Entry # 8: A violent incident
brings a dose of harsh reality

At 11:30 PM on Friday night, my husband and I witnessed three 12- or 13-year old males harass and assault an elderly man and his two dogs. We called 911, and the police arrived 20 minutes later, long after all parties had dispersed.

The man had been taking a walk with his dogs, as he often does, when these three boys began taunting him and following him home. One boy ran up behind him and tried to kick him. Another boy chased after the man's dogs, kicking one of them. The man finally went after the boys, putting his hands around one boy's neck, shaking him back and forth. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, everyone vanished.

My husband and I live in a 105-year old Victorian home in an up-and-coming area of St. Louis. Before this incident, we have observed only one other criminal act, perpetrated by individuals from an entirely different part of the city.

What does this have to do with anything? Everything.

I was badly shaken Friday night. I couldn't believe I had witnessed such a raw act of violence right in front of my home. I was certain that once we called 911, the police would respond immediately and the boys would be taken to juvenile. As we sat and waited for the police to make an appearance, I felt more and more uneasy. I felt unsafe for the first time in my own home.

Most of my students live in an area of St. Louis that is dominated by gangs, violence, and criminal activity. Most of them have members of their families who have been shot or at least know someone who has been shot. Many of them have seen it happen or heard the gunfire in the streets. Although I have long known the things my students experience on a daily basis, I didn't understand it or the profound effect it might have on their lives. I didn't even have a clue.

How do my students survive this?

On Saturday night, the same boys plus two more returned to the parochial school parking lot beside our house. They were loud, cursed repeatedly, and encouraged the two dogs that were with them to fight. We again called the police, this time to report that for the second night in a row there was gang activity in the neighborhood. This time the police never came.

Fortunately, the boys left when it began to pour.

I've found myself wondering how my students survive day after day in this environment. I'm amazed that they find the energy to come to school and learn anything at all. I respect them all that much more.

I've only experienced this for two days, and I'm ready to pick up and move if this continues much longer. Two nights of no sleep. Two nights of hearing anger and witnessing violent acts by children. Two nights of praying they wouldn't see us peeking through the blinds and turn their attentions towards us. Two nights of hoping my husband wouldn't have to intervene. Two nights.

My students don't have the options that I have. My husband and I are in a position to be able to move away, while my students are prisoners in their enviroment by circumstance or socio-economic pressures. They have no choices.

In addition, I cannot begin to fathom how young people, 12- and 13-years old, could have developed such meanness and lack of conscience. Where were their parents? What kind of environment have they been exposed to in order to become this foreign entity? Where have we as a society gone wrong?

Great promise and great jeopardy

I think about my students, and I know that some of them are involved in this type of behavior. How can I reconcile the two sides of these kids? I see their positive side and the great promise they show. Yet the same child who shows up and perfoms well in my classroom might be the child who, two years ago, skipped school to steal a car and ended up crashing it. How do I keep my hope?

I have to believe that education and compassion from teachers, from me, may make a difference in a young person's life. A co-worker of mine who I respect tremendously is beginning to believe that we cannot make a difference in the lives of children who do not have the appropriate home environment, yet if I truly believed that, how could I remain in my position at Turner Middle? I believe, despite my temptation to think otherwise, we can make a difference in these children's lives, even the ones who taunt and threaten adults late at night.

I think about "Rod," a student I had in my seventh grade class the year I began. We fought daily, and it wasn't until I discovered he loved reading and writing that we clicked. During his eighth grade year, he spent his time with me on an independent study project where he created an elaborate science fiction novel and arranged to spend his lunches on my computer working diligently on his writing.

Rod went on to high school, and I heard from his friends he was getting into some pretty serious trouble. I began to believe I hadn't really reached him at all.

A few weeks ago Rod showed up after school two days in a row. He chastised me for not inviting him to my wedding, and I reminded him that he hadn't kept in touch. He said he wanted to let me know that he was writing again, that he had dropped all of that "mess" with the gang and was concentrating on getting out of high school. He wanted my help getting published once he was done with his book. He said that I had always believed in him, and he knew I could help him.

I have to believe . . .

I have to believe that education, and the kind but firm support of an adult, can help these children make changes in their lives. I might be the only person who has said something kind to them that day, or maybe I was the only teacher who wouldn't let them get away with bad behavior or failing to perform. Maybe everything we do as teachers may never be known to us, but maybe we make more of a difference than we suspect. It may be now, or it might be 10 years from now as someone remembers what we have taught them and uses it to make a change in their lives.

I have to believe that these children from impoverished or neglected environments are not doomed for life. If we begin to believe that, we all have lost.

I wonder what kind of teacher those boys have, and I pray that it is someone with hope and high expectations. I suspect it is their only chance.

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COMMENTS:

After reading the entry about the troubled teens, I can not help but to compare it to my own personal experiences. I do believe that every child can be reached by a teacher - as long as the teacher takes the time to make a personal connection to that child.

I worked in a juvenille home where I was able to form a connection with one boy. He used to stay up late at night talking to me about what he was feeling about the crimes that he ahd committed in his life. We built a great amount of trust for each other over the year. However, I had found out that he was sneaking in drugs into the house. I had to make the judgment call of what to do. I knew that I was one of the only people who ever really cared for, listened to, or believed in this boy. He was dismissed from the program because of me. He was sent to the department of corrections where he was sentenced to stay until he was 18. On his birthday, I sent him a card just to let him know that I was sorry for what I had to do. I also wanted him to know that I still thought about him.

He wrote me back and told me that he had not spoken to anyone in his family since he entered the correctional facility. I was the only one to remember his 16th birthday. We continued to write back and forth for a year. I kept stressing the importance to him of at least getting his GED. The last letter I received from him said that he finally passed the GED exam and that he was going into the Navy as soon as he got out. He thanked me for being the only one to stick by his side. I will be teaching in a year from now and I keep thinking about him. I hope I can reach one of my students like I had done with this boy. Troubled teens need someone to listen or a shoulder to cry on. Why not let it be their teacher's?

Jill Barnes