Country Boy

On a quick errand to the store, I ran into a former student of mine. In fact, he had had to suffer through me as I blundered through my first year of teaching because I didn't have a clue.

He always was a country boy and now he is full grown. I almost didn't recognize him. The last time I saw him, he was a gangly teen who hadn't yet grown into his feet.

Country Boy: "You'll never guess what I am doing now."

Me: "Are you working on your grandmother's farm?"

Country Boy: "Nah. That farm has done been sold. A bunch of years ago. I'm a mechanic." (Great! Thanks for making me feel old.)

Me: "That is great! Do you work on cars?"

Country Boy: "Actually, I mostly work on farm equipment. I wanted you to know what I did cuz you always did say I was good with my hands."

When he hugged me to get back to his task of buying a video game, a flood of memories came rushing forward causing me to choke back the lump in my throat.

This was the student who put three tables together in my classroom when I couldn't figure out the directions.

This was the student who got up extra early one morning to milk the cow because I had never had *fresh* cow milk.

This was the student who could not figure out commas. (We won't even discuss colons and semi-colons.)

This was the student who had some serious anger issues. Who didn't want to smile. Who didn't want me to like him.

Before the first day of school, I had read his IEP (Individualized Education Plan). It clearly said Country Boy needed me to help him with his emotional outbursts. He also needed serious instruction in the areas of Reading and Writing. As I read each IEP of all my upcoming 6th grade students, I found all 16 of them to be eerily similar and I knew I wouldn't be able to tell Country Boy from Spitting Girl based on the words written on the documents.

Since I needed to get to know my students, the first day of school was filled with Ice Breaker activities designed to get my students to talk. And to hopefully begin the bonding process of this journey through education.

When Country Boy came into the room, he slumped in his seat with his arms crossed. Clearly, he was not humored to be in school. At the end of the day, he finally began to share a story. As the story poured out of him I was left in awe. His story involved a father who beat his mother until he was arrested and sent to prison. Then, when the mother remarried, the new step-father was also an abuser. That step-father found pleasure in abusing Country Boy along with the mother. One day, Country Boy came home from school and found his mother strangled to death. After living in foster care, he was finally sent to live with his grandparents in Georgia. His grandfather died two years later from a heart attack and now his grandmother was battling cancer. He was worried that she might die, too.

I was supposed to teach him to read. And to control his emotions.

And this was the first student for whom I cried.