Chapter Twenty-Six: The Award Ceremony

Chapter 26: The Award Ceremony

Award Ceremony: the pre-show

The grades from the end of the first quarter have been tallied, recorded, entered in the computer, printed on report cards and sent home. It’s time for an award ceremony. My team is not enthusiastic. There is no precedent for this and it means another evening event when they still haven’t recovered from the Fall Festival. I work on selling the importance of honoring our best performers and best behaved. We devote several Tuesday afternoon meetings to planning the details. These Tuesday meetings generate more positive energy than our usual “how do I cope” agendas. When we discuss students who are doing well, the teachers and counselors who work with these children feel pride for a job well done and we are all able to focus on a macro level as we discuss students who are succeeding.

Nora is doing more than succeeding, she is flourishing. After her brother, Noah, was sent to boot camp, her homeless family “relocated” their van to Jacksonville to be near Noah. Nora did not join them, instead she moved in with her aunt. Nora’s aunt lives in another county so Nora can’t officially attend our school; but since her aunt drives Nora across the county line at 6:00 every morning to deliver her to one of our regular bus stops, we look the other way. Nora’s aunt has been to school several times to talk with me, the counselors and Nora’s teachers. Nora no longer wears make up and her thin face is looking rounder, her cheeks rosier. The circles under her eyes are gone. Nora smiles, raises her hand and participates in class. I meet with her aunt to suggest Nora may be ready to try public school again. Her aunt is reluctant. She agrees Nora is doing well, but feels this may be due to our structured program and our willingness to counsel children. Her aunt tells me Nora is still a challenge at home. Unused to rules and chores, Nora protests everything, often with crying fits. Nora is in sixth grade, this is the first time in her life she has received a good report card and positive comments about her behavior. Nora will be receiving more than one award at our upcoming ceremony. We thank her aunt, she thanks us. For now, Nora will stay at Prospect; her aunt is afraid to mess with success.

We decide to combine a Geography Bee with the award ceremony. The students have been studying states and capitals and have had round one of the Bee in their classrooms. Now the winners from each class will come together for the final round. We plan for the ceremony to be held in the “cafetorium” at King Middle School where my friend and mentor, Rex Stewart, not only generously offers his school, but puts a welcome note on his marquee in front of the school: “Congratulations Prospect Students and Parents.” As plans for the evening shape up the staff grumbles less and even expresses some enthusiasm; it is contagious and soon the students are buzzing about the Bee and awards.

Thursday afternoon, the day of the award ceremony, Noreen plays basketball with her class. Shasta, who in addition to being the transportation coordinator is also the safety coordinator, reminds Noreen that staff must not play sports with the students - especially basketball - too many injuries. Noreen ignores Shasta and continues to play. At dismissal time, I notice Noreen has her finger in a cup of ice; she injured it playing basketball. I inquire about her injury, express concern about her discomfort and remind her of the rule against playing sports. I also remind her tonight is our award ceremony. Will she be able to make it? She assures me she will.

Selma and DCF part two

Teachers have been told to call their students’ homes to remind their families about tonight’s ceremony. Daphne is upset: she can’t reach Selma. Selma has been absent since that awful DCF meeting in which she made allegations of sexual abuse against her stepfather. Daphne called Selma’s home last night and spoke with Selma’s mother. Daphne learns that after the DCF meeting, a police officer and DCF worker came to Selma’s home when she was alone with her stepfather. They told the stepfather about the allegations. He denied them. They left. Daphne is incredulous that they actually left Selma home alone with her stepfather. Selma’s mother tells Daphne she doesn’t want us getting into her business. Her husband, Selma’s stepfather, has a job and his money pays the rent and pays for groceries.

This is not an uncommon refrain. Many of my students’ mothers, after expressing frustration, anger or disappointment with their boyfriend or husband, will defend him saying he “puts food on the table.” I recently read about women in Lesotho, Africa who, to support their families, leave their husbands and children to move to the city chasing “good jobs” only to find the pay isn’t enough to both survive and send money back home. So these wives and mothers take on a series of “boyfriends”: one man will help pay the rent, one has a car and drives the woman around, one pays for food. These women of Lesotho often develop AIDS from “paying” all these budget-balancing men. Lesotho is a third world country. But how different is it here in Herald County where women admit to staying with men who abuse their children in order to feed those same children?

As for Selma’s absences, her mother has no idea. She and her husband kicked Selma out of the house, and Selma now lives with a cousin who is a couple years older. Daphne gets the cousin’s phone number but only reaches an answering machine. She left a message and hopes Selma will attend tonight, but she isn’t counting on it.

The Big Night – first quarter awards

As I’m hustling about making my final preparations for the big night, Daphne comes in my office asking me to chaperone two students, Darius and Seth, and bring them to the ceremony.

The plan had been for Daphne to take them, but her mother has come for a visit. Missing her mother has been one of Daphne’s frequent themes of depression. Now that Mom is here, Daphne wants to savor every minute and can I please help her out in a pinch? Daphne explains that although Darius’s foster mother can’t bring him to the ceremony, she’ll attend to see him receive his award for public speaking (based on his performance at the Ebencorp conference). Darius’s DCF worker is due to attend as well; together they are as close to family as Darius gets. Seth’s mother, in her wheelchair, also plans to attend but she asks that we transport Seth and award him his certificate early in the program so they can leave right away. Before dining with her mother, Daphne asks me for cash to buy dinner at McDonalds for Darius and Seth. I put the two boys to work helping me photocopy and fold programs.

Seth is a gangly, acne-faced, fourteen year-old, white boy who can be witty and sweet but who has a frighteningly dim future. He has an intact family (unusual among my students) but dysfunction reigns. His mother is handicapped and in a wheelchair. His father has been known to beat her. Both parents drink excessively. The deputy tells me he has been to their home on several occasions for domestic disputes. The dirt around their trailer is always littered with empty beer cans.

Seth’s brother is in jail and Seth expects it is just a matter of time before he joins him. Seth doesn’t glorify prison nor does he cry for pity. I grew up knowing I would go to college. It was inevitable - college is where kids like me ended up. Substitute “prison” for college and you have Seth’s mindset. He is not violent on campus. Actually our biggest challenge is getting him to do his work. He likes to write but refuses to write in school. He takes his schoolwork home and does it as homework. The papers are often soiled and written in different hues (marker, ball-point, pencil) but his writing is pretty good. For years Seth has refused to blacken any ovals on the FCAT (Florida’s standardized test). When pressured he says “If you make me, I’ll just Christmas tree it, so why not save us both the time.”

Tonight I use this opportunity to talk with Seth about his FCAT avoidance and try to convince him it is worth his time to attempt the test this year. I tell him I think he is afraid others will find out what both he and I know: he is really smart. I have touched a nerve. He tells me he will think about it and maybe this year he will try, but he doesn’t sound very convincing.

Arriving at King Middle School, the evening begins inauspiciously. Jordan, one of my newest teachers, had a car accident when he left Prospect to get some dinner. He is okay and shows up shaken but not deterred. The next crisis is when Trey’s parents arrive without Trey.

Trey, a black, fourth grader and one of the smallest students in the school, is always hungry. Midge, his teacher, brings food each morning so he can eat as soon as he gets off the bus. Trey is a gifted writer; he writes stories with vivid imagery and exciting characters. He does his best writing in the morning. By late morning or early afternoon, Trey is overtaken by a bad mood and he will remain angry the rest of the day. In his moody state, Trey will throw books, desks and peers. He curses at Midge and picks fights with everyone. We’ve tried shortened days for Trey; a midday departure would be ideal. But Trey’s mom works at Wal-Mart and starts work at 11:00 a.m. She is willing to bring Trey late, dropping him off on her way to work, but she tells us she cannot pick him up early. We try the late arrival option, but as Midge observes, all we do is lose the good hours with Trey. Trey’s mother and stepfather are encouraged to come to the classroom to observe Trey. They do. They are not surprised by his behavior, they say he is the same at home and they have no suggestions. Of their three children, (in addition to Trey there is a baby and an older child), only Trey has these “problems.”

Two months ago, Trey’s stepfather attended our open house sucking a pacifier; tonight he arrives at the award ceremony without the pacifier but also without Trey. Mom with infant in arms, lets stepfather do the talking. He angrily points his finger at me. “Trey is lost. You lost our son!” I am beginning to wish he did have his pacifier. Shasta, my transportation coordinator, joins me. She calls Ellie, Trey’s bus driver, at home and finds Ellie isn’t back from her route yet; she is running late. It seems likely Trey was probably dropped off late, but if his parents are here, they aren’t at home to get him. Is Trey home alone? Since Ellie is still on the bus, Shasta can’t reach her without a CB radio. The radio is back at Prospect, five miles away. Shasta leaves to get it, Trey’s parents don’t have a working phone, they leave to see if he is home.

A few minutes later, just before the ceremony starts, Neeley, my youngest teacher, phones. He says he won’t be able to attend. He says he is sick with food poisoning. He says he’ll try to make it for the “second half.” This is a common tactic with some of my employees. In an effort to temper the bad news when they call in sick, they will often say they will try to make it in later. They never do and I learn not to expect them.

Noreen, the teacher with the injured finger, doesn’t show, nor does she call. Some of the parents in Neeley and Noreen’s classes inquire as to their whereabouts. Before I can respond, several of Noreen’s students volunteer that Noreen told her class she had no intention of attending tonight. She told them she was going to see her son in a class play and they overheard her tell Neeley to call in sick. Apparently she thought it wouldn’t be as bad for her if both of them were absent. This is the first I’ve heard of Noreen’s son performing in a play. No time to ponder. The show must go on.

Teacher Stone Simmons volunteers to be the moderator for the Geography Bee. He agrees to ask only easy questions for the first round so everyone gets one right before anyone is “out.” Unfortunately Glenn is out on his first question: “Boston is the capital of what state.” Stone waits a long time for Glenn to answer, but after no reply he gently tells him the answer, congratulates him for making it to the finals and asks him to sit down. Glenn is upset. Glenn, the white 13 year old who looks and acts like a small child, shouts he knew the answer was Massachusetts, but he got it wrong because he was still thinking and Mr. Simmons interrupted him. Despite his embarrassing, protesting outburst, the Bee continues. Everyone else is a good sport and tough questions are handled well. Parents are impressed. The students are stressed but proud. Trey, unlost, shows up in time to participate. Jillane, of sex-in-the-bus -with-Tayshaun fame, wins the Bee.

After the Bee we award certificates and honors. Our students try to be cool and poker-faced, but most can’t conceal their pride as they are called up on stage to receive their certificates. These are students whose school careers have consisted of detentions and suspensions, not awards and honors. There are tears in the eyes of many parents.

Darius is proud of his award for public speaking, but no one remotely related to him is here to witness the event, no foster mother, no DCF caseworker, no one. At the end of the ceremony I hand Darius my cell phone so he can call his foster mother to ask for a ride. She says no. Daphne assured me that Darius would have both an audience and a ride home. I now ask Daphne how Darius will get home. She says she called this afternoon and spoke with Telma, the babysitter. Telma said if no one made it to the ceremony, then when the ceremony is over Darius should call and someone would come get him. But Darius is here with no ride home, and he lives in a rural section of the county about twelve miles southeast of the school. Daphne tells me she needs to spend time with her mother and they both leave. Shasta the transportation manager to the rescue again. When Roxanne had to be transported to DCF in the rain, Shasta was there. Tonight Shasta, with her six-year-old son, Quinn, offers to take Darius home. Shasta and Quinn live 26 miles southwest of Prospect but Shasta knows where Darius lives and piles Darius and Quinn into the cab of her pickup truck.

I eat bag salad at 9:00 and think about what it is like to be Darius: so many adults in your life, but none of them yours. No one to say, “I love you. I’m proud of you.” It is so incredibly sad. I go to bed crushed by these thoughts, but when insomnia hits a few hours later, I am thinking not about Darius, I’m thinking about Noreen and Neeley. As I think about their absence tonight, their dissembling and dishonesty, I feel teeth gnashing anger. My morning run doesn’t reduce much of my fury and when my phone rings at 6:15, just as I return from my run, my lividity is revived: it’s Noreen’s husband calling to say she has strep throat and won’t be in today and I don’t believe a word he says.

What’s happening to me? I am becoming cynical, jaded, expecting the worst, - - and all this after only a few months. This is not the kind of boss I want to be; this is not who I am. Was this metamorphosis unavoidable given that every since I came to Prospect people have been failing and disappointing me over and over again? Maybe this is exactly the problem my teachers and students face as they struggle to achieve, to even to get by: poor performance causes low expectations which cause poorer performance which causes even lower expectations. . . how do I break this cycle? What can I do to make it different? Isn’t this why I can here in the first place – to make a difference? I need to get a grip, put my Noreen seething on the back burner, roll up my sleeves and head to work.