bedroom unnoticed, smoking as much of the joint
as I could get down before having to hand it off to
Matthew, who I knew would not give it back.
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Standing on the chipped concrete steps in my
teacher clothes, I knew I still looked more like a
cop than a teacher, having often been mistaken
for such, even in school. I knocked on the
plexiglass storm door. The inner door was open,
and I could see three adults, two men and a
woman - all under 25 - sitting in various spots in
the living room. When I knocked, two of them
looked up at me for a second and looked away.
One of them spoke to the young man sitting in
the corner. He was busy counting a large stack of
money, and there were several other stacks on the
table in front of him. Next to the money, I could
see what appeared to be bricks of marijuana, but
I could not be sure. Directly in front of me (on the
coffee table just inside the door) was a row of
blunts: large marijuana cigarettes wrapped in a
cigar shell.
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The young woman closest to the door waved me
in without a word.
“Hi, I’m Greg Love, Deondre’s teacher. Is his
mom at home?” I asked politely.
“You Deondre’s teacher for real?” asked the
woman who had waved me in, caressing her
pregnant belly.
“Yes ma’am,” I replied.
She smiled a wide, gapped-tooth grin, “My name
Tamesha. I’m Deondre’s sister. Momma aint
home right now, but she be back in a minute if
you wanna wait,” she offered.
“That’d be great. Thanks a lot.” I stood to the
side of the door, waiting to be asked to sit or to be
introduced to the other people in the room, but
no one spoke. The young couple on the couch
just stared at me through deeply stoned eyes.
Trying not to look at the obvious mounds of
marijuana on the kitchen table and the stacks of
cash beside them, I looked around the small
room. It was cluttered with baby toys,
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newspapers, fast food bags, pictures and cheap
paintings leaning against the walls. To my right
sat a large projection television nearly as tall as
myself. In front of it on the floor lay an old
dissected VCR and a PlayStation. To my left, just
inside the door, was a large glass aquarium in
which lay a huge ball python. Lamps with bare
light bulbs sat on TV trays, strewn around the
room. The room and the surrounding rooms that
I could easily survey were tidy but not clean.
The young man in the corner looked up from his
counting. As he wrapped the stack of cash in his
hand with a rubber band, he spoke at last: “You
Deondre teacher?”
“Yes Sir, I’m Greg Love.” I extended my hand to
him as I stepped toward him. He leaned forward
and shook my hand in several complicated, yet
familiar, motions. His blank expression evolved
into a half smile.
“Tony,” he said squarely as a means of
introduction. I recognized the name, and I knew I
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was speaking with Deondre’s older brother, the
man of the house.
“What’s up? We aint ever had no teacher come
by here before.” The young man sat back in his
chair, staring me directly in the eyes.
“Deondre’s been having some trouble in class and
I was hoping to talk to his mom. . .” Before I
could finish my sentence, Tony stood up and
yelled for Deondre.
Deondre appeared sheepishly from an unlit
hallway off the main room, his head held low.
“Good afternoon Sir.” I greeted him cheerfully.
“What’s this about you causing trouble in
school?” Tony demanded.
“I don’t know.” He mumbled, his head still down.
“Boy you better answer my question right. What
the hell you been doin’ at school?”
Deondre stood still and silent.
Tony looked from Deondre to me. “What’s he
doin’?”
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“There’s quite a bit really. He’s been very
aggressive with other students, he’s not doing his
work, and several times he’s tried attacking me.
I’ve been calling, but I couldn’t get a hold of
anyone; that’s why I’m here.” I explained in my
most teacher-like fashion.
Tony considered my words and looked as if he
was about to speak. Instead he erupted in a fury
of violence, attacking his younger brother.
Deondre cowered under the abuse, as I instantly
regretted speaking to Tony. Images of Bobby
flashed through my head. Pain and anger swelled
in my mind. It was not my place to intervene, and
I tried to keep my irritation to myself.
Deondre was helpless on the ground, but Tony
continued his tirade and his beating.
In too-familiar breathlessness, Tony stood and
asked me if there was anything else Deondre was
or was not doing.
I stood firm and answered with my common
courtesy, “No Sir.”
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“Go get your homework and get it done, NOW!”
Tony commanded his brother. Less than half his
brother’s size, Deondre stood up and moved back
through the darkness from which he had
appeared, and I heard a door close.
The two silent observers on the couch never
moved during the outburst. When Tony sat back
down, he offered me a seat.
“So you come ta student’s houses all the time?”
Tony asked as if we had just been introduced.
“All the time actually. I’m sorry I didn’t call first,
but I couldn’t get through. Deondre’s a good kid.
He’s got a good heart. We just have to find it.
He’s got a lot of anger that he’s holding inside,
and right now he’s acting it all out at school.” I
repositioned myself in my chair and made myself
at home. It seemed I would be there a while.
“You come ‘round this part o’ town all the time
too?” Tamesha asked with a glazed stare.
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“Yes I do. I’ve got friends all over this part of
town,” I replied and spun my finger in the air
indicating the neighborhood.
“Like who?” Tony asked in a disbelieving tone.
I rattled off a list of names he was sure to
recognize. “I used to live on this side of town a
few years ago before I was a teacher.” The names
had an obvious effect on Tony’s disposition. He
stood again and offered me some Kool-Aid. I
thanked him as we drank our purple drink
together.
The young man on the couch finally made a
move, as Tony and I talked over our drinks.
“You wanna get high man?” the young man
without a name slurred.
“No, thanks man, I’m cool,” I cocked my head
and held my palm up like I was stopping traffic.
“I don’t know when my mom’s gonna get back.
I’ll tell her you came by if you got somewhere to
be,” Tony offered kindly.
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“I have the time if you don’t mind me hangin’
out. I really want Deondre to know that I’m
serious. It’s really important to me that he
understands that I care enough to spend the
time,” I said sternly.
“That’s cool, man. We just chillin’ anyway.
What’s your name?” Tony asked pleasantly.
“Greg Love,” I smiled, unsurprised that he didn’t
recall my name.
The storm door creaked open, and a large
middle-aged woman stepped into the room to a
cheerful welcome. Almost in unison, all three of
the residents called, “Hey momma.”
“Whose Jeep is that in the,” momma began,
stopping short as she noticed me sitting in the
corner across from Tony.
I stood up confidently and introduced myself. She
was kind and welcoming.
“Have a seat honey; I’ll be right with you.” She
turned to Tony and quietly asked him to move his
stuff so she could sit down.
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“Where’s Dee?” she asked Tamesha.
“He in his room,” she replied.
“Dee!” His mom called from the chair Tony had
been sitting in.
Deondre appeared quickly, holding a book and
some papers.
“Hey momma,” he said uncomfortably.
“What’s your teacher doing here honey?”
“I, I wa’n’t doin’ my work and…” his voice
trailed off.
“And what honey, tell your momma, Dee.” Her
voice was reassuring and very kind. Her honest
motherly concern broke through his front, and he
looked at her, his face full of disgrace.
“I was wrestlin’ in class and… I tried to hit Mr.
Love, and he restrained me.” His voice was soft
and embarrassed.
“Is that true?” She asked me, sounding
displeased. I wasn’t sure if she was upset with her
son or me.
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“Yes ma’am, it is. Michelle and Renee tried to
call to let you know, but they couldn’t get a hold
of you. They offered to come by earlier, but I told
them I’d come by myself since we hadn’t met
yet.” I was rationalizing, thinking I had to justify
my presence and my actions.
She sat up and looked sadly at Deondre. “Dee
you know better. Mr. Love, I’m sorry if he caused
you any trouble. Dee, go get your books and
come sit here at the table and finish up your
homework.” She sat back in her chair and took
off her shoes.
We talked for a long time, as Deondre completed
his homework sitting between us. She told me of
her troubles, financial and medical. She opened
up about Deondre’s social and school history,
information that wouldn’t be found in any file.
He’d had a less-than-easy life, including
witnessing his grandfather’s death in a farming
accident. His father was in and out of his life, and
now his brother was his father figure and
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disciplinarian. She never mentioned the drugs or
the money that had been laid out before us when
she had entered the room. The money I had seen
was not part of her economic situation. I learned
later that Tony’s business was his own, and that
his mother would not accept his money.
As I left with Deondre’s homework in my hand,
his mother welcomed me back anytime, saying
her door was always open for me. I was pleased I
had come and felt a new connection with
Deondre. I drove home contemplating all that
had happened. Thoughts of the beating kept
Bobby weighing heavily on my mind.
Factoring in my newly acquired knowledge, I
changed my approach to Deondre. I spent more
time with him and concentrated on our
relationship. The school days following my visit
were quiet and peaceful. Deondre had been an
impetus for disruption in the class, and his new
attitude had a calming affect on the class. His
schoolwork had improved along with his
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behavior. For weeks this pattern continued. I
visited his house frequently to provide positive
updates and solidify the relationship between
home and school.
Then came a gradual but noticeable decline, first
in appearance, then schoolwork, and finally in
behavior. I went immediately to Deondre’s house
after school on the day I had to restrain him. His
mother was home, and she was not surprised by
what I told her. She explained in more detail the
extent of her financial circumstances: she was on
the brink of being evicted, the water had been
shut off a week earlier, and the electricity was due
to be cut within the week. Her situation was too
familiar. There were resources available to her,
and I left promising that I would do what I could
to find them for her. Her bills were
extraordinarily high, and it would cost a couple of
favors to pull off what I had in mind. In my car I
called some friends, Michelle and Renee first. I
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told them what needed to be done, and they said
they would make some calls themselves.
The next day at school, I sent Michelle and
Renee around town visiting churches and
charities, making deals, and calling in favors. By
the end of the day, arrangements had been made
to meet nearly all of Deondre’s family’s expenses,
including groceries. The one account we could
not clear was a nearly $300 phone bill. None of
us knew anyone with influence at the cell phone
company. While home visits were easy enough for
us to make, we all appreciated the true necessity
of a phone, especially with children in the house.
I took out my checkbook and wrote a check for
the full amount. Michelle and Renee objected to
my decision, but I wouldn’t listen. With
instructions for them to pay the bills, then visit the
house to inform Deondre’s mom that all her bills
were paid (but not to tell her I paid anything) I
waved the ladies away.
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Deondre returned to school the next day clean
and happy. He handed me a piece of paper he
said was from his mother. It was a heart-
wrenching thank you letter with prayers of thanks
and praise. There was also an invitation to stop
by the house. I passed the letter to the ladies and
asked if they would make some follow up calls to