As He Sat There And Cried, My Heart Broke

A number of years ago I was teaching fourth grade in a suburb of a large city. I had thirty three students and despite the cramped for space and jam packed curriculum, we all formed a pretty close bond.

Before the start of each school year, teachers get their list of students. While my opinion was never swayed by hearsay, I did like to get a little background information on the students that I was going to be teaching.

I had a lot of interesting characters this particular year, however one student comes to mind...

I was told I was going to be getting a transfer student from another elementary school. The mother had decided that the other school was bad because they were going to retain her son (my student) to repeat the 4th grade. My administrator told the mother that he'd accept the transfer of her son to my school, however, he had to demonstrate serious conviction that he was ready to move on to 5th grade. So this student was given a trial run for the first two weeks of 4th grade to show that he didn't need to repeat the grade.

This boy was smart. The problem was his life was so dysfunctional and him being so young, he wouldn't focus on his studies. Before the transfer took place, this child had over 200 missing assignments at his previous school. He simply refused to do the work.

His mom had had several different boyfriends. The latest one and the longest term one had been in and out of their lives as "Daddy" far too often, and at one point the mother had a restraining order against the boyfriend for suggested inappropriate adult behavior toward her teenage daughter, my student's older sister.

There was no extended family in the picture and no real father to speak of...it was the boy, his sister, and his mother.

My point is, at the age of 9, my student already had a lot to work through.

But then something devastating happened.

Two weeks before he was to start the school year in my classroom.

Two weeks before he would be meeting an entire school of new kids and teachers and trying to make himself comfy and situated in this 'better' academic setting where he might be able to progress normally into 5th grade instead of being held back to repeat fourth. I had the full intention of supporting this child into doing his best so he wouldn't have to stay behind in my classroom.

Two weeks before the school year started, his mother died in a car accident.

And seeing as how the closest thing he had for family was the mother's boyfriend at the time, that's who got custody of my student and his sister. And the boyfriend didn't mind because he got state funding to help support them.

Naturally, my student didn't meet the required expectations to be able to progress to 5th grade, so it was determined that he would be spending the entire year with me.

He was in trouble often outside the classroom. Him and I had a good understanding of each other so he was pretty well behaved for me, and I was good about picking my battles.

I recall one day the principal personally delivered my student back to my classroom after he didn't return at the end of the lunch period. He was sweaty and had a look of rage in his eyes. His clothes were shuffled about off set on his shoulders and he was out of breath.

"Thank you for returning him..."

"Yeah, not a problem. He was fighting. Again."

Of course the other students in the classroom were wide eyed and some with that motherly tsk-tsk look on their face as if to say, ~that boy is such a troublemaker~.

I got the students situated into their studies while the boy sat in his chair still very obviously angry. I called him up to my desk to discuss the matter of what happened, as we always kept an open dialogue between us.

One of the 5th grade boys who had plenty of issues to work through himself, loved to pick fights with my student. While they were somewhat kindred spirits, they were also a bit of oil and water. They just didn't mix. They would pester each other back and forth and sometimes, like this day that I'm referring to... the insults would get out of hand.

"What happened today during lunch?"

"He...he...(chokes back crying as his eyes filled with angry tears)...he said he was happy my mother was killed..."

I didn't blame him for hauling off and attacking the 5th grader. I don't condone violence, but I do understand why he did it. I would have done the same thing I'm sure.

I saved him my lecture on how violence doesn't belong in school and instead just said, "I'm so sorry...he had no right saying that. I'm sure he doesn't mean it, he was just trying to upset you."

The school year continued with several episodes similar to that on varying degrees.

And he never really discussed what had happened to his mother. Maybe that's why the kids picked on him. Maybe that's why the anger inside him festered and was slowly killing the sweet, rational person inside him. Few got to see that sweet person. I was lucky to be one of them.

And then it happened.

One day during Health, I opened up discussion with the students. I was sat on a stool in the front of the classroom facing all 33 of my eager minds. We were talking about safety and things on the nature of not smoking and eating right and several other topics along the same lines.

Then this little boy who had been struggling so hard during the year raised his hand.

With my intuition, I knew it wasn't going to be any ordinary comment or question coming out of his mouth. And with that gut feeling, it was as if time slowed down to what felt like each second passing was a minute long...

I scanned the room for any hand other than his that I could call upon. There was no alternative for me and as his name rolled off my lips, I knew this was going to be emotional.

He looked around at all his peers and then looked at me.

"Well, another safety rule is don't drive with people who are tired. My mom did that...and she died."

And the classroom sat still as night and stared and listened. I sat on my stool as composed as I could be choking back my own tears and trying not to break down in front of my students.

The boy started to cry as he continued on with the story. He told the whole class exactly what had happened to his mother. The late night drive. The driver falling asleep. The crash. How the contents in the car had flown around from the backseat into the front seat and hit his mother. That she had died.

I'm not sure who on earth told this sweet boy all the details of the accident. He surely didn't need to know them.

And the class continued to sit in shock and silence.

With a wavering voice I thanked him for sharing his story with us and that I was so sorry about his mother.

Then he laid his head down on his desk and disassembled. It was as if he could finally let it all go.

One of my other students got up from his seat and walked over to him. He rested his hand upon the boy's shoulder and said, "You're going to be okay. I lost my mom too..."

They exchanged a glance of heartfelt understanding and then the boy lowered his head again. He spent the entire afternoon with his head burried and I figured that's what he needed...

I could have asked him to become engaged in his studies, but why? The studies I had lined up for him and the subjects I had to teach him that day weren't going to make any profound impact on his life and he was in a serious moment of coming to terms with what happened to him...to his mother...to his life.

I knelt down and told him to take his time and if he needed anything to let me know.

We became wonderful friends during the year....him and me.

I never got to say goodbye to him though. I was moving after the school year ended and he was very upset about that. Like I was another woman he cared about leaving his life.

The end of the year came and before the final bell rang, he took his backpack and ran out of the classroom. I had hoped he would have come back, but he never did.