Sunday, Nov. 14, 2004

Back from the mountains... and Bobby, posted at 6:55 p.m.

And, now, on to the regularly scheduled programming...

I have returned from my trip in the wilderness. Eleven high school students, two mediocre Outward Bound instructors, and I spent five days canoing on the Potomoc River, near where West Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania meet. The weather was often frigid - I woke up one morning with frost all over my sleeping bag and a little on my upper lip - and the rain made for some miserable times. It was hard, but generally a good hard. I'll do it again next year, although maybe I won't schedule the trip for mid-November.

The kids were all good. The mixture was strange, for me. Because of some things out of my control and some things I probably should have done a better job of controlling, my group ended up being majority white. This is unusual, because, of course, my school is 95% black. However, out of the eleven kids who went, seven were white. I think it had to do with my advertising (my parental e-mail list, a few fliers), and I'll make sure the group is more representative of the school next trip, but it still provided for an interesting mix. The white kids were pretty diverse within themselves. Three were very Jewish and decidedly upper class, a couple were non-religious and middle class, and a couple have lived tough lives complete with dead parents and poverty. The black kids were also an interesting bunch. One was a junior girl who I was shocked went on the trip and brought a teddy bear, while another was a girl whose mother lives right off of North Avenue, yet, paradoxically, her little brother goes to a boarding prep school in DC that she wants to attend next year.

But it's Bobby I want to tell you about.

Bobby and I go back about three and a half years. I first met him in the summer bridge program, where incoming 9th graders come to the school and spend five days getting lessons about high school life. There, the little shit said his name was John and spent a whole day making the other kids laugh because I was calling him the wrong name. I thought to myself, "Geez, I hope I don't have him in class."

Then, the school year came, and I went on an Outward Bound trip. Bobby came. He'd been on the trip in the sixth grade and loved the outdoors. I took a big liking to the kid on that trip. He did things like lay on his back and stare into the stars for half hour stretches, then he'd write poetry about it. He was a thinker, bright and inquisitive, with a quick and easy grin that belied his reflectiveness. I let him call me by my first name (as I do all the kids on these trips), and he was a kid I could talk with and get utter and complete attention.

Then, I had him in class. He was an enigma (that was a word of the day, and I labelled him one to his face), because he was very intelligent but not a successful student. He did alright in my class - should have done better, as his writing skills were well above grade level but he never really applied himself with the reading. One of my favorite memories was calling his house after he'd skipped my class (the one time he ever missed my class). He answered, and we talked for a while, and it was one of those educational conversations that hits every right note, without any falsity. We joke about that day today.

At the end of his 9th grade year, Bobby was a borderline returnee because of grades. To prevent his reassignment, I wrote a letter of support to the principal and others so that he could stay. He never knew. I'm not sure if the letter had an effect, but he did stay at the school.

He went on the trip again sophomore year. I didn't have him in class, and by the end of this trip, he was calling me his friend and me, vice versa. I told him he's got an old soul and he really does - a sense of seriousness that you don't often see in a (then) 15-year old. At the end of the trip, I dropped him off at his house. On the way, he had told me the first I'd ever really known about his family history. His mom had died when he was seven, and he lived with a great aunt. He never knew his father. He lived off of North Avenue growing up, and now lived a little bit north, off of Bel-Air Avenue. He invited me into his home, where I met his great-aunt (who he calls "mom") and his sister. The house was sad-eyed and the sister seemed to be on something, but there was a sense of security and I was happy for him.

I kept up with him the hallways after the trip, and began to fall into a comfortable big-brother type of relationship with him. I'd talk tough with him about his grades and then ask him about wrestling. His English teacher that year came to me often whenever she was having problems with him. You see, Bobby is the type of kid who likes to be in the center of attention, often to his detriment. But most can see he's a good - nay, great - kid, and she pulled for him and he ended up getting an 80 in her (tough) sophomore year class.

At the end of the school year last year, his phone number became the first student phone number I'd ever programmed into my cell phone. I told him we'd get together for an Orioles game or a workout at Bally's (he wrestles and is always wanting to work out) or something, but I never arranged it. I have no real excuse except I was broke this summer and travelled a bit back home, but the other reason is the one I feel guilty about - reading a "Dear Abby" column in which a woman wrote in saying that her son's teacher had invited him to attend a soccer tournament with him, and Abby was shocked and told the woman to report the teacher to the school board. That shit pisses me off and doesn't apply in an urban school setting as much as some hoity-toity suburb, but it still scared me into not doing it even though I sort of had begun to see myself as one of the only male influences in this kid's life.

I really regret it now, though. You see, Bobby's brother was shot and killed in August in Baltimore. I don't know the details, but I know a phone call this summer - like maybe on his birthday, which was just a week after it happened - would have helped him. I didn't. I didn't even know his brother was killed until I saw him wearing a t-shirt with his picture on it and asked him about it.

I saw it this September, when I again had Bobby in class, this time for Junior English. I wasn't sure if I should have Bobby in my class again, but admit I was glad when I saw his name on my roll. I like to keep an eye on him. But, from day one this year, he was a little jerk in my class. He has spent the entire quarter doing almost nothing except drawing attention to himself, and it bummed me out. I worried about him, because he made a lot of vague references to the stuff that he's going through and stresses in his life. He wouldn't tell me any more because I would be worried or start making phone calls, he said. I tried whatever I could do help him out, but he wouldn't open up or do his work. Looking back, I sort of am kicking myself, because I think, "Man, Epiphany, his fucking brother was killed just a couple of months ago. You should have laid off the kid." I didn't know this until a few weeks into the school year, but I should have realized even then that the impact was huge. He just acted so stoic, which a mistook for nonchalance. I did honestly just want to help him in whatever way I could, but I didn't know of much I could do.

Luckily, I convinced him to go on this year's Outward Bound trip. It was tough, but I did it. He's failing my class, but I made a deal with him that if he finished Lord of the Flies and went on the trip, I'd find a way to pass him. He didn't finish the book, and was concerned about failing the class. I told him, "Bobby, any decision I make in regards to that will be guided by one thing - what way will help your success more?" I told him it would be good to go on the trip, to get away from his stresses a bit for a few days. He called me late on the eve of the trip to tell me he's going.

On the trip, he was back to being the old Bobby. We got along really well. He did two things that made my heart swell up. On the first night, we were going around the circle, and had to say who a good leader has been in each of our lives and why. He cited me, saying I was the only teacher who ever believed in him and saying I was the type of adult he would want to be because I know how to be serious and how to have fun, that I'm well-balanced. I couldn't believe it, because this is a "hard" city kid, not one to show much emotion. Like I said, if he wasn't wearing a t-shirt with his brother's name and face and birth/death dates, I wouldn't even have known his brother had died.

The next day, he told me, "You know, Epiph, you're like my white dad. I'm not kidding, either." I don't know if I could have heard a nicer compliment.

Later that day, he yelled from his canoe, "Epiphany, later tonight I'm going to holler at you at our campsight." When I asked what about, he said, "You know. What you've been asking me." He meant what has been keeping him from doing his work, what his stresses were, the question I have asked him much of the quarter.

That night, we sat together on a hill overlooking the river. There, he told me that his brother's death has really affected him a great deal, that he cries every night and has nightmares every night. That his "mother" and sister have taken it even harder, neither of them ever leaving the house and neither working, the sister quitting her nursing school. When he is home, they yell at him, and he can't take it, so he goes away for a day or two, and then they yell even worse when he gets back. He's had to do things to keep the power on and the gas on, and he does "these things" and then leaves the money in spots around the house were his mom can find it and pay the bills without knowing the money is coming from him. He feels pressure from everyone and doesn't know how to get out of it, and he can't focus on his schoolwork.

I was the first person he told. He wanted to tell me because I worry the most about him.

I didn't know what to say. He has no relatives that aren't locked up. I fear he's dealing drugs. In fact, I daresay I'm positive he is, even though he didn't say it outright.

Dealing drugs. And he's 5'5", 125 lbs, with acne. Sixteen years old. With perfect attendance in school. Trying to keep the electricity on in his grief-infested house.

I tell him he's only got a year and a half to make it through before he can get out of here. He doesn't want to join the Army any more with Bush in office still; now he has college aspirations. He's smart enough. I tell him he needs to look at himself ten years down the line and figure out where he wants to be. He's worrying about surviving.

I don't know what to do. I offered him a place to live, my basement bedroom, although I was sure he wouldn't accept. But he knows he can count on me if he needs a place to stay for a night. But, otherwise, I worry this kid will get killed out there on the street before he can escape. Even though he was the innocent, jovial kid he's always been throughout the trip, by the time we were back in Baltimore, he was saying how he hated to go back out on the streets that night. I tell him, "So, stay in" and he replies, "Got some things to take care of."

I don't know what to do. This kid's struggles aren't unique - just read The Corner - but I've never had it hit this close to home. He's the kid I've felt more attachment to than any other in my teaching career, but I worry he's out of my classroom reach. I'd trust him with my life, but I don't trust him with his own. He could end up just like his brother. Even though he hasn't told me this and it's far-fetched, I half believe he's taken on his brother's business on the streets.

You wouldn't know any of this stuff to look at him. He's grinning all the time, he's smart, he really likes to figure things out (and was quicker on all the instructors' riddles this trip than I was). But he's weighted down with grief and poverty and crime, and I worry. It makes me want to cry. But instead, I worry, I worry, I worry.

Bobby, be careful.

(PS - Bobby is not his real name. And, seriously, if anyone knows of any resources for a kid going through grief that might help him, please let me know.)

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