Quiet. Not shy. Not sullen or somber. Just quiet.
And I figure maybe he just needs to be quiet for a while. Not bothering anybody. He walks in mid semester as if a man,
but he is only thirteen. A few
assignments go by. Nothing. I guess I could get in his face about it all,
but this is eighth grade, and I’m thinking that plenty of people have gotten in
his face over the years. It hasn’t
seemed to work. The scorched earth
strategy may not be best here. I bide my
time. Just wait for an opening.
Another week goes by. We exchange
a few smiles, a couple of nods. Just
acknowledging that I know he’s there.
And then, a moment opens up.
Tucked in the front of his binder is a masterful pencil sketching. A collage of Los Angeles. Stoic faces and neighborhood specific
tattoos. It’s a lesser-known map of the
stars so to speak. Darker stars from
deeper skies.
“That’s pretty amazing,” I say, careful not to over do it. Just enough to feel sincere. “Did you do that?” And for the first time in about a month, he
smiles. It’s slight, but it is there.
“Nah. My dad did that one.” After a thoughtful pause, he gives me a
little more. “He sends them to me. He’s a lifer.” I nod, treading lightly.
“That’s an amazing amount of talent.
Did you get any of that talent?”
He opens his binder and the child has returned for an appearance
here. He is genuinely excited to
share. A touch of hope. The burden of hope can weigh on a child who
knows the difference.
The next sketch he shows me is a replica of dad’s work. Not quite finished, but an impressive
attempt. It is clearly the child’s attempt. The shading and depth are not quite measured
yet, but the skill is clear. And in some
harder way to explain, it is the cleaner, softer, PG version of his father’s
work. Nothing R-rated about it, but a
finer attention to detail. He’s not just
learning a sketch here. He is trying to
learn the man in the best way afforded to him.
The faces of the women in dad’s original piece show signs of regret and
all feel to be abandoned with a harden sense of pain. The kid somehow feels this. I can see it making it’s way into his copy.
“You have your dad’s talent,” I say, assuring him. And for the second time in two minutes, he
smiles. “Doing anything this weekend?”
“No. I got my boot camp.”
“Boot camp?” He nods.
“Court says I have to. Only two
more weeks, though.”
“How hard do they make it?”
“Gotta be up by five am, like the army.”
“You
gonna make it?”
“Yeah,” he says with a little bit of confidence. “I’ll be alright.”
Two weeks later, he is standing by my desk. He clearly wants to tell me something, but he
truly doesn’t know how. It’s like he's
missing an etiquette or social cue. So,
he doesn’t say anything. He just hands
me a gold medallion. It has different
local police departments decals carved on both sides. I’m not sure what I’m looking at for a
moment.
“I finished,” he says, and it all makes sense.
“Congratulations,” I say. There is a little too much enthusiasm in my
voice for what I’m trying to accomplish here.
I’m excited that he’s graduated boot camp, but I am far more excited
that he is sharing it with me. When
these kids share, the bigness of these small moments is never wasted on
me. There is great honor in all of them.
During this next pause, I drop my excited-little-boy-tone several
notches. It’s the moment I have been
waiting for. A door, perhaps, to the
inside.
“If you could write me a few paragraphs on your boot camp experience, I
will count it twice and it will count as the two assignments you didn’t get a
chance to do.” The phrase “didn’t get a
chance to do” seems less judgmental.
Just trying not to scare him away.
He pauses. It looks like I lost
him. But then he says, “There’s a DVD,
too.” And just like that..I’m in.
“Extra credit if you’re willing to present it to the class.” I lower my voice as if I am offering him a
limited special offer. “You could go from
an F to an A very quickly.”
“Never had an A in English,” he chuckles.
“I’d be honored to give you your first A.” And it’s true. Like I said, it’s all an honor. And I am grateful that none of it is lost on
me. And sometimes, the best way to make
it happen is to simply wait it out.
If you're enjoying the blog, here's a book I recommend. "Our Kids: Building Relationships in the Classroom," is available at Amazon.
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