A Case Study

Robbie has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. They are the most unusual color and have the longest lashes. He has more wit, humor, and charisma than almost any person I've ever met. He also harbors more sadness than one person should know or bear. In my first year of teaching, he became my earliest "case study." His entire life reads like a file from a social worker's case load. His reality contains details that, up until he and I started talking, I thought were contrived by "Made for TV" movie writers to seem trumped up and impossible to fathom. However, as Robbie's life story unfolded during our time together, I came to realize that perhaps TV did imitate life.

What would the social worker's file say? Robbie, aged 18, grade 10. Father: Unknown. Mother: Prostitute, drug addict. Siblings: 5 (5 different fathers). Occupation: Recreational Drug Distributor.

I don't think it's the recitation of that combination of facts that surprised me so much. It was more in the attitude and acceptance of a sequence of events. Robbie's mom was a crack addict who had several children by several fathers. Because of her habit, she was essentially unable to care for her family. Robbie, as eldest child and as a male, felt compelled to provide for his family. Well, at 8, what's a boy to do? There are limited professional opportunities for 8-year-old boys. So, he began selling weed. And, he continued to sell through elementary and middle school.

But that's not all. Not only was Robbie going to school full time and working throughout most of the night, he was also raising each of his siblings as they came along. He cooked and cleaned and cared for his brothers and sisters as essentially a single parent would. He also took care of his mother when she needed his help. Amazing.

When Robbie entered my classroom, he was so enmeshed in his pattern that he saw no alternative future for himself. He didn't see himself earning a diploma, and he certainly didn't see college as an option. It was probably unfair of me to even suggest that he pursue another path. However, the boy could draw. I don't mean cute little critters or sinister comic creations or even adequate copies of existing works. I mean, Robbie had the vision, creativity, and perception necessary for graphic design and/or architecture. I hated to see all of that potential go to waste.

Not only that, but Robbie didn't even see himself graduating from high school. He basically wandered in and out of the school to sell to a few clients and socialize with a few friends. This was one time when my naivete' served me well. I actually expected Robbie to do his work! I had Robbie for three different classes during the day, and he enjoyed my classes. However, his attendance was understandably erratic. He was honest and open about why he only showed up occasionally ("Ms. Hoskins, I'm saving up for a whip. I gotta work them streets. I can't make no paper sittin' in these here seats."), but my middle class values wouldn't let him go.

I knew that drawing was a cache' for him. He'd never had real drawing pencils of his own. He'd stolen "nubbins" from art class, but he'd never had his own tools. So, I went to an art supply store and bought a supply of pencils. I bribed him (no need to mince words 'cause that's what it was) to come to both classes every day by offering him a pencil for each week of perfect attendance. It basically worked! He came to class, did his work, and contributed greatly to class activities and discussions. My lunch was between two of his classes with me, and we would sit and talk each day. I don't have any idea if he went to a single other class, but he made it to English every day.

At the end of the year, he told me he was transferring to another school that was closer to his home to reduce his commute time. It sounded like lies to me. However, I had to respect his decision, and with teary eyes, I said goodbye. Imagine my surprise a year later when he walked into my classroom, wearing the hugest smile on his face, waving a small ivory rectangle of paper. I jumped up to greet him, and he extended to me an invitation to his graduation. His mom, well, she wasn't going to be able to make it, and he thought I might want to see him walk the stage.

I went to that graduation. I saw Robbie walk that stage and get his diploma. I hugged him when it was over and told him how proud I was. He thanked me for not letting go. My case study turned out not to be the rule...he was the exception...