Class of 2012. They are the first graduating class of the new BLS, the first group I ever taught, and for many of them, the first person to graduate from their family. Graduation is different in Brooklyn. In the suburbs it's supposed to happen, but for us it was only half the grade. 48 students. Several of them didn’t know they would get the remaining credits or test scores until a week before. Many of them have no pressure or support from family to attend college. And others simply don’t have anyone they call family. A handful of the non-graduating seniors had the heart to come and sit in the Family/Friends section to support their peers in the Reserved section. The separation had begun; they were officially drop-outs. We all held our breath when one of their faces came up in the slideshow presentation. For every senior at graduation, there was one at home taking their mind off of it. It was as much a celebration as it was a vigil.
I wonder if other teachers experience as much regret during the ceremonies… was I the first teacher to have a mini-meltdown as diplomas were distributed? As each name was called I thought, ‘shit, there goes another one.’ Under each gown was a personality that I didn’t get to know well enough. Conversations that I never had. It’s like they were walking across the stage, right out of my life. Why didn’t I love them more? Or ask about their lives more? Why did I spend all my time on my passing rates, my curriculum, and my classroom management? These were real people with unique experiences and I let them slip right through my hands, by reducing them to a statistic. Growing restless, I circled the names of the 48 students. I wrote a self-reminder: Loving students > raising test scores. I can’t help but wonder if the only chance that they had to hear the Gospel was during their junior year through their rowdy English teacher. And he blew it. Thank God, His Kingdom doesn’t depend on my faithfulness.
As so often is the case, I ended up learning so much more from my students than they probably learned from me. Our Valedictorian, Tristin, is your average bookworm. Alarmingly quiet, disciplined, and kind. He has this thin-lipped, no-teeth-showing smile. The few times we heard from him, he always spoke standard English without the faintest accent. But as he adjusted the mic before his speech, he yelled, “we made it yall,” in his natural ghetto dialect. Clearly he had been codeswitching for years. He apologized for his shyness explaining it was because he was too lazy to be social. He revealed that he never missed school was because he’s too lazy to make up missing work. He explained that he loves Souljah Boy because he’s too lazy to analyze deeper lyrics. The prodigy workaholic was humanizing himself. He spoke with so much charisma and humor, that the teachers stared at each other in disbelief wondering how we could have missed this personality for 4 years. After a few minutes Ms. D whispered, “How is no one recording this?” When the Distinguished Speaker took the podium afterwards, he simply threw his arms up, shook his head, and said, “what can I say after that?” Throughout his speech, Tristin referenced each of his 3 "nerdy" best friends, vindicating the teasing they endured for 4 years. Somehow, every single person in that auditorium was encouraged and embarrassed at the same time. Teachers were validated for their hard work but reminded to be open minded about students' potential. Students were inspired but challenged to convert it into action. And parents… they just cried and cried. tears of joy, regret, and acceptance.
The crux of Tristin’s speech came when he asked the Principal to do the lastest hip-hop dance called the All-In. After much encouraging applause, Tristin led the audience in a clapping beat, to which he and Mr. Piton danced. I could never explain the uproar it caused. Tristin returned to the mic and asked, “how many of yall imagined myself or Mr. Piton doin this? Don’t ever let what other people think of you, limit what you can do.” It was the perfect message to a pack underdogs, taking the next step. I’ve never been more moved by a speech. When he shook my hand afterwards, I was embarrassed thinking about how I could have helped him more. But Tristin hardly noticed. I guess that was the point of his speech. Getting people to stop believing in him and start believing in themselves. Ima try to be more personal with my next class, Tristin.
