The Light Came On
After my verbal lashing, he simply said, “Miss Walker, I like you fine. It’s just that English ain’t never been my thing. I think it’s boring and a waste of time. I figure it’s a good chance to get a nap before gym. I need my rest to play good.”
Shaking my head, I searched for something inspiring to say. Poetic, inspirational messages danced in my head, and then finally I said, “Well, Gilbert. I’ll give you a good reason to pay attention in my class. You’re never going to graduate if you don’t, and I’m going to write you up every day that you breathe hard.” I exhaled and grabbed my throbbing head.
Day in and day out for the entire first semester Gilbert came in and enjoyed his rest before gym class. I did as I promised and wrote him up every now and then, to no avail. I gave him extra homework that he didn’t do and kept him for detentions. Of course he never showed up. I even wrote his name on the board followed by a long succession of checks. Nothing seemed to work with him.
One day the light came on. I decided that we would have a class spelling bee. My department head had originally asked me to choose the best spellers from my college prep class to participate in the school spelling bee. It was assumed that no one from Gilbert’s class would even be in the running. I thought, however, that they should all enjoy the chance. Something magical happened as Gilbert continually spelled words correctly throughout the entire proceeding. It finally came down to the smartest and prettiest little girl in the room and Gilbert, standing there in his faded jeans and ragged T-shirt. I called out the most difficult word of the contest yet, and the little girl answered incorrectly. I looked at Gilbert and he looked at me with panic. I prayed over and over in my mind, Please, God, let him get it right. He started to spell the word. He did so slowly and hesitantly. I couldn’t stand it. Finally, the moment came and I pronounced him the winner. The whole class cheered as he strutted across the front of the room.
I told the department head that Gilbert would be in the school spelling bee. She couldn’t believe it but accepted the news with grace. Of course, Gilbert didn’t win the school spelling bee, but that didn’t matter. He was there. His mother came to watch and had even bought him a new suit of clothes to wear for the special occasion. Pictures were taken by his mother; and for the day, Gilbert was someone special. The truth is he was all along.
At Least He Wasn't Sleeping
Gilbert never slept in class again. Instead, he began talking incessantly throughout every lesson that I attempted. Somehow it didn’t bother me as much anymore. Every now and then he would complete a homework assignment or actually pass a test. I argued with him at times as if I were a child myself competing for attention. There were days when every nerve I had was worn down by him.
The last day of school came. As the bell rang, all of the children ran from the room including Gilbert. I sighed a huge sigh of relief and sat at my desk for a moment to enjoy the silence. Catching my attention from a glance was a little sheet of notebook paper torn off and folded over. It said on the front, “To Miss Walker.”
The inside message simply read, “I have enjoyed being in your room this year. I think I even learned a thing or too.”
After a refreshing summer, I returned for another year. I walked into my classroom to get ready for the day and there, already seated, was Gilbert. He said, “I’m gonna be in your class again. I asked the assistant principal if I could and she said yes.”
I adorned a fake smile and said, “Oh, that’s great.” The new year proceeded much like the last with a long string of warnings and detentions, mostly for talking. At least he wasn’t sleeping in class.
With each new day our relationship as teacher and student grew into one of mutual respect and friendship. Every time he did something bad he gave me his sly little grin, and I just couldn’t bring myself to be harsh with him. Instead, I stayed after school tutoring him and helping him pass my class and his other classes.
Every Child Worth Loving
Near the end of the year, I became engaged and knew that I was going to be moving to a new town. Gilbert came every day of post-planning to help me pack up all of my belongings to begin another life far away.
He said on our last day together, “You’re the greatest teacher I’ve ever had. I probably won’t ever like English again because nobody does it as good as you do.” I gave him another one of my motivational speeches, except this time I spoke from my heart. I encouraged him to go on and do great things. I knew he was capable of so much.
Every year since, I began the school year saying to myself, “Well, who is going to be my Gilbert this year?” I would laugh and always go on to meet his replacement.
Eight years after leaving Gilbert’s school, I talked to one of the teachers. My first question was, “What ever happened to Gilbert?”
She began by saying, “Well, he never liked English again, but he did pretty well in school. He had some hard times, though, because he couldn’t break himself away from some of his friends that were drinking and doing drugs.” After a long pause, she continued and revealed to me that Gilbert had died in a wreck just a few weeks before he could graduate. His pregnant girlfriend was in the car with him, but, fortunately, she and the baby were fine. The child was born and named after him.
The news shook me terribly. I wonder if Gilbert knows that he touched my life more than I touched his. He taught me that even the most unlovable child is worth loving. With such a great age and cultural difference, we had become friends. On my next year of teaching I started a new tradition. Instead of wondering who my next Gilbert would be, I spent those few seconds in prayer before any of the students arrived. I asked God to help me love all of my students and to teach at least one person one thing. I held my hand in the air as if toasting and said aloud, “To Gilbert.”
Excerpted from Stories for a Teacher's Heart © 2002 compiled by Alice Gray. Used by permission of Multnomah Publishers, Inc. Excerpt may not be reproduced without the prior written consent of Multnomah Publishers, Inc.
(“To Gilbert” by Carol W. Mardirossian. Carol lives in Georgia with her husband, Zavain, and her son, Michael, where she teaches high school English.)
