The Sacrificial Lamb

It seems that we’ve been tied together from the beginning.  Me, a first year teacher.  Him, a behemoth of a 14 year old.  He arrived with footnotes after his name.  “Tips” – warnings – from previous teachers.  It was my first time standing in front of students, having skipped the whole student teaching thing.  I mispronounced his name during roll call and half-caught another teacher, Ms. Peterson, rolling her eyes.  Another white young teacher who knows nothing about teaching poor, multicultural students, I assume she must have been thinking.   Ricardo Quezada.  Mispronounced as Quizaida.  He flashed his eyes at me, carefully noting my insecurities.  I shrank.  Thus began our first year together.

*             *             *

“Miss, are you bringing your boyfriend to the prom?” Oliver interrupted me.

“No, I hate to break your heart.  We broke up actually.”  I answer him.

Ricardo, looks up from his doodle. “What – did he hit you? If he hit you, I’m will punch him in his fucking face.”

“Ricardo, I’m serious – quit it with the cussing.  No, he didn't hit me.  We just didn't like each other anymore.”

“Damn.  But for real, miss.  I’m serious.” He stares me down as I attempt to continue with the lesson.  I know he’s serious.  He’s always been protective. 

*             *             *

I pulled Ricardo out of our first period class on Tuesday to test him for his independent reading level - because God knows, we love to test our special ed kids. As he read, he shot his eyes back and forth from my face to the paper – looking for affirmation from me after each word.  Encouragement to keep reading.  He hasn’t lost this habit over the years, and I love that.  When he finished, I informed him of his reading level and how his learning disability contributed to this.  Second grade.  An eighth grader reading at a second grade level.  And only barely.  I expected him to be discouraged, confused at this news – outraged, maybe.  Get a little taste of the infamous Ricardo temper.  Instead he nodded and walked back into the classroom.  The demeanor of a student who has never passed a reading test – who expects nothing of himself.

*             *             *

"Hey! Broyles!" It's the basketball coach.

"Hey!  How's your day?  I know that you stole all the left over cookies from Homecoming, by the way."

"Guilty as charged.  I love those cookies.  Hey, can you let Ricardo know that we won't have space for him on the team this year?  He came to open gym last night, so I think he might want to play - but after his attitude last year, I'm not interested."

"Seriously?  You want ME to tell him that?  He's going to be so upset."

"Well, he listens to you.  I figured it would come easier from you."

"I love you, but no.  You have to tell him yourself." I roll my eyes and walk away.  I don't get paid enough for this. 

*             *             *

Ricardo’s been gone a lot lately.  Like three days of the past five.  I’m concerned about his engagement – or disengagement at that.  I approach his teacher.  What has he missed this week, I ask her.  When he comes back I want to be ready to support him.  I’m trying to brainstorm ways to make him feel successful in this class because that might help him connect to this class.  Do you have any ideas on how we can support him? Emily, I teach 115 students, she says.  Ricardo is absent more than he is here.  He missed pages 101-115 in instruction just last week.  And when he’s here, he’s disruptive or texting on his phone.  I’ll tell you this, if he’s here – I would love to teach him.  If he’s not, I can’t break my back over it.  Ok, I said.  Because what else do you say to that.

*             *             * 

“Ricardo!  Come over here!” I’ve spotted him across the hallway.

“Damn, miss. You never leave me alone.”

“You missed math and ELD again yesterday.  You need to be here.  Ricardo, you are 5 credits short of graduating this year.  If we are going to get you to graduate on time you have to not only pass all your classes this year, but recover your missing credits through the online classes at the same time.  That is an outrageous amount of work, and I don’t see you putting in much effort.  I’m tired of having to say this to you every single time I see you.”

“DAMN IT, MISS! I’M SO TIRED OF YOU BUGGIN’ ME! LEAVE ME ALONE – FOR REAL!” He screamed in my face and stalked off.  He heard me, though.  He showed up for every class the next two days.

*             *             *

“Miss Broyles!  How’s your day going?”  It’s my new principal.

“Hey there.  It’s ok.  I just got into a fight with Ricardo Quezada.  He’s been skipping classes and having tons of attitude.  He's never been absent like this before.  It's because he's 18 now. ”

“Ah, yes, some of those seniors are a real challenge.  They have a major attitude of entitlement.  But you know, you can’t save them all.  Maybe they need a sacrificial lamb to show them that they’re not untouchable.  They need a wake up call about the real world.  From what I’ve seen so far, I think Ricardo might just be that sacrificial lamb – I hate to say it.”

I just nod.  Because what else do you say to that.

*             *             *

Ricardo has been absent all week, so I’ve started putting all my effort and attention into Chris, a junior.  Chris’ father died this summer, and it’s completely flipped his world around.  Chris is Ricardo’s little buddy, and the two of them frequently ditch class to raise hell around the city instead.  I wonder sometimes why I am putting so much effort into Chris, when I know he is just like Ricardo.  But when Chris is in class, there is a vulnerability there that makes me want to put myself on the line.  I’m starting to dedicate myself to Chris, to helping him graduate next year.  When I’m around Chris I start to get all sort of ideas about interventions and supports we can still try with him.  Maybe he won’t be just like Ricardo.  It’s a brand new mission for me.  A mission that is slowly, but persistently creeping up on my dedication to Ricardo.   I feel bad – like I’m giving up on him.  But how can you pledge your energy to someone who is never there?

*             *             *

The meeting sticks out in my mind more than most; it was his freshman year.  This was a yearly meeting between Ricardo, his parents, and his teachers.  I had prepared in advance with notes from all his teachers.   I had asked them for his academic strengths and needs, but instead most had sent me essays about his behavior.  He was defiant and difficult, loud, obnoxious and irritating.  He had not grasped any of the curriculums so far.  I was prepared to run a meeting around this information.  What I got instead was unexpected.  As I meticulously ran through each teacher’s report, Ricardo sat silently - until he couldn’t anymore.  Mom, I am so angry with you, erupted from his lips.  I can’t believe what you and dad are putting us through right now.  I don’t even want to come home anymore.  I’ve been sleeping at Alejandro’s house, in case you’ve wondered.  And with that, I learned about the divorce that would rock Ricardo’s world from then on.  The rest of the meeting dissolved into Ricardo and his mother in tears, publicly throwing one uncomfortable truth after another at each other, processing the painful transition his family was beginning.  Myself, his physics teacher, and the school psychologist sitting by – a trio of impromptu spectators.  Wanting to help, but feeling completely out of control.

*             *             *

Report cards come out this week, and I’ve got a preview of Ricardo’s.  He got four F’s and two D’s.  I pour myself a giant glass of wine and try not to care.  But I feel like a failure.  Scratch that.  I feel angry.  Really, really, angry.  He’s taken advantage of my help and my sympathy.  I need to let him fail; it’s got to be time.

*             *             *

“Miss Broyles, you have a giant zit on your chin.” Ricardo whispers to me.

“I know.  Get back to the problem we’re working on please.”

“Hold still.  I can pop that zit for you.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“You can’t meet a boyfriend with this zit.  Trust me.  It’s ugly.”

“If you touch me, I’ll give you detention.”

After class was over, I was surprised with myself.  I’m pretty sensitive about my appearance.  I was surprised that I had even admitted to having a zit.  Seriously.  I realized then that Ricardo had unwittingly become my family.

*             *             *

Things happen sometimes in a school that just don’t make sense to you.  Yesterday, another teacher complained to my administrator that I was being too involved in Ricardo’s life.  That I keep checking in on him in his classes, and calling him out when he’s ditching.  That he and I fight too much.  I wonder sometimes what is the exact amount of caring that my salary pays for.  Does my salary cover one Come to Jesus talk a month, or maybe just one per year?  And is there a sliding scale for caring?  Each year you are responsible for a student, the amount that you are allowed to openly care goes up by 7%.  If this is the case, then I am entitled to five years of caring with Ricardo, which I’m pretty sure includes two blowout fights and one annoying conversation about my love life per week.  At least, this is what Ricardo and I have agreed upon in our own personal relationship.  Perhaps I should send out an all school memo. 

*             *             *

 “Ok, today, we are going to be working on your work for 10^th grade English class.  I need you to write down this sentence in your notebook.”

“Miss, does it bother you that you’re almost 30 and still single?  You don’t even have a boyfriend.  You’re not going to have kids forever.” Ricardo shouts across the room. 

“Sometimes it bothers me.  But really, I think I’m just fine.”

“I’m going to set you up with my uncle.”

“I am not old enough to date your uncle!”

“My uncle’s 25.”

“Oh. Thank you, but no thank you.”

“Too late.  I just texted him. You’ll love his truck.”

*             *             *

Hey there, Miss Broyles, how are parent teacher conferences going?  One of the deans from my school drops by on the longest night ever for a teacher.  Only one parent so far, I tell him.  Well, he says, just wanted to let you know that your boy Ricardo is up to 112 absences so far this year.  And it’s only September.  Yup, I say, I am thinking about ways to get him here.  Well, he responds, I used to work at Northern High School and we saw his kind all the time, at some point you just have to give up.  You know, the greater group of seniors needs a sacrificial lamb.  We are not expecting some of these seniors to be here next quarter.  We expect them to “choose to attend” other high schools. 

Oh my God, I think.  Really?  Some of us have been supporting these kids for more than 5 years and you’re going to recommend that they choose school elsewhere?  And really, the sacrificial lamb reference about Ricardo from two different administrators in a row?  How did they pick Ricardo, I wonder.  Ricardo, who is not involved in gangs or drugs or sex.  Who loves his girlfriend and his mother and his sister.  Who goes to church.  Do they just sit around in the office and agree on this stuff?  Well, just so you know, I tell him, I am not planning on giving up on Ricardo.  If you need a sacrificial lamb you should consider Julio.  He screamed f**got at the student I was working with for no reason yesterday.  He’s a hopeless case.

*             *             *

I walked into Ricardo and Chris' math class to pick them up yesterday, but they were both absent.  Again.  As I turned to leave, one of the students in their class grabbed my arm.  You're wasting your time with them, Ms. Broyles, he said to me. Of everyone who has said that to me, it cut deepest hearing it from him.

*             *             *

Ricardo is obsessed with playing football.  He lives, and breathes, and processes football at all times.  It’s been his whole life since before I even met him.  Despite his tall height, he is fast and strategic.  If he had been raised in a well-to-do, knowledgeable household he could be playing Division I football in college.  It’s been the only thing teachers have had to dangle over his head for years.  Indeed, his skills are a coach’s dream, if it weren’t for his attitude.  I’ve kicked Ricardo off the football team, read an email to me one morning from his coach.  He cussed out the coaches and then walked off the field.  I found Ricardo the next day ditching class in his car.  What the hell happened, I asked him.  OMG, miss, he shouted at me.  I got really mad and I cussed out Mr. Jeffersons.  He was really pissing me off.  So what, I told him.  You are never allowed to cuss out an adult, especially your coach.  You are supposed to be a part of the team, a leader of the team.  I want to say I’m sorry, he told me.  I really need football practice because I don’t want to go home.  Can you please go talk to Mr. Jeffersons for me, Ms. Broyles.  He’s really mad at me.  Well, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t take you back after that, I told him.

*             *             *

“Ricardo, you’ve been absent 93 times so far this year.  What’s happening with you?  Truancy has never been your problem.”
"Damn it, Ms. Broyles, I’m 18.  I don’t even have to be in school.  Leave me the fuck alone.  Plus, my dad told me that if school isn’t my thing then he will have me start working construction with him instead of graduating.”
“Quick question Ricardo, when you have a son who is in high school someday, what will you say to him?”
“Honestly, Ms. Broyles?  I’ll tell him to never be like me.”

*             *             *

I was helping Ricardo and Chris in class today when I got pulled out suddenly into the hall by another teacher.  When I came back into the room, Ricardo and Chris had switched all three of our phones between each other’s cases and then replaced them on the desks exactly as they were.  It took me almost an hour to figure out that the phone in my case wasn’t mine.  Apparently, that was an epic prank. 

*             *             *

I work after school with the online credit recovery school for kids who need to re-take classes online in order to graduate.  Ricardo came in today with Alejandro and Julio – two of the more difficult kids in his grade.  As Ricardo and Alejandro wasted their credit recovery time, Julio sat on his own and worked tirelessly for the whole hour.  I remembered how I had nominated him to be the “sacrificial lamb” of the senior class to the dean.  I realized that I am truly an imperfect educator.  Julio is not some hopeless cause.  He is the same challenging kid raised in poverty as Ricardo.  Except that Ricardo has me, and Mrs. Bake, and a whole slew of teachers who fight for him.  Who is fighting for Julio to not be the sacrificial lamb?  Who is tracking him down, and arguing with him over his bad choices.  Who is thinking up strategies for him?  I don’t know if anyone is, including me, and that is what keeps me up at night.

*             *             *

Today hasn’t been my day.  I’ve been tired and irritable.  Normally during 6^th period I work with Chris and Ricardo in math but I’ve heard that they are both absent.  I’m looking forward to working with other kids today who don’t make me want to come home and pour a strong drink.  It is exhausting working with Ricardo, and some days I’m just too tired to lecture him about the importance of school.  I almost don’t even swing by their class today - but when I do, I see Ricardo sitting in his seat.  Somehow he’s managed to ditch periods 3 – 5 today, but arrived in time for 6^th period.  Somehow.  Part of me rolls her eyes because I’d mentally made other plans, but the other part of me pulls Ricardo down to the library to get to work.  I wasn’t super friendly to him, although I should have been since this was our assigned time together.  Once we get settled, Ricardo pulls out a piece of paper with notes about all the assignments that he’s missing from his classes.  He’s got classroom notes and worksheets and handouts – all organized by period.  He asks me to help him read some assignment from psychology class about how McDonald’s plays on your brain’s weaknesses to make you buy their products.  He’s got tons of examples about this, and starts writing out his answers while I’m still mid-article. 

As I watch him doing his homework, my whole world starts to crash down on me.  I realize that in the end, I too had given up on him.  I had never expected him to be willing and prepared to work with me today.  I had stopped calling home weeks ago when he was absent, I had stopped threatening detention.  I had stopped punishing him for being 18 and stupid.  The reality of my job had permeated my consciousness, and I had come to accept him as a failure and a drop-out.  I had moved on to putting my neck out for other kids.  And I’d done it without circumstance or ceremony.  The death of hope; the birth of a sacrificial lamb.

The job of a secondary special educator is perhaps the most heartbreaking and emotionally exhausting position in education.  We work with the kids who still can’t read or multiply - and are running out of time.  We get verbally assaulted daily by kids who are frustrated and tired of ten years of reading intervention classes.  They are not cute little kids, just starting out their education, still full of hope.  They are big, proud, and scared.  We watch as our students are the first to choose gangs because school has never kind to them.  We complete their paperwork when they get suspended for fighting.  We support them as if they were our own children, and then we release them into the real world.  Most still reading at an elementary school level.  We're not stupid, we know that they aren't prepared for the work force or higher education, but we're out of time with them. 

Who failed Ricardo?  Was it his teachers – his family?  Was it me?  Or did his terrible temper just make him too hard to love? Was he just a product of our society?  Poor, learning disabled, second language learner, broken home life.  Hearing statistics about drop-outs is one thing.  Watching someone you care about choose to drop-out is another.  It is absolutely unbearable.

Sometimes I think that when I’ve been teaching for 30 years, this type of situation won’t affect me at all.  I will have lived through hundreds of Ricardos, some of whom will wind up on professional football teams and some of whom will wind up in prison.  It will just be par for the course. 

Most of my Teach For America colleagues aren’t in the classrooms they started in anymore.  They’ve moved on to graduate school or better teaching positions.  I’m still at my placement school, five years and counting.  I'm still with the kids I started teaching with my first year.  Oftentimes I wonder what my life would be like if I made more money like my friends, or if I moved to a school without the need for English Language Development classes.  And then I think of Ricardo.  He’s taught me that there is an inherent, crippling guilt which accompanies teaching.  That some students will leave you completely unprepared for what comes next – and sometimes that's your fault and sometimes it’s not.  An uncomfortable reality that seasoned teachers develop coping skills for.  

But Ricardo has also taught me about the joy.  Deep, deep joy.  The kind of joy that bubbles up when he gets high growth scores and when he waves at me in front of all his super cool jock friends.  The kind of joy that smacks me in face with the snooze alarm button at 5:45am.  Reminding me to pull myself together and wake the fuck up.  Because Ricardo is probably the biggest pain in the ass of my whole entire life, and he very likely might officially drop out of school tomorrow morning after 18 years, but maybe – maybe – he won’t.   So I better be ready.