walked back to the building with Jack, and I
drove back with the principal, detailing the
incident as we drove.
Once back at school, the four of us met in the
principal’s office. After some discussion and
reassurances from the principal that no one had
opened his letter, but that it had come through
the mail that way, Jack relaxed, but remained
silent. To my chagrin, it was determined that we
had no other recourse than to suspend Jack for
several days. He remained calm and silent until
his grandmother came to pick him up. I walked to
my room, defeated and sad that I was not able to
help Jack work through his anger. I knew it was
not my place or responsibility to correct the evils
and tragedies in the lives of my students, but
having felt their anger and disappointment so
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often myself at their age, I wanted so desperately
to wipe it all away for each of them.
Arriving back at my classroom, I dutifully went
on with teaching, and the day ended without
incident or much mention of the previous
incident. We had a short discussion on conflict
resolution and class rules, and the boys were all
very cooperative and understanding. My students
left for the day, but my disquiet lingered. An idea
came to me, and without a second thought, I sat
down at my desk and penned a letter to Jack’s
father. In the letter, I did my best to describe
Jack’s reaction to the unsealed envelope without
too much emotion. I focused the letter on Jack as
a whole person and tried to tell the man as many
positive details about Jack’s school experience as I
could. When the letter was completed it was
several pages long. To complement the letter, I
enclosed an unofficial copy of Jack’s current
grades, which were excellent, and a Polaroid
picture of Jack I had taken several days earlier.
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Feeling much better, I left school and headed to
the post office.
Earlier in the term, Jack had asked if we could
read Handbook for Boys by Walter Dean Myers.
I had previously owned a copy but had, at some
point, given it away. I ordered a classroom set of
about ten copies, and during the time Jack was
suspended, they arrived. Having never been to his
home, I decided it was a good time to check on
him. At the end of the school day, I stacked a
small collection of textbooks and an inscribed
copy of Handbook for Boys together and headed
to Jack’s house across town.
I had been warned about Jack’s neighborhood as
being one of the roughest in town. While I wasn’t
worried, I did find the warnings very humorous.
People’s assumptions always entertain me. With
the top of my Jeep down, I drove over to Jack’s
house. I drove slowly through his neighborhood
of small, single-story concrete row houses. This is
what passed for “projects” in the south, and the
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stark contrast to my own experiences made me
laugh to myself as I thought of everyone’s
warnings. Cat calls and invitations of “Hey White
Boy, come on over here,” rang through the streets
from the disparate groups of porch dwellers. I
knew they were meant for me, as I was the only
“white” person in sight.
Finding the house, I stepped from the Jeep and
walked confidently toward the small brick duplex.
A voice from behind me yelled, “Hey! Hey! What
you doin’ there? That’s my house! What you
want?” I turned and waved, as it was really much
too far to yell a true explanation in response.
Before I got to the front step, Jack burst through
the screen door wearing a tank top and sagging
denim shorts.
He yelled across the street, “Yo! This is my
teacher. Ya’ll mess with him I’ma kick yo ass!”
His voice was loud, strong, and sincere. I smiled
at him and put out my hand. He shook it with
vigor.
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“Mr. Love, Sir, what you doin’ here?” He asked
pleasantly.
“I brought you some things that you might need
while you’re out, as well as something you’ve
been wanting.” I said as I handed him the stack of
books.
He looked down past the pile of familiar
textbooks and zeroed in on the little paperback
novel sitting on top. “Oh, Mr. Love, where did
you find this?” He asked as he held the paperback
up and flipped through it as if fanning a stack of
cash. He balanced the hulking stack of textbooks
against his torso. His excitement was contagious.
“It was with your stuff. I figured it was yours, so I
brought it to you.” I said, trying to sound sincere.
“Sir, you know this aint mine. You wrote in it,”
he said, noticing the inscription on the inside
front cover. He put the stack of textbooks on the
porch and held the novel open as if it were a
sacred relic. His mouth moved, as he read
through the inscription. I saw his mouth widen
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into a smile, but it quickly faded as he looked up
at my face. “I don’t deserve this.” He said
emphatically.
“Yes Sir, you do.” I answered.
“Sir, I was a jerk to you and everyone else. Now
you giving me this book with all these good things
you wrote inside. I don’t deserve this, Sir.”
“Sir, we all deserve a lot more than we get, but
we take what we get and we deal with it. Good
and bad. You’re a great student, and what could
be a better gift than your own copy of Handbook
for Boys? To be honest though, everyone in class
got one, I just didn’t write in theirs.” I said with a
reassuring smile.
“Mr. Love, why you so nice to me?” He asked,
still holding the book in front of him.
“Because you remind me of myself. All of you do.
I love you like I love every student I ever had or
will have. You just think I’m only nice to you
because you don’t see me with everyone else. I
hate to break it to you, but I’m good to all of my
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kids. You need teachers like me so you know that
there are adults, especially teachers, that you can
trust and respect.”
“I don’t get you, Sir.” He said in response.
“Me either.” I said, nodding my head with a
cheerful smile, “I’m gonna get out of here and
head back to school. I’ll see you in a few days.
There are lesson plans in your textbooks. Make
sure you get that work done!”
“Yes Sir,” he said, as he bent to pick up his books
and returned to the dark inside of his house. As I
drove away from his neighborhood, there were
no calls or insults or propositions. It was as if
word had spread that I was there for a legitimate
reason and was allowed to pass unfettered. It was
comforting to see Jack and know that he was not
angry. It was exciting to see Jack excited at
having a book of his own, a book that he had
wanted. A few days later, Jack was back at school.
Soon afterwards, I received a letter from Jack’s
father. I was shocked by the immediacy of his
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response. I was shocked to get a response at all.
Hiding the letter was difficult. I wanted to read it,
but I had no privacy in the classroom. I didn’t
want Jack to know until I had read it, and even
then I wasn’t sure if I’d tell him. When the class
cleared out for the day, I sat at my desk and
opened the letter. It read as follows (some
changes were made to disguise the identity of the
child):
Mr. Love,
I would like to start out by saying “Thank
You” for the letter and the progress report that
you sent me. I appreciate the time and effort that
you are sharing with your kids and especially
mine, “Jack”. I understand everything that Jack is
going through at this time. I believe you are the
best teacher for him at this time. Jack needs a lot
of encouragement and guidance because he can
be a real great kid at times. I believe that the
places were he is living (Projects) and the negative
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environment can be an unhealthy place for him.
That’s why when I get out in 10 months I will be
fighting for the both of us to make our lives
better! I was born and raised in that town. I went
to your school. I remember Mrs. Roberts my
reading teacher telling my mother that she didn’t
understand what was wrong with me. I had a
behavioral problem in school too. You might
have made a profound affect in my life, if we had
a teacher teaching Alternative/Behavioral classes
for kids back then. I plan to make myself very
active in his life and help him and encourage him
to get his schooling because if I had been wiser
back then I would have chosen the Right Path of
life, considering how a life of crime has made
mine so miserable. I love Jack and I don’t want to
see him following in my footsteps. How long is
Jack going to be in the Alternative/Behavioral
classes.
I was really surprised when I first start
getting letters from Jack because I could tell he
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was angry with me for being locked up. Jack was
living up with me and when I had sent him back,
that’s when he had start being rebellious and was
sent off from his grandmother.
I only hope that he is not doing any of the
things that he is saying he’s doing? I believe his
first letter was to get me upset because that’s
exactly what he had done because I stayed up in
my bed until 4:00 am thinking about him. I was
kind of confused at first because the letters was
coming from the school.
I believe writing these letters can be therapeutic
for him in getting off a lot that he has build up in
side, he has been expressing it to me and has
made me get a better feeling of how he feel about
life and family especially my mother because she
has been bios between my two boys.
But Jack has gotten this idea that it is okay
to smoke weed and I hope no one is feeding it to
him in those projects. I know Jack loves his
grandmother and great grandmother and has this
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idea if he becomes a drug dealer he can make
money and get them out of the projects and I
know were these ideas are coming from,
especially that he is around this type of
environment daily living in those projects are
being influential in his curiosity of getting money
especially since it is hard for them to come by.
Maybe you can explain to Jack a little more
in the direction he should go and not follow those
people he sees everyday, because he’s only going
to end up where his mother and me are. I always
write him and try to tell him how important
education is in his life so he can become a real
man and make everyone proud of him, especially
me.
I appreciate your time and the
encouragement you are providing to my son and
I only hope that we can keep him focus because
it’s difficult and miserable when you are not able
to be a total guidance in your kid’s life. I wil be
getting him when I come home and being apart
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of his life because I suffered the same growing up
not having a father in my life and I don’t want
Jack to hate me like I’ve hated my father for the
way he treated me.
I’m not able to receive Polaroid pictures,
any other type of picture I can receive even
printed off the computer or developed. Thank
you, and any time you wish to write me, or let me
know what’s going on in Jack’s life, I appreciate
it.
(Unsigned)
Jack’s father’s letter reiterated everything I have
been telling my boys for years, and I hoped one
day we could meet and maybe work out some
type of presentation he could provide for my
students. His thoughts seemed clear and his heart
and mind were in the right place. The following
morning, I pulled Jack outside and confessed to
him that I’d written to his father and that I had
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received a letter back from him. I explained again
about my own experiences with having family in
prison. We talked for a long time, and I offered to
let Jack read the letter from his father. He was
excited, and I joked with him that he could read
it if he promised not to rip it up. He extended his
hand and said, “Deal!” Jack and I continued to
write to his father, and we both were excited
when his letters came. We often shared the letters,
letting each other read what Jack’s father had said
to his son and his son’s teacher. Jack appreciated
the honesty, and I appreciated Jack’s trust, as his
father’s letters to him were often filled with
statements of love, hope, and concern.
Jack’s negative environment and survival instincts
got the best of him toward the end of the school
year. During a routine drug test required of his
probation he “peed hot,” meaning he failed his
drug test. While the marijuana in his system was