everyone who had assisted us the day before to
thank each of them in turn, from us and the
family.
I drove to the house after school and was greeted
this time with a deep embrace from Deondre’s
mom in the driveway. She pulled me inside and
cleared a chair, so I could sit down. She sat across
from me, as she had when we first met. Through
her tears, she declared that God had sent me into
her life, but I convinced her it was school and
nothing else. Her faith would not let her accept
my rationale. As we sat there, Deondre came in
and plopped onto a chair at his mother’s side.
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I sat with them longer than I ever had. Deondre’s
mother and I traded personal stories until I had
her laughing her glorious hearty laugh. It seemed
like as good a time as any to propose an idea I’d
had since I saw Tony’s “fathering” techniques.
I started in, “Ma’am, my goal is to get Deondre
out of the behavior program and back into his
regular school. I’ve seen that he can do the work
and he can control his behavior; he just needs the
right motivation. He and I have been doing some
great work at school, and I’d like to see that
continue.”
“Me too. You’re the first man teacher he’s ever
had that he seems to respect. He really likes you,
you know?” She said with a smile.
“That’s great. I know he doesn’t have a lot to do
on the weekends, and you have too much to do. I
was hoping the three of us could make a contract
that would motivate Deondre to work his way out
of the program as well as give him an opportunity
to earn some money.”
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She was hooked, “What do you have in mind?
Anything that will help would be great. I’m out of
ideas, and I really don’t want him making too
many friends in this neighborhood.”
“We’ll make a contract that says for every positive
week Deondre has at school--working toward
leaving the program--I will bring him to my
house that Saturday. We’ll work together in the
yard or on the car, whatever needs to get done.
I’ll pay him $10 an hour and he can work as little
or as much as he’d like. I’ll pick him up and drop
him off.” The more I spoke the more she smiled.
When I was done she looked at Deondre and
asked, “What do you think Dee?”
“I’ll do it. I can do that. Is it real money?” he
asked through his smile.
Looking at him sternly I replied, “Yes Sir, it is. As
long as it’s real work.” Then I turned my eyes to
his mother who hadn’t yet given her thoughts.
“I think it sounds great. He’s always asking to go
somewhere on the weekends, but Mr. Love, I just
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don’t have that kind of money. If you’re wil ing to
do it I support you 100 and 10 percent!” Her
words were serious and sorrowful.
“Believe me, I don’t have that kind of money
either. But I work two jobs, and I’m willing to
invest in this.” I said frankly.
We spoke for nearly an hour, hammering out the
details and making up a timeline for Deondre to
earn his way back to his regular school. Sitting at
the kitchen table, I wrote it up; we all agreed on
the terms, and then each of us signed the
contract. Shortly afterward, I left the house with a
renewed sense of purpose.
School became calm again, and the days sailed
smoothly by. Deondre kept our contract quiet,
just as we’d agreed. For safety I made sure
Michelle and Renee knew the entire agreement.
They convinced me to inform the administration.
This turned out to be a good idea. The principal
called Deondre’s house and confirmed the
agreement. When she put the phone down she
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looked across her desk. Her apprehension was
obvious, but her confidence in me won out.
“If this works out I’ll expect you to take all of the
kids home, you realize that?” she joked.
Saturday came and I drove into Deondre’s
driveway. He was ready when I stepped up to the
door.
“Good morning Sir. We’re going to be working
outside today. You may want to bring some
clothes to change into after we’re done if you
want to still see that movie,” I said to him as he
opened the door.
He ran away back to his room and reappeared
quickly with his bulging book bag. I stood in the
living room and exchanged pleasantries with his
mother who was sitting in her chair.
“You sure you wanna do this?” she was talking to
me.
“Yes ma’am, he’s earned it. We have to uphold
our contract.” I responded politely.
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“If he gives you any trouble you have my
permission to whip him,” she warned, giving a
smile to her son.
“I’d never hit a child, but thanks. I don’t think
there will be any problems.” I shrugged off her
comment and moved toward the door. I looked
back to her, “You have my number in case of an
emergency?” I asked, double-checking.
“Yes I do, right here in my phone,” she said,
happily waving goodbye with her pink phone in
her hand.
After spending several hours working side-by-side
in the yard, Deondre asked if we could stop. We
packed up the tools, washed up, and I handed
him two twenty-dollar bills. His face lit up with
joy.
“This mines?” he cheered.
“What you should say is, ‘Is this mine?’ and yes
Sir it is. But now whatever you want to do you
have to pay for.”
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“Can we get some hot wings, please Sir?” he
asked with uncertainty.
“Of course. Let’s get out of here.”
We drove to a local restaurant that specialized in
chicken wings. Deondre was overwhelmed as if in
a dream world. Wings were his favorite food, and
presented with so many choices, he didn’t know
what to do. He stuck to what he knew and
ordered a dozen as hot as he could get them.
While we waited for our food, he told me that this
was his first real restaurant experience. He said
the only restaurants he’d ever been to were the
fast food places scattered around his
neighborhood.
A few months went by this way. Deondre worked
harder each week, and each week we had fun
adventures that he’d never been able to do simply
because of money. He got stronger and more self-
confident as he worked to earn his own money.
Then the trips after work became less frequent as
Deondre started saving more and more of his
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money. School became a pleasure for everyone as
I spent my days teaching, not disciplining. When
the semester ended, Deondre had earned his way
out of the program and back to his regular school.
There was no long goodbye. Deondre and I did
our best not to cry; I’m sure for different reasons.
Our contract had expired, and he was moving on.
Not only would his commanding presence be
missed in class, but also I had become used to our
Saturday mornings together. He had grown so
much since our time together began. He was a
young man now, with confidence and discipline.
When Deondre walked out of the building for the
last time, I walked him to the door and shook his
hand.
“I’m proud of you Sir,” I spoke still trying not to
cry.
The young man radiated confidence as he shook
my hand firmly, “Me too.”
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There were unfamiliar sounds coming from our
building that got louder as I got closer. Running
in from school, I rounded the corner into the
doorway to see one of the ladies from the first
floor kneeling before a cardboard box beneath
the stairs. In the pale darkness, I heard the small
cries more clearly. They were loud, but I was
mesmerized. Moving forward, I saw the woman
cleaning a litter of kittens. She turned to me with
a rag in her hands. The woman was caressing the
kittens as gently as I’d ever seen anyone touch an
animal. Animals in the Village were not prized or
even common. There were a few stray dogs
around that we often had to look out for when we
were out at night, but not many people kept a pet
of any kind.
The woman repositioned herself and smiled as I
moved closer. I walked over to the cardboard box
on the floor. I bent down and looked in
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amazement at the newborn kittens. Without
asking, I reached in and attempted to pick one
up. As gently as she cleaned her new brood, the
woman took my little hands and told me that I
shouldn’t pick them up just yet, but I was
welcome to sit and watch. I sat for a few moments
longer then thanked the woman and made my
way up the ominous stairwell.
Each night and day I looked forward to seeing the
woman and her kittens. I stole precious minutes
from each day after school to spend with the kind
woman and her crying kittens. After a few days of
watching at her side, the woman handed me one
of the tiny kittens. Nervously holding the kitten in
my hands, I knew I had never felt anything so
soft. Transfixed, I sat down on the grimy floor. I
held the kitten up and rubbed my face all over its
furry body. I nuzzled my nose against it and
breathed in the sour milk smell. Ambivalently, I
handed the kitten back to the woman, thanked
her, and ran quickly up the stairs. That night, I
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hid in my room with my hands held to my face
smelling the sour milk scent of the kitten, reliving
the feel of the tiny animal.
Each day after school, the woman let me hold
another kitten until I had had a chance to hold
each one. Holding the kittens made my days pass
more quickly and my nights more bearable, as I
dissociated from my nights with Bobby to my
time with the kittens. Each day, as I continued to
visit the woman, I saw the kittens growing. The
time we spent together became more important
each day as I found a kitten I favored most.
One afternoon there was a delicate knock on the
door. Debbie opened the door, and the cat lady
from the first floor stood there with her hands
close to her chest. I rushed to Debbie’s side. The
cat woman briefly explained that I had visited the
kittens for weeks and that now they were old
enough to feed themselves. She proffered Debbie
my kitten. Standing at Debbie’s knee, I looked up
at the woman and Debbie alternately. Few words
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passed between them before the woman knelt
down and handed me my favorite kitten.
Debbie closed the door and looked at me with
pity in her eyes.
“I don’t know what your father will say about this
so you keep the cat in your room until I have a
chance to talk to him.” She reached down and
touched the kitten with her fingertips.
“What are you gonna name it?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” I was too ecstatic to think.
The kitten was purring in my ear when Debbie
turned me around and shooed me toward my
room. I moved slowly with the kitten held tight
against my face, rubbing my head back and forth
against its soft gray fur. During a forward swipe of
my head, the kitten nibbled my nose with its tiny
teeth. I giggled and pulled it away from my face.
Wandering toward the bedroom, I stared into the
little sparkling eyes in front of me and felt true
happiness.
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Matthew was in the bedroom playing with our
Spider-Man Colorforms on the floor. Until that
kitten was placed in my hands, the Colorforms
were my favorite escape in my world of the tiny
apartment. I placed the kitten on the floor, and it
stumbled around the cluttered room. Matthew
crept up beside me, and together we followed the
kitten around as it explored the room. The kitten
meandered over every inch of the bedroom, with
Matthew and I following it on our hands and
knees. Soon the three of us were meowing,
purring, and scrambling around the room.
In my excitement, I scuttled to the door to get
Debbie’s attention. I wanted her to see the kitten
swatting a Webble Wobble around the floor.
When the door opened, the Webble Wobble
came sailing past my feet, and directly behind it
came the kitten. The kitten ran faster in the wide-
open space than I’d seen it move in the bedroom.
Matthew and I chased it through the apartment
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while the kitten chased the wobbling toy. I called
for Debbie to watch.
As the kitten ran around her feet I witnessed
uncharacteristic pleasure on Debbie’s face. She
got down onto the floor with her two sons and
played with the kitten. She was more adept at
catching the wily little creature than we were.
Debbie lifted the kitten, rose up onto her knees
and stroked its bushy coat gently before handing
it back to me. I jostled it in my hands as it
squirmed to break free. Without thinking I let the