A Big Inspiration for Willie's Dad

I had to take a break, I was cleaning the garage. I was tired, and I had something on my mind. I was going through a box and some old binders and other teacher stuff was in it.

Waste not; want not, I looked through the contents of the box. My memory was triggered by a name I saw, written on one little plastic binder. On the slick, black cover, I saw the name, painted on like art, in white-out. Respect and confidentiality prevent me from saying the name, so I'll just call him Kevin, Kevin Johnson. I assure you that is a made-up name.

Kevin was in the second class I ever taught, and if I ever had a favorite, he was it. He was small and slim, and built-like a little muscleman. He was like a short-little stick or dynamite. Quick and athletic, he was phenomenal as a running back, and point guard, undersized as he was.

He came to be in my class because he could not keep it together in other classes. He was yelling at teachers, throwing incredible tantrums, and crying out loud, like a hurt baby. In many ways, he was a hurt baby. His hurt was never fixed and now, here he was, in sixth grade.

He really blossomed in my structured environment. The thing that did it, as far as Kevin becoming more manageable, was that we really hit it off. We were both basketball nuts, and loved to play. I was very good but on the physical decline, I was in my late thirties. He was extremely good and his skill was ascending like a rocket.

I was able to use sports as a form of therapy for much of my class. For Kevin, it was like setting a caged bird free. His smile was so wide when we played basketball, he seemed untouched by trouble, or trauma. I felt for sure that I could trust him with my life, I will always believe that. We had a bond that was uncanny.

I remember one week, as I was working to get my class paperwork in order for the coming year. I tried to contact all the parents of my students to share with them what I had in mind for their kids. I knew Kevin stayed with his grandmother, so I contacted her. She said that she wanted me to share my plans with his parents. They were both locked up, in different facilities.

I had conference calls with both parents about the education of their son, from two different prisons. I never had to wonder why Kevin had tantrums again. I always thought that he would be an excellent son. I never had the courage to say that I wanted to raise him. I think, subconsciously, he is a major influence for Willie's Dad. Somewhere out there, he is now a man. I pray he is okay.