There's this kid you see. He was a student at my previous school last semester. He and I talked a LOT. I also suspended him several times for various infractions. Still, we talked a lot. We talked so much that some of the teachers teased me about his being my second son. He told me of his parents, his neighborhood, his life, and his friends. I took him home once, bought bus tickets for him, and met with his parents several times. They were generally indifferent to this boy, shrugging their shoulders, indicating there wasn't much they could do. If I wasn't holding suspension over their heads they wouldn't even come to school to talk. He's fourteen years old and even his own parents have given up on him.

Actually, they've done worse than that. He was taken out of their custody awhile back because of continued abuse. He never told me that his dad abused him, but I had my suspicions. His dad was verbally agressive and nothing came out of his mouth that didn't seem like a threat. Try to talk about the fact that "Sam" reads on a 2nd grade level in 8th grade? Not interested. Just don't send him home to me.

"Sam" is in my new school, having transferred over the holiday break. Since that time he has been twice removed from his home for stints in the foster care program. He is an aimless child, seeming totally adrift. He is a chronic behavior problem. He gets into a lot of fights. He lacks boundaries when dealing with other kids. His reading level makes the classroom a struggle for him.

"Sam" won't acknowledge me in the hallways. He will catch my eye briefly, nod imperceptibly, and move on. But it hasn't taken long for our contact to resume at the new school. I walk toward my office and he's standing outside, shuffling his feet and looking at the floor. He doesn't say anything, but when I walk into my office he follows a few feet behind. He settles down in a chair and looks around my office. He picks up the sculpture of the phoenix on my desk and looks at it, and speaks for the first time in months. "What kind of bird is this?" I tell him about the legend of the phoenix and he asks a lot of questions. He notices that my nameplate is the same one from the previous school. He asks me some questions. "How do you like it here?" "Do you still talk to people at the old school?" "Heard anything from Mrs. R."?

He is soft spoken and very polite, nothing like the rowdy, disrespectful boy that teachers often see in the classroom. After awhile he relaxes and begins to make eye contact. He asks about the unusual clock I have on my desk and I tell him that it belonged to my dad. He said, "I heard your dad died. I'm sorry." He asks a few questions about my dad and I answer them.

Then he tells me what has been happening in his life the past few months. The police taking him from his home. Foster care. Going back home. Being pulled out again. Now back with his mother, unclear where dad is in the picture now. I ask no questions, just listen and nod my head. The bell rings and its time for him to go to class. He stands up and shuffles his feet and says, "Mr. S, can you give me a ride home?" I ask why and he says, "I don't think I have a ride and I live about three miles away from here." Apparently he walked to school this morning. I told him to come back and see me later in the day.

After he leaves I pull up his records on the computer and try to call the phone numbers listed. They are all disconnected. The emergency contact is a former neighbor who has moved away and no longer has contact with the family. She asks me to remove her from the computer so, "I can stop getting all these damn calls from schools." What to do? I used to load kids up and take them home all the time. Now its considered a risky thing to do. You open yourself up to allegations that you can't defend yourself from. Still, I hate to see him walk all that way. I waver a little and finally decide that I'll take him home just this once and talk to his mom when I get there. You can't just turn a fourteen year old loose like that and just expect him to find some way home. But at the end of the day he is gone, nowhere to be found. I write his name on my calendar to talk to first thing in the morning.

Can the teachers and I make a difference in "Sam's" life? I hope so. I've seen behind the mask and do you know what? There's still just a boy in there who has been through hell. I know I'll have to discipline him. I also know that there is a potential there waiting to be lit. No one has found the answer yet, but its our duty to try and try some more. Actually, its more like a calling. This is what I do. It is what I'm meant to do. I didn't realize it when I got into education, but its the "Sams" of the world that touch my heart and motivate me. He's infuriating and can frustrate the most well-meaning teacher. Sometimes you just want to give him a kick in the ass.

Sometimes you just want to take him home.
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