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I’ve been waiting to share this story for a while and due to my long delay in writing, I suppose you have earned hearing about young D. I cannot come up with a completely new name for him because it would take away from his person-hood. Teachers are supposed to say they don’t have a favorite..that they have enjoyed each student that has walked through their door. Well for the record that is bull and I am here to tell you about one of my favorite students at Bishop Spaugh, D.

D’s mother was one was few to come see me during Spaugh’s Open House. Elated by the appearance of a parent, I quickly came to T’s side offering her my phone number, a supply list, and a tour around the classroom. T took one look at me and asked if I was a first year teacher. Hah! …Nope this is my SECOND year. She looked down almost disappointed and let me know that chances are D would make me cry, he has a habit of wearing down young teachers like myself.

Like most of my other stories, D was in my room of boys. He came in the first day with braids shooting straight out of his head and sat in the middle row, last seat, in the back. Constantly flailing his arms around and moving, D would rather be dancing, then anywhere else.

He was inspiring, obviously having a knowledge base beyond what his test scores revealed. He knew about science because he watched Discovery, would listen in Social Studies, and above anything else refused to take notes or read. In fact, D thought he literally couldn’t read, as in he thought he lacked the ability.

He was funny too, like constantly asking me if I knew was was, if I was considered a midget, and if I lived in the hood in a previous lifetime. By two months into the year, I was constantly involved in D’s life and knew that D trusted me to teach him what he hadn’t learned yet, that he could read, he could succeed, and this year he would learn to do both.

We worked a lot. I rarely made him read aloud and I changed all of his notes to fill in the blank. D listened intently to what I had to say, and if I could add an arm motion to what I was teaching, there was no need for D to pick up a pencil. I had to quickly reconcile the fact that it was just as important for D to learn to think, analyze, compare and contrast as it was for him to read the pages in his textbook.

D started rocking his benchmark exams. They were read aloud, but he was seeing success..seeing that he could learn and master standards. While during class I was busy teaching the layers of the ocean and the American Revolution, after school or in free time I was helping D recognize more words, chunk words together, and gain confidence in the reading he was excelling at.

My room became a place where D felt smart. While he didn’t leave reading on grade level, he did leave with a passing score on his eighth grade science End of Grade test. In fact, it was so important to D that he passed eighth grade that he stayed after school with me for days, finishing a math packet to earn the credit he needed to pass math. D walked across the stage at his eighth grade graduation ceremony. After graduation, T’s prophecy of my tears came true, as I bawled saying goodbye to the sweet boy who made my second year teaching filled with laughs and reasons to keep working to close the achievement gap. D went on to the ninth grade and I was lucky enough to have the peace of mind that D had one of the best teachers I could imagine in high school, in fact she was my room mate at orientation for Teach for America.