Just then, things started to falter. On my morning walk from the bus to the school, I kept my hope alive, walking around the police tape, believing, “maybe today I will beat them with love.” This idea of "beating" them with love was ridiculous. I was sure that if I let them walk all over me, then they would finally see how much I care about them. When they saw that, then they would love me in return. Instead, they just continued to walk all over me.
Without warning, the class turned worse, my facade of purpose started to fade away, and the real reasons for coming to Daley were slowly, painfully, exposing themselves.
After mostly everyone had been praising class' progress, things went bad, and I turned inward. I became increasingly worried about holding it together in the class, and I made sacrifices, leaving some students to fend for themselves. Randy was one of my best students in the fall. He was far from the smartest, but he was intent on pleasing me. Whatever type of incentive program I had set up, he was following through much more than any other student at the time. But something happened in February. He was getting older, and he no longer cared about me or what I thought about him. Randy had a mom who always seemed depressed. Randy's grandmother on his mother's side would come in occasionally, and always blamed Randy's home life for behavior issues. Then there was Randy's other grandma; I loved this grandma. She was Randy’s father’s mother, and Randy’s father was in jail. This grandmother lived right across the street from the school, and she had no problems coming into school to set Randy straight. She told me that with his temper he might get himself shot someday; she wasn't joking about it.
By the end of January, Randy started coming in with dark sunglasses on and one glove on his right hand. He didn’t care about learning to read anymore; he was more concerned about staring down Kyle, a bully who wouldn’t leave Randy alone. Someone was teaching him there were more important things in school than listening to a teacher. I tried to figure out what was going on at home, but mom just looked off beyond me as if she couldn’t explain it to me. When I spoke to Randy, I talked to him like my mom used to talk to me when I was in trouble, “You have changed; what happened to the old Randy?” There was a small glare in his eyes. "He’s gone, Mr. Slaughter."
It went from bad to worse when new students starting coming in. Mark, Trent, and Cole joined the class, and they became the tazmanian devils of the class. At least Sean and Lauren had some desire to do well in class; these three just scattered when I handed out their work. They were already way behind, so I did my best to hand them out easier assignments that they could handle. This was a major misinterpretation of what I learned in grad school. This whole idea of differentiation. Each kid is on a different level so we should give them material on different levels. Instead of pushing them to get on the right track, I kept them on the same track.
I didn't really reach out to them; I pretended like they might reach out to me. They preferred to run around the class. I became less worried about their reading and more about their running.
So when the NPR writer finally came to visit, things were “better” than they were in September, but worse than January. Instead of five to ten fights a day, it was more like one or two, and instead of students running around the classroom, it was more like they got up and out of their seat whenever they pleased. The writer didn’t quite have my perspective on the class' progress, and our interview turned to how difficult the year had been. I was expecting him to visit again later in the year to see how things had improved. Things didn’t get better, and I’m glad he didn’t come back to see it.
Later that year, it was announced that his report was now a broadcast on NPR. There were five segments focusing on different aspects of the school, with one focusing on student behavior. I was sure this was my moment in the sun, the recognition that I had earned after a year of hard work. The segment started with a recording of a raucous classroom with not a sound of a teacher. He explained I was trying to teach over student laughter as a student who was previously put out of the classroom was now crawling back in and hiding under my teacher table. It was Lauren. I was quoted saying, “I know that some teachers say you either have it or you don’t, and I just hope that some day, I get it.” After hearing it, I thought it was a tempered hope, just the right amount to get me through the multiple years of struggle before becoming one of the greats. Franklin brought it up later and said it sounded more like desperation. Maybe it was, maybe the hope was gone, but it took me too long to figure that out.
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