Fresh out of college, I took a job teaching eighth grade English. One of my classes was a group of students who were struggling, academically and socially—and I learned I was not well prepared for this challenge.
Especially not for Eddie. Tall and slouched, Eddie was sixteen years old because he’d been flunked twice. His vacant blue eyes scared me a little—but I wanted very much to help him.
What I discovered was that Eddie needed more help than I could give. He mumbled when he spoke and could barely write a sentence. Every day, he dropped his spelling book out the window or threw pencils across the room—anything to disrupt.
When I talked with his parents, they insisted Eddie was fine—and refused to have him evaluated. But when he put a hat pin through another kid’s ear drum, he was finally suspended from school. This wasn’t until May, however, and I was a wreck.
I’ve thought of Eddie many times since then and wondered how his life turned out. I wish we had found a way to reach him. I know the outcome could have been worse. It also could have been better.