want to be when you’re older?”
He said, “A rapper…or a lawyer.”
I laughed and said, “Oh, you’d definitely be a good lawyer. Who’s your favorite rapper?”
He said, “Biggie.”
“Wooo! East Coast!” I said, nodding my head, “Nothing like that old school. My favorite is Wu-Tang.”
His eyes got bigger, “What you know about Wu-Tang?!”
I said, “I used to live in the Slums of Shaolin, man, I know Wu-Tang.”
He looked confused, but he suddenly opened up to me and we started talking about music and then started talking about all kinds of things.
He was telling me about a rumor that Los Angeles gangs were killing 100 people in 100 days. I said, “Oh, maybe that’s why there has been a lot of shootings in my neighborhood lately.”
He cocked his head to one side, like a confused puppy,
“Wait…You’re not rich?…But you’re white?”
I laughed, “Not all white people are rich. I grew up poor, and I’m still poor. I’ve lived in many bad neighborhoods.” You could see the gears turning in his head. His eyes suddenly softened as he looked at me.
At the end of the day, I had to say bye to my new buddy. Fighting back tears, I told him how impressed I am with his brain and his heart, and that I hope he gets to become a rapper…or a lawyer. I put out my hand to give him a handshake and he pushed my hand down and gave me the biggest hug.
He said, “You alright Miss. You better be careful out there, people might think you’re rich and try to rob you. But don’t worry, I got your back,” patting me on the back.
This was one of the most difficult days of my career, and also possibly the single most rewarding. I could have had an easier day if I gave up on him as soon as he called me a rapist and refused to talk to me. If I labeled him as a violent young man, as a lost cause, rather than an intelligent, caring individual who has been handed a raw deal in life. But I didn’t give up, I kept trying to connect with him, and eventually, I penetrated his walls, and he let me in. Maybe I even taught him something. Ironically enough, I rarely had days where I felt like I taught anyone anything during my time teaching in LA schools.
“Teen expert” and foster care survivor Josh Shipp says,
“Every kid is one caring adult away from a success story.”
His foster parent told him, “I don’t see you as a problem, I see you as an opportunity.” That always stuck with me. I truly hope Marshall becomes a success story and not a statistic. All it takes is his foster parents, educators, and all of the people he meets to put a little effort in, to see his value and his strengths, to form a connection with someone who’s been deeply scarred by a brutal society.
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Ruby Bridges and her teacher.
