Her scowl turned to confusion. “Yeah,” she said
and dropped her guard.
“I have one just like it at home. My brother made
it for me.” I extended my hand, “My name’s Mr.
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Love and I prefer ‘Yes Sir’ to ‘yeah’. Why don’t
you hop in at the back of the line?”
“Yes Sir,” she replied as she gripped my hand,
holding it tightly as she stepped from the bus.
I waved to the bus driver and moved on to the
front of my line of students as the bus drove off. I
raised my arm and directed my line to class. I
found a desk and a set of books for Kendra and
waited patiently until all of my students had
arrived. When everyone was present and seated, I
introduced our new student, and we proceeded to
go over the rules. The boys had already noticed
her. She was a tall, pretty young woman, and the
boys were unsettled by her presence among them.
The day progressed along at a slow clip until
Michael became frustrated with me and exploded
in anger. Before I responded to the boy’s
outburst, Kendra was out of her seat and had let
her own anger explode across Michael’s face. She
stepped back and stood facing the room of
stunned boys.
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“Any a’ ya’ll got anything else to say about Mr.
Love?” Her voice was threatening and ruthless.
The boys shrank in their chairs without a word.
“Kendra, I know you’re new, but in my class you
are not allowed to get out of your seat without
permission. Please go back to your seat.” I said
coolly.
“Yes Sir. Sorry Sir.” She said smoothly as she
strode back to her seat.
The pace of the day hastened after Kendra’s
unexpected infusion of energy. Before I knew it, it
was time for lunch. Everyone lined up, and the
boy closest to Michael started teasing him about
being hit by a girl.
Michael’s response came nervously, “Yo, she
strong, G. I didn’t see
you
get up in her face when
she was in front of
you
.”
“Shoot, she aint stronger than me. I’ll kick that
girl’s ass.” As the words came out of his mouth
Kendra’s fist smashed into the back of the boy’s
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head. The boy collapsed to the ground, holding
his head in loud sobs.
“Sir, you can not use profanity in my class,” I said
to the huddled mass on my floor. “Please Sir step
back into line. Or if you’d prefer I’ll call someone
to come and get you if you’re too injured to
move.” I tried to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
The boy stood up and took his spot in line. I
stood in the hallway by my door as my assistant
led the line out of the class. When Kendra was in
front of me I held my arm up to stop her as the
line proceeded down the hall.
I spoke quietly, “I appreciate you being so
cooperative this morning. You’re a very
intelligent young woman. Your work is nearly
perfect. However, I can’t have you beating up my
class. At this rate, there will be no one left in class
after you’ve sent them all to the hospital. Does
that make sense?”
“Yes Sir, I was just defending you. These boys are
stupid and need some sense beat into them.” She
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was very confident, and I was surprised by her
maturity.
Though I tried not to laugh at her comment, my
face broke, and I let out a laugh. “Well ma’am,
you may be right about that, but believe me, I’ve
dealt with much tougher things in my life than
these boys. I can defend myself without violence,
and I hope in our time together you’ll learn the
same. Cool?”
Her brilliant smile warmed my soul, “Yes Sir.”
“Cool, let’s get to lunch. This place has a pretty
good cafeteria” I held up my arm in the direction
of the cafeteria, and we walked down the hall,
quietly comparing notes about foster care and
having a mother in prison. As I opened up to her,
she stood up straighter and held herself with even
more confidence.
Kendra turned out to be a perfect addition to the
class, a foil to the boys who saw themselves as
indestructible and untamable. She was smart,
witty, strong, and unimaginably fast. She
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challenged the boys to do their best, so they might
one day be better than her. The boys rose to her
challenge, and in the process unknowingly
exceeded my own expectations. When they
couldn’t outsmart her academically, each boy
tried and failed to get the best of her in a physical
confrontation. Her fighting style was fierce and
unfamiliar to the boys. She fought with a control
the boys did not know or understand.
After only a few days, she had established herself
at the head of the class. The pecking order had
been disrupted, and the change impacted the
entire class. Because of Kendra’s enthusiasm to
learn, it was suddenly cool for the boys to read, to
study, and to learn. Just as her demeanor
changed the attitudes of the boys, her own
attitude changed as well. As she established her
place among the fold in our nurturing
environment, she blossomed into a whole new
person. Her attitude change manifested into a
personality change. Her usual attire of short black
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t-shirts, too tight jeans, and platform sneakers
adorned with hand drawn graffiti complimented
by extension-filled hair gave way to more modest
casual dress and natural hair. Only the string
cross remained. Privately she confessed her newly
found happiness and the comfort she felt in her
new school.
In the short time she was with us, Kendra’s
transformation was noticed by and commented
on by the students, faculty, administration, and
most importantly herself. She was pleased with
herself and asked me on more than one occasion
if I thought her mother would be proud of her.
Experience with the same emotionally charged
question prompted the impulsive inquiry, “Have
you written to her and told her about yourself and
all that you’ve done since you’ve lived here?”
The question seemed to puzzle more than upset
her. “I write to her all the time in my journal.”
“Yes, but do you mail the letters you write? You
didn’t answer my question. Have you told her
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about yourself, this you, the new you, the calm,
studious you?”
“I don’t know what that last word means, Sir.”
She said flatly.
“Studious, it means hard working as in school
work, as in ‘you are a studious worker in class’.” I
tried to explain in a manner she would
understand.
“No Sir. But I think if I told her that she would be
mad that I was trying to talk over her. I couldn’t
use that word in a letter to my mother.” She
looked embarrassed, so I tried to be reassuring in
my response.
“I couldn’t use that word in a letter to my
biological mother either. She wouldn’t have been
mad but she would have never known what it
meant, and she wouldn’t have thought to look it
up I’m sure. But you know what, you can write to
her and not use that word. Just tell her how
you’re doing, and tell her that you’re happy even
though you miss her. Definitely mention the
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cross.” I pointed to the cross still dangling from
her neck. “You can write in class as a grammar
assignment. I won’t read the letters, but I will
stamp and mail them for you,” I offered, trying to
inspire a connection between the young woman
and her absent mother.
“I have to admit that I’m a little jealous of you.” I
confessed.
“
You’re
jealous of
me
? Why?” Her confusion was
evident.
“When I was your age, I wasn’t allowed to write
to my mother, and I missed her just as much as
you miss your mom. I wasn’t in foster care with
family like you are, and I know that your situation
is not perfect and it doesn’t make you 100 percent
happy all of the time, but you’re with family. The
state decided that I couldn’t have contact with my
biological family when I was in foster care, and to
be honest I think that just made it worse.” My
eyes got wet but a tear did not fall. Kendra’s face
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let me know that she understood what I was
trying to say.
Then she began to cry. Quiet burning tears ran
down her face. I fought the impulse to give her a
hug. The climate of schools had changed so
drastically since I was a kid. Not many teachers,
myself included, felt comfortable hugging
students. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket
and called Michelle on her phone. She was in the
classroom next door, and I asked her to come
over and provide an escape route for Kendra.
After gaining her trust at the outset, I worked
hard and convinced Kendra that Michelle and
Renee were also trustworthy confidants. In our
tiny microcosm we had established a support
network of honest adults that the kids knew were
unconditionally trustworthy. For these children,
honest and trustworthy adults were hard to come
by.
Kendra’s stay with us was brief, yet monumental.
She changed a lot of perceptions, including my
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own. She was my first truly positive,
confrontation-free experience with a female
student in an alternative behavior setting. The
boys had grown to respect and even rely on her
for her academic and athletic skill. If ever I were
occupied with another student, the boys would
turn to Kendra for help without question and
without having to ask my permission. One
morning Kendra didn’t step off the bus, and I
went to the office to see if her aunt had called. I
was duly informed that she had been withdrawn
the previous afternoon after school. I grieved
silently as I walked back to class to inform the
boys. They took the news uncharacteristically
well, as most of them did not deal well with
change. Later it occurred to me that her being
withdrawn after school saved us all a hard
goodbye, and in my mind I thanked her aunt for
her kind gesture.
Several months after she had transferred out of
school, I received a letter from Kendra addressed
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to me at school. I was hesitant to open it since she
was withdrawn so abruptly. Curiosity got the
better of me, and I zipped a pen through the top
of the envelope, ripping through the seal.
Unfolding the single page, I ached with anxiety
before I read it through. Her handwriting was
more elegant and flowing, her writing not as fluid
as I knew it could be. Smiling and relieved, I got
everyone’s attention and read the letter to the
class.
Dear Mr. Love,
I wanted to write to you and the class to say hello.
I like my new school and my teachers are nice. I
am not in an alternative school. I don’t even
know if they have one here. I miss all of you and I
hope I can visit some time soon. I am still living
with my auntie. She got a new job that’s why we
had to move. I have been writing to my mom and
she writes back. My mom gets out of prison soon
and my auntie said she might come and live with
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us. I hope she does. Do you still write letters to
your brother? Is he still in prison?
Thank you for being so nice to me and respecting
me and helping me all the time. You were the
first teacher who was ever nice to me. And the
first teacher I ever liked cuz you always called me
ma’am. I like my teachers in my new school but
they’re not nice like you. We don’t talk about the
same stuff we did but it’s regular school so I guess
it’s different.
Please tell everyone I said hello. They can write
back if they want. You can write back too.
Bye for now,
Kendra
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It was the middle of February in 1979 when
Bobby gave Matthew and me each a dollar and
sent us to the store. Matthew was to buy whatever
he wanted, while I was to buy a TV Guide for
Bobby. He was too high to go himself and high
enough to let me out of the apartment.
Roots: The
Next Generations
was set to air, and Bobby wanted
to know when. We walked to the closest store a
few blocks away. I handed my dollar to the man
behind the counter, as I placed the small
magazine in front of him. Matthew waited by the
door, already drinking his bottle of Malta, a malt
soft drink common among the people of the
Village. Debbie often snuck it to me in place of
real food when Bobby refused to let me eat. The
thick dark drink was filling like a meal, an
acquired taste, but delicious once you had enough
of it. While Matthew loaded his pockets with
candy, I waited for my change. Once it was in my
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hand, I stuffed it into my pocket and headed