Georgia
For two years, I taught a dropout prevention program at Greenup County High School in Greenup County, Kentucky. It was funded by a federal grant and was aimed at students at risk of dropping out of school for any reason. They received an English credit for my class, and there were students of all types. There were girls who had had babies, and whom we had coaxed into returning to school; students who were about to fail senior English, and for whom my class was the saving grace; students who should have been in various special education classes, but whose parents refused to recognize their need. Some of my students brought in absence excuses that read, “In court,” or, “Personal.” These kids knew my friend the local judge as well as I did. My students in Drop-out Prevention were hand picked, bottom of the barrel in the opinions of many.
So, now to Georgia. Georgia was of average intelligence. When she came to my class of ten students, she was dirty, with unkempt hair and the same, none too clean jeans and rumpled top daily.
My class included English language skills and literature, but it also included lots of motivational work and I made the class upbeat and fun. I taught study skills, and worked with their social skills. (I asked such questions as, “Kevin, why do you think Mr. Stevens should give you a break on your, not so great, history report if he hears that you call him the fat old bastard behind his back?”) I also worked with grooming and self-esteem. I encouraged lots of laughter and sharing. The students found it hilarious when they asked me what I thought of the singer on the album cover one of them had brought in. I responded, “Well, she’s pretty enough, but her make-up is a little freaky for my taste.” It was Prince. They knew lots that I did not, and it made me real for them. I was in the middle of a divorce and they knew far more than I ever would about family dysfunction. While I did not discuss my personal life, they knew to be compassionate, especially Georgia.
As the months flew by, Georgia gradually changed. She washed her hair more regularly. The jeans were cleaner, then there was another pair. She wore some make-up, and she smiled. I was so proud of her, and told her so at every opportunity. She beamed whenever I complimented her. Her grades improved significantly, and she told me that she planned to join the Army after Graduation. I had talked to the class about the college and technical training opportunities the Army offered, and that these and other Army benefits could open many opportunities for them. Georgia did wonderfully. She flourished. She had been failing some classes, and had brought every grade up to at least a C. She was clean, and her clothes were clean. I was proud of her and of the transformation that I had inspired.
About a month before Graduation, I noticed her appearance and her demeanor deteriorating. I asked her delicately, and she demurred. I told her, “Georgia, I loved your hair when you had just shampooed it, and pulled it back. It shone like golden silk!” She couldn’t join the Army. She had to help her mother with Bible School. Her mother needed her at home. Georgia graduated and stayed home. I had failed.
