Last week a former student of mine was murdered. Only a little over a year removed from my classroom, his life was ended by a single bullet--a bullet discharged by a gun held by another teen who wanted my former student's designer belt.
A belt.
I'm angry.
Angry because of all the love that I and my fellow teachers threw his way during what was a challenging and trying freshman year. Ticked that it seems to have been all for naught.
Angry because it's senseless. Over a belt? I'd buy all the kids in the park that night whatever belt they wanted if that gun could just stay hidden.
Angry because he was going to be a good man. You could sense it, see it in his eyes, in his smile. If he could just make it there, to manhood.
Angry because he's going to be forgotten, isn't he? His story seems to already be slipping from our memories, lost in the strong current of more kids and more guns and more senselessness.
Angry because I got choked up teaching my university students last night. While reading the final pages of Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, a paragraph from the end when he is describing his young friend's death, I couldn't shake the image of my former student lying on the cold grass of that park taking his last breaths. I couldn't stop imagining how his eyes must've been open and searching for some explanation that made some sense to him.
There I was in front of my students unable to proceed. The words wouldn't come. Something had risen up from somewhere deep inside of me and I felt paralyzed. Truth is, it was all I could do to not break down in front of them.
Maybe I should have. Maybe that would've made some sense. Here were twenty-five future teachers watching me succumb to my emotions. Peter, who is going to be a brilliant teacher, finished reading the last page for me because there was no way I could read those final lines. So, Peter, thank you for that.
After class, Angela, another student destined for an amazing career in her own classroom, asked about guilt--if I felt any in situations like this. I told her no.
I can't. I tried my best for him. We all did. I think I would feel profound guilt if I would've made him invisible through indifference, but we offered him the best we had; some days he accepted it, some days he didn't. But we never, ever gave up on him. Not once.
So, no--there is no guilt. Only anger.
My dear future teachers, I'm angry that people will try to somehow blame you for society's ills, for intimating that you're not trying hard enough to reach these troubled kids, for the fact that you will undoubtedly lose students who were dear to you through accident, illness, suicide.
And even murder.
I'm angry that one day, perhaps, you will decide to cut short your own classroom careers because the weights are sometimes too hard to bear. I'm angry that some of you may choose not to enter the profession because of the enormity and the seeming impossibility of the job.
Please don't. Please know that you are so vital to bringing sense to all this senselessness. Yes, you will carry weights. Many weights. But you will not carry them alone.
Peter will finish the book for you. Angela will ask a caring question. Justin will send an email. Jay will shake your hand. Shelby will read a news article to fill in the blanks you couldn't bear to read for yourself. Josh will offer his genuine sympathy.
We will never quit. Never.
Not on ourselves, not on our colleagues, not on our students--none of them. Not even the ones you know somehow are destined for an early grave. Especially not them.
Because that is the only thing that makes sense.
Thanks for reading, and thanks for helping me carry these weights.
Steve
Thank you. Thank you for using your beautiful writing to share such a peculiar, unfamiliar and indescribable situation we have found ourselves in as teachers. I'm crying with you. Beside you. And, I know we will find our way. We will use Shawn's memory to refuel our energy, our nurturing, and our commitment to all the kids that will come through our doors. They need us. For some, you are all they have. For others, they may not hear you now, but some day that nugget you left with them will resurface and help them find their way.
ReplyDeleteKeep on keepin on...you and Miranda. We need you. We need you.
I have a feeling that if ever that type of feeling comes over me in my future, all I would need to do to restore my faith and get me back on my feet- is to turn to you or Jodi. Something tells me that the two of you, among others- I'm sure, will always be willing to talk to your former students, your colleagues. I think your ability to admit that you needed a moment actually showed your students the kind of heart you put into your teaching and the sensitivity and understanding you have for every student that walks into your classroom. Once they walk into your room, they are a part of you forever. I can only hope to be half the teacher you are.
ReplyDeleteAnd I agree with Jodi. We need you.
Jodi, thank you so much for these kind words, for your continued support, and for remaining an inspiration to your students as well as your colleagues.
ReplyDeleteEarlier in the semester you were describing the expectations to fulfill the role of being a teacher to students, remaining approachable like a favorite uncle, and a father. I remember you equated the latest with an expectation set by your wife, by asking you to be vulnerable- for your children, emotionally. This unfortunate event contextualized what that may have meant to you, for me, and put it into perspective that vulnerability is a sensation that many teachers should expect if they wish to successfully fulfill the role. In more ways than one, you have personified, redefined, and showcased what it means to be a role model for such a job as a teacher. For that, thank you, Steve, for being vulnerable with us and for us, as we look forward to the possibility of becoming teachers ourselves, while being students today.
ReplyDeleteLayne--thank you for your kind words and for your willingness to learn early on what I seemed too slow to arrive at: that the affective must be met before we can every really teach them anything of importance.
DeleteThank you for sharing this, Steve. I am the worst person to give advice on grief management as I typically ignore it until the most inopportune moment and I fall down and can't breath and fail to uphold self-imposed standards so others can use me to bolster their own strength, but sometimes open grieving is a must. Be angry. Continue being angry for as long as it takes. You are an amazing teacher, an invaluable mentor, and a caring human being; you wouldn't be so angry about this senseless act if you weren't.
ReplyDeleteIt appears we're kindred spirits in this way as well. Thank you for the kind words and for the courage and confidence your writing has given us so that we can be our true selves without apology.
DeleteI am not very good with death or emotional stuff either. With respect to Shawn and his family, this was awesome to see, not only for us as future teachers to see a strong caring teacher, but for our student selves. Knowing, needing, and wanting people to understand us, to care about what we do and where we go. Not very often do we see that a teacher ACTUALLY cared about us, through Shawn, through what happened, I think there was a great moment in that room for all of us to see, to learn from, to say we are doing this for the right reasons.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing your hurt, your anger, and your spirit. Mentors like you will continue to mold us into the amazing teachers we hope to be.
Thank you so much, Evelyn. In those moments, it's hard to keep the perspective that it is important for you all to see those emotional struggles; it feels wrong, unprofessional even. But, thanks to your insights, I now see more deeply that which I've been trying to convince the class is true: that being your true and genuine self is of paramount importance.
DeleteAnd that means--if I am going to practice what I preach--that I need to show my vulnerabilities despite the risk involved. So, thank you.
I could also see that he was turning into a remarkable man and I did not even know him. I could tell that he had some rough times, but with better people and turning into an empathic butterfly. I am sorry for your loss, Steven. There are some really great people in this world, and unfortunately, some very uncaring sociopaths. If you see the photo of the person from Gresham, you probably can tell that this person too has had a hard life, but with the opposite effect, making this person cruel and full of narcism. The big question is, how do people have so little that a belt becomes more important than a human life? That's horribly sad. -Angela M.
ReplyDeletePS- Referring back to the venerability of a teacher, I remember when I was in my junior year of high school, seeing a teacher sob before class. My immediate reaction was to grab a box of tissues for them, so I did. I asked them what was wrong. They told me Marvin committed suicide. My heart sank... "Marvin Campas," I asked meekly. "Yes," the teacher responded. I dropped to the ground, nearly fainting and began bailing. That was my best guy friend. - Angela M.
DeleteAngela--thank you so much for your personal story and for your insights. As Jodi said above, this must make us recommit ourselves to giving everything we have to those who enter our classrooms so that we can perhaps convince them that they do not need to further fuel the senselessness that is becoming our legacy as a nation.
DeleteThank you Steve, for showing us what it looks like to be a teacher who cares deeply about each kid in the classroom. All semester, we knew this about you, but it was in that moment that we were privileged to witness the weight of caring like that. There are few teachers I have come across that intertwine their care like you have and I believe it was that moment in class that we will carry with us into our classrooms. . . to care like that.
ReplyDeleteKathleen, thank you so much for sharing this. It's surprising to me how we sometimes carry weights we're not even aware of. Surprising how they creep up on you and you're forced to contend with them in a public way. I'm learning. Still learning. Thank you in advance for what you will do for your students by being open, accessible, human.
DeleteThank you Steve for sharing and I'm so sorry for your loss. Please know that you are on a very short list of teachers I will attempt to model in my future. You have taught me so much about teaching and being a kind and inspired person that I can not even begin to put my thoughts down here. Instead, know that you are having an impact that stretches far beyond your own classroom. One day, hopefully my own, too.
ReplyDeleteJosh, know this. I have two sons, and I would be proud beyond belief if they could grow up to be the kind of man you are. You will not have a classroom in the traditional sense--you will create a home, a sanctuary, for your students to feel safe, valued, and empowered by your example.
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