Yesterday, a woman who is a friend of Shameir's family called to ask if I could find Shameir's graduation photo from the 2007 yearbook. She said he was in a coma in the burn unit in Augusta after the Sugar Refinery Explosion, and it "didn't look good." I was shocked.
Shameir had been in my 12th grade Comp/Lit class last year. In fact, I used him as one of my three case studies for my teacher certification portfolio.
I left instructions for the substitute (yes, I took a sick day today) to have the yearbook students make cards and write letters of encouragement to Shameir. The woman is going to pick them up on Friday and drive them to Augusta along with some presents she has for him. Even if Shameir isn't aware of anything, his parents and family might appreciate my students' words of concern.
Below, in part, is the case study profile I wrote about him last year:
Shameir, dressed in semi-gangster-style, all black, loose pants and a dark hoodie, was smart, one of the small percentage of Groves students who had already passed all four of the Georgia High School Graduation tests. Not a mean bone in his body, he was always pleasant and cooperative, but so tired.
He told me on the first day that he had already taken 12th Grade Comp/Lit and had passed the main component of the course, the Senior Project, but had failed on the technicality that he had accrued too many absences. Thus, the main goal for him in 12th Grade Comp/Lit was to complete the British literature component and provide evidence that he had done the Senior Project for the previous teacher.
Naturally, he was bored sitting through the same course again. In addition, the rumors were rife among the teachers that he smoked dope a lot. Who could tell whether the red-rimmed eyes were from this habit, or the fact that he badly needed glasses? It was clear that he could not see the whiteboard very well, and when awake in class, he squinted heavily from across the room.
Because six SPED students were also in the class, the SPED teacher joined us each day, and worked with me to help motivate Shameir. Since he had taken the course before, had been in high school just a little bit too long already, he had trouble mustering up the motivation to complete tasks.
His grades were abysmal the first half of the semester, due to lack of effort. He did the work sporadically. The SPED teacher and I often commented to each other, in private, what a waste it was for him to fail the course a second time. It would have been easy for him to grit his teeth and do the work. We talked about what a waste it was for him to get this far in high school, and then blow it off. What would his life be like without a high school diploma? He was smart. Sometimes, during class discussions, he lifted his head off the desk, and offered a bright answer which clearly reflected insight into the question.
At mid-semester, I phoned his mother to tell her he was in jeopardy of failing. She screamed into the phone that she was at her wit’s end with that boy, didn’t know what to do with him, couldn’t understand what his problem was, said they were a good family that had raised him right, so she just couldn’t fathom what had gone awry with him. He wouldn’t tell her anything, she sighed; all she knew was that he was probably hanging around with the wrong crowd, had some job at the railroad and was tempted to drop out of school, minus his high school diploma, to pursue a career there.
The end of the semester neared. Then, the improbable happened. One morning, he announced that he was tired (nothing new) because he had stayed in the hospital all night. “Why?” I asked. “Because my baby was born,” he smiled with an ear-to-ear grin.
The SPED teacher and I congratulated him and pumped him for more details about his newborn son. Then we honed in, going for the emotional jugular.
"Shameir," we both said, practically in unison, “NOW YOU HAVE THE BEST REASON IN THE WORLD TO FINISH HIGH SCHOOL ---FOR HIM!!” We talked on and on about the importance of going to college, getting a good job, earning a decent living, setting an example, being a role model.
By the next day, he was a changed person, more energetic than I had ever seen him. First, he located his Senior Project paper from the previous year, and discovered he had not really finished the research paper. He had only received a grade for the presentation part of the project. There was still work to be done. But now he was interested in doing it. He stayed awake in class, did the activities, and even asked if he had missed any work that he could make up. The biggest shock occurred when he came to school on a Monday wearing glasses. He looked like an intellectual, not a gangster. The students were whispering, “Look at Shameir. He looks so smart with those glasses.”
The birth of his baby changed everything.
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The Today Show, which I watched feverishly from the bed, featured a trip to Sugar Bush Mountain in Vermont. Matt, Meredith, Al and Ann were standing outside in the snow,, in the 21 degree weather. The very sight of the snow sent ripples of ice-cold shivers through me. Yesterday during class, I began to lose my voice and felt rushes of dizziness, so decided that I needed a sick day today. I'd been feeling sick since Monday, but had gone in anyway. The school system has a new high-tech method for doing this, called Smart Express. You just go on-line, sign on with your user name and pass word and "create an absence" for any time in the future. Once an absence is created, the system searches for a sub using an automated phone call. I hope they found one for my classes, but I'm really too sick to care! The subs are in short supply these days. Yesterday at my school, there were about 20 or 25 teachers listed as absent. I tell you, the stress and the workload is taking its toll. The students are burning out too, which is helping to burn the teachers out. The state mandates a certain curriculum for every course, and it's the teacher's job to deliver it, like it or not. One of my students was being a pain in the a** yesterday, complaining quite vocally that "This is stupid!" and "Why do you give us so much work," etc., saying that in Mr. Thing's class, they don't do any work, but just have a discussion for the whole 90 minutes. (Yeah, I'll bet.) I challenged him to a bet and asked how long he thought we could keep up a free-floating discussion about MacBeth before someone started talking about the latest food fight or someone's pregnancy. We lasted all of five minutes. So you see, I feel (I know) it's better to have them read the acts of MacBeth and do guiding questions, to analyze the components of MacBeth's character, etc.
I needed this. It's comforting to sit in my own Lazy-Boy with my own quilt, sneezing and shivering in my own home. It's been a long time since I've felt this much under the weather, but I like being at home.
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