The Kid I Never Knew

I remember that his name was Steve.  He was about five foot ten with long unkempt brown hair.  He had a full beard when he entered my class a sophomore.  He stood out right away because he didn't talk.

A student not talking usually wouldn't merit a separate blog entry, but Steve and the situation he was in are different.  First, he was in my Humanities class.  The class was a discussion class. It was in the class description, "Students in this class are required to take part in discussions on topics that they choose."  Half of the grade came from class participation in discussions.  Second, Steve didn't just take the class once.  He took it all three years he could take it!  (Freshmen were not included in the class.)

So, let me take you back to the first year with Steve.  As I did with all Humanities classes, I made sure that everyone knew the names of everyone else by the end of the first week; I held myself to that goal as well.  I required that they know to whom they were responding to make the discussions more valid.  It was the usual go around the room and learn a couple of things about the person so that you could remember the name.  Steve's spot was to the rear and to my right, so it was near the end of the exercise.  When I came to him, I called him by name, "Steve, let us know about yourself."  He nodded a swift no and indicated with his hand to the next person.  Because I didn't know anything about him, I went home saying that I would return to him later.

The next day I started with him, and again he indicated that he wasn't going to talk and indicated toward me that I should go on.  Mild protests erupted around the room, "Why did I have to do it if he isn't going to," "What's wrong with him?", and "That's not fair."  I remember that I diverted the situation with the collage project.  This allowed students to represent themselves in the room with pictures and words.  I followed this up with the students seeing if they could match the collage with the student.  They got right to work.

When we did the identification activity, they all got Steve's.  It was a black piece of paper with nothing on it.  Because this was actually expressing himself, I gave him credit.  It was the only credit he got all semester.  I became concerned in the second week, so I went to look at his permanent record.  He had moved from another town, so we still hadn't received it yet.  In fact, we never got it that year.  With nothing to go on, I checked with his other teachers.  Just like my class, he never said a word.  But in those classes he took the tests and quizzes, but he never did homework. For me all students were to write a journal of what happened in class and their responses.  This was turned in weekly.  He never did it.   A conference with his parents was called but no one showed.  I called and left messages at his home, but never got a response.

Humanities was a one semester course.  That meant that each semester I would get a new group of students.  Before I finished that semester with Steve, I pulled him aside often to see if I could help him in some way.  He always shook his head no.  Each time he looked me in the eye for a couple of seconds and then walked away.  It pained me, but I had no choice but to give him a failing grade.  Even then, I called home with no response.

The next year I saw his name on my list and went to the counselor to find out what was going on.  There was a waiting list to get into this class, so no one was allowed to take it again, at least at that time.  When the number of sessions expanded, then students could even audit the class.  The counselor smiled at me when I asked why Steve was on my list.  He walked to his desk and pulled out a class election form.  It had Steve's name on it.  It only had one class circled on it - Humanities.  He could see that I was bewildered, so he explained, "Steve never really commits to anything, but the one thing he indicated that was important to him was your class.  I thought you wouldn't mind since he seems to have latched on to you."

How the hell did he latch on to me?  I couldn't even tell if he was even listening!  I didn't mind that he was in the class, I just wanted him to get more from it.  So when I saw him entering the room on the first time, I welcomed him and said that I looked forward to hearing from him this year and reading what he had to write.  He gave me that look and cocked his head to the side which was non-committal, but better than the no from the year before.

That class was energetic and more than willing to take a topic to its summit.  In addition, they truly wanted to hear from everyone.  They challenged Steve.  Occasionally, he would give a nod that would head to a yes.  More often than not, he shrugged which really set off a couple of the students.  For my part I still tried to reach parents, find his permanent records, or anything that could explain why he wouldn't speak or write.  Nothing.  I put his counselor on it.

By the end of the semester, except for shrugs and nods, I knew nothing more about Steve.  Yet there was one thing that I started to notice - He paid attention to everything that was going on.  Once again, I had no choice but to fail him.  When I told him that, he just shrugged and patted me on the shoulder.

When his name showed up again in his senior year, I wasn't surprised.  I didn't question it.  In fact, I did my search for permanent records and family right away.  We finally established that the phone number provided was bogus.  Homeless services were contacted.  He gave them only the information that he could provide by shaking his head.  The fact that he wore almost the same clothes every day could have been a clue.

Nothing really changed in Steve's senior year.  He was always there.  He never said a word.  He never turned in a journal.  There were only two notable differences.  He actively listened and watched what was going on in the class.  And, on the last day, he turned in his journal as he left the room, smiling at me as he went out the door.  Of course, I had to read that journal!   I hurried back to my desk, opening the notebook as I sat.  I saw his name and below it one word, "Thanks."

I didn't give him a failing grade this time, after all he did two of the requirements: he wrote in his journal and he listened in class.  I was so excited that I made a point of being in the practice area for commencement to talk to Steve.  He wasn't there.  I looked everywhere.  I saw his counselor and asked if he knew if Steve was going through commencement.  He smiled,"He picked up his diploma this morning.  He was really excited.  I asked what he was going to do now.  He actually replied.  He said, 'I'm going home."

I asked him where home is.  He grabbed me by the shoulders ,"By now you know that the response that I got from him was a shrug."  To this day I wonder what ever happened to Steve, just like I wonder about all former students.  But Steve was different, I still need to know who he is.