Heartbreak & Disappointment

Every new semester as a teacher brings with it hope & anxiety, excitement & fear.

The return to school in the winter, after a short, relaxing & busy break, is always hectic: grades are due, the classroom needs reorganization, schedules must be rearranged & class rosters must be examined to get a sense of how the deck has been reshuffled.

This winter's beginning is no different. Administrative mistakes were made, schedules were flawed, I was unprepared & feared a lack of essential energy, but as rosters were perused reality sent its jolt: they will be here--tomorrow!

As a result of a series of administrative errors, my first teaching hour of the day changed into a creative writing class that was under-enrolled: 12 students. This would be perfect for a serious workshop for confident & interested writers. This not the case for a 9:15 am high school creative writing course. This could be bad. Furthermore, as I looked at the course's roster, I recognized only a few names. Then, there was one I knew. As a first semester sophomore he was in &out of class and in & out trouble. I never had to remove him from my class, but he was forever on the verge of a blowout.He was volatile; he was interesting; he was smart; he was a ticking timebomb. He made it several weeks, struggled through a novel & two essays before he had to leave school. I never heard from him again. The following fall semester he was back, but he was not enrolled in my course. He quietly made it through the semester, apparently without passing his courses. Here he was now, an 18 year old high school student on my creative writing roster. I was apprehensive. I had students put into my creative writing sections before who did not want to be there and made the course suffer, but I had also witnessed the emergence of a few amazing writers who found themselves as artists almost overnight by simply allowing themselves the licence to create. I was not sure which would be the case this time: hope & anxiety.

The first day of the semester: he attended class. He was polite, calm, & he filled out the paperwork, listened to my opening speech, read the first poem & seemed like a part of the community. Excitement was winning. Day 2: He did not show up for class. On Day 3, as the course began to fill up as counselors dumped the defectors, exiles, and latecomers into the course, I saved his seat for him. On Friday, day 4 of the new & hopeful semester, he did not show up for class.

This morning, I received a link to a newspaper article from a friend who also worked with this young man. The article reported that an 18 year old man had been found guilty of armed robbery, among other crimes from the past summer. He would not be coming back to class. I didn't know what to think as I read the article, but my heart was breaking. It is not guilt that makes me wish I could have done something more for him a year ago. It is disappointment: no more anxiety, no more excitement, just disappointment. This is not the only way things could have turned out; this was not unavoidable.

I have decided to keep saving his seat. Not because I think he will return and not in his honor, but as a reminder that the chances you get sometimes slide right by you while you try to figure out whether to be hopeful or afraid.