We were just talking about Ray at lunch today, the other teachers and I, as in "Whatever happened to Ray?"
When I first started at the school in January, Ray was the least of my problems. Ray didn't act out, he didn't start fights, he didn't make threats. Even though about two out of every three days he came to school too high to hold his head up, he wasn't an immediate problem that needed my attention, unlike all of the other, louder, more demanding immediate problems in my class. He was quiet, he just sat in the back corner with his eyes closed. Occasionally, I'd pass Ray in the hall and say, "Hey, how's it going?" and every once in a while he'd answer me and we'd share a few words, but most of the time he'd just kind of half smile, like he was saying, "Hey, thanks for paying attention to me, but I'm way too high to talk to a teacher right now."
I had a soft spot for Ray. I'd never send him home, no matter how little work he did. He just sat quietly back in his little corner. It was easy to tell that Ray knew how to stay out of the way, that his home life (like that of a lot of our students) was something he desperately needed to stay out of the way of. I figured sending him home would be the worst thing I could do for him, and probably wouldn't help his drug problem any. As long as he sat quietly, Ray got to stay.
He had chronic truancy issues, and so Ray's dad decided to "get involved" in his son's education. He started by calling us every day to make sure his son was in school. If he was not, he would yell at the receptionist as if it were her fault, and say he was going to "kill that little fucker" when he got home. Then Ray's dad started showing up at our school looking for his son. He was a stooped, dirty, mean-looking guy, and quite obviously drunk all the time. I could hear him bellowing vulgar threats at our social worker all the way down the hall. "Why can't you stupid fucks keep my kid in school? You're just as worthless as he is!" Once this became a regualr occurence, we agreed as a staff that we would never send Ray home, no matter what he did. We would never send him home to that.
Ray's attendance got worse as spring came. The warmer weather meant he didn't have to stay at home, but he didn't necessarily have to come to school either. It got so that all of the bigger problems than Ray that we had in our school crowded him out of my thoughts. Sometime in the middle of March, I was rifling through the student files for something or other, and I came across Ray's file under inactive. "Ray's inactive?" I asked our secretary. "He went to treatment," she replied. Good for him, I thought.
It's been a long time since March, and to be honest, I haven't thought about Ray much at all. Today's lunchroom conversation was a "Whatever happened to..." free-for-all, and most of the students they were talking about left before I started working there. Then Sarah said, "Hey, whatever happened to Ray? I wonder if he's out of treatment yet."
Two hours later, after the rest of the teachers had gone home, I was helping Michelle (the secretary) finish up some crap. I looked up, and there was Ray. He still needed a haircut, his clothes were still dirty, but he looked a little bit farther from the brink than the last time I saw him.
"Ray, it's so good to see you! How are you doing?"
"Eh."
"Are you done with treatment?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"You guess?"
"Well, it ain't like this is gonna be the last time. This isn't the first program I've been in. Nothing's really gonna change, you've gotta see that."
And the thing is, looking at him, I could see that. He knows it. He can see his own future, because he's already lived it. Ray goes away to treatment, gets clean, and goes back to a house with a drunk bastard of a father and a user of a mother, and he knows he won't stay clean. It's a fact, as clear as any of the facts we teach in school. He knows he'll try at first, but then shit will start to get to him, his dad will be on his case, knock him around a little, then knock him around a lot more. Sooner or later, Ray will start using again. Sooner or later, either the drugs or his dad will be the death of him. He's known it all his life.
How can I fight against that? How can I make any progress against a current that strong? I guess that's the hardest part of my job. Sometimes I have to realize that most of my students are doomed, and there's nothing I can do about it. In a perfect world, Ray would have a chance. I wish I could make that perfect world for him, but it's beyond my abilities. There's nothing I can do for Ray. Maybe, though, maybe I can work towards making that perfect world for the children of the children of the children I'm teaching. And if not for me one of them, maybe in a less perfect world, would have been Ray.
When I first started at the school in January, Ray was the least of my problems. Ray didn't act out, he didn't start fights, he didn't make threats. Even though about two out of every three days he came to school too high to hold his head up, he wasn't an immediate problem that needed my attention, unlike all of the other, louder, more demanding immediate problems in my class. He was quiet, he just sat in the back corner with his eyes closed. Occasionally, I'd pass Ray in the hall and say, "Hey, how's it going?" and every once in a while he'd answer me and we'd share a few words, but most of the time he'd just kind of half smile, like he was saying, "Hey, thanks for paying attention to me, but I'm way too high to talk to a teacher right now."
I had a soft spot for Ray. I'd never send him home, no matter how little work he did. He just sat quietly back in his little corner. It was easy to tell that Ray knew how to stay out of the way, that his home life (like that of a lot of our students) was something he desperately needed to stay out of the way of. I figured sending him home would be the worst thing I could do for him, and probably wouldn't help his drug problem any. As long as he sat quietly, Ray got to stay.
He had chronic truancy issues, and so Ray's dad decided to "get involved" in his son's education. He started by calling us every day to make sure his son was in school. If he was not, he would yell at the receptionist as if it were her fault, and say he was going to "kill that little fucker" when he got home. Then Ray's dad started showing up at our school looking for his son. He was a stooped, dirty, mean-looking guy, and quite obviously drunk all the time. I could hear him bellowing vulgar threats at our social worker all the way down the hall. "Why can't you stupid fucks keep my kid in school? You're just as worthless as he is!" Once this became a regualr occurence, we agreed as a staff that we would never send Ray home, no matter what he did. We would never send him home to that.
Ray's attendance got worse as spring came. The warmer weather meant he didn't have to stay at home, but he didn't necessarily have to come to school either. It got so that all of the bigger problems than Ray that we had in our school crowded him out of my thoughts. Sometime in the middle of March, I was rifling through the student files for something or other, and I came across Ray's file under inactive. "Ray's inactive?" I asked our secretary. "He went to treatment," she replied. Good for him, I thought.
It's been a long time since March, and to be honest, I haven't thought about Ray much at all. Today's lunchroom conversation was a "Whatever happened to..." free-for-all, and most of the students they were talking about left before I started working there. Then Sarah said, "Hey, whatever happened to Ray? I wonder if he's out of treatment yet."
Two hours later, after the rest of the teachers had gone home, I was helping Michelle (the secretary) finish up some crap. I looked up, and there was Ray. He still needed a haircut, his clothes were still dirty, but he looked a little bit farther from the brink than the last time I saw him.
"Ray, it's so good to see you! How are you doing?"
"Eh."
"Are you done with treatment?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"You guess?"
"Well, it ain't like this is gonna be the last time. This isn't the first program I've been in. Nothing's really gonna change, you've gotta see that."
And the thing is, looking at him, I could see that. He knows it. He can see his own future, because he's already lived it. Ray goes away to treatment, gets clean, and goes back to a house with a drunk bastard of a father and a user of a mother, and he knows he won't stay clean. It's a fact, as clear as any of the facts we teach in school. He knows he'll try at first, but then shit will start to get to him, his dad will be on his case, knock him around a little, then knock him around a lot more. Sooner or later, Ray will start using again. Sooner or later, either the drugs or his dad will be the death of him. He's known it all his life.
How can I fight against that? How can I make any progress against a current that strong? I guess that's the hardest part of my job. Sometimes I have to realize that most of my students are doomed, and there's nothing I can do about it. In a perfect world, Ray would have a chance. I wish I could make that perfect world for him, but it's beyond my abilities. There's nothing I can do for Ray. Maybe, though, maybe I can work towards making that perfect world for the children of the children of the children I'm teaching. And if not for me one of them, maybe in a less perfect world, would have been Ray.
zaksmith:
man
whaa:
You're doing so much more than most, and the kids you do help make it will hopefully be a positive influence for the future. Good luck, I admire the hell out of you.