If you had a Drake, you knew it. If you didn't, well you probably slept a lot better for those 180 days.
I met Drake during his seventh grade year. My first principal (of two) decided that each teacher needed to select four or five students to "mentor". As "mentors" we would keep up with our students, review their progress and report cards, and generally just look out for them. Me, being naive, looked at a list of student and knew no one. I was to pick across all three grade levels and both boys and girls. Drake's name was left on seventh grade list and officially my fate of insanity was decided.
My first encounter with Drake came when he was serving an after school detention. I have no idea what he did but when I saw him he was busy drawing his name on the desk placed in the guidance office. I introduced myself and he looked up at me with pitiful honey colored eyes. He looked small, innocent, like there was no way he was capable of whatever he was being accused of. Drake and I were speaking about his year when one of my favorite administrator to date busted through the door and said, "Ms. Frech are you CRAZY that kid is BAD and it is contagious!". I left the office and tried hard each day after that to find Drake.
No worries, I didn't have to try hard. Within two days Drake showed up at my classroom door, yelling down the hallways "DON'T COME NEAR ME, I AM GOING TO SEE MY MENTOR". Woo okkay.
For the next quarter, Drake came to see me instead of his regular scheduled teacher. He did his work, ate snacks, talked, told me about his past, and talked a lot about baseball. I usually didn't ask too much about what he had done right before he was sent to me. That is until he was sent to me and was told not to come back for the remainder of the day. That day I found out that Drake told his teacher to "suck his d....". I made him write an apology note and thought that there was no way this sweet boy could be doing this heinous things.
Fast forward to Drake's eighth grade year. Drake was a part of "that group" of boys. All eighth grade, all fourth and final block of the day. I saw Drake's name on my roster and thought, "thank goodness there would at least be one that will listen to me".
Nope.
Within a week Drake was standing when I said sit, sleeping when I said work, fighting when I said stop, and cursing when I said shut your mouth. Calling his grandmother got me no where, sending him to the administrator hurt my street cred, and having him in my class meant no one else learned.
Suddenly I knew what his past teachers had experienced.
To be fair I should let you know about tidbits of his past. Drake ran away from an abusive mother, his father was in and out of jail, his grandmother just wanted him to be happy, and I had yet to hear of a single teacher who was able to keep him in the room for the whole year. So that meant he had gone nine years in school without 180 days of direct instruction. He was angry, confused, unsettled, and a complete shit. But I loved him.
Here's the thing: Drake was smart. He could read, write, knew grammar, spoke articulately, was clean, well put together, had friends, and wanted to see just how crazy he could make each of his teachers. He needed help beyond my profession and needed it immediately.
Drake left for the school year. My classroom got really quiet for awhile but it always seemed empty. It's hard to teach students whose outside life makes it impossible to learn. It is impossible to teach students who cannot get past the mess of his life to see five feet in front of him. It is hard to think this is the lives of children. It is impossible to believe that in today's age of social awareness these injustices are still happening to our children.
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