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Her scowl turned to confusion. “Yeah,” she said

and dropped her guard.

“I have one just like it at home. My brother made

it for me.” I extended my hand, “My name’s Mr.

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Love and I prefer ‘Yes Sir’ to ‘yeah’. Why don’t

you hop in at the back of the line?”

“Yes Sir,” she replied as she gripped my hand,

holding it tightly as she stepped from the bus.

I waved to the bus driver and moved on to the

front of my line of students as the bus drove off. I

raised my arm and directed my line to class. I

found a desk and a set of books for Kendra and

waited patiently until all of my students had

arrived. When everyone was present and seated, I

introduced our new student, and we proceeded to

go over the rules. The boys had already noticed

her. She was a tall, pretty young woman, and the

boys were unsettled by her presence among them.

The day progressed along at a slow clip until

Michael became frustrated with me and exploded

in anger. Before I responded to the boy’s

outburst, Kendra was out of her seat and had let

her own anger explode across Michael’s face. She

stepped back and stood facing the room of

stunned boys.

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“Any a’ ya’ll got anything else to say about Mr.

Love?” Her voice was threatening and ruthless.

The boys shrank in their chairs without a word.

“Kendra, I know you’re new, but in my class you

are not allowed to get out of your seat without

permission. Please go back to your seat.” I said

coolly.

“Yes Sir. Sorry Sir.” She said smoothly as she

strode back to her seat.

The pace of the day hastened after Kendra’s

unexpected infusion of energy. Before I knew it, it

was time for lunch. Everyone lined up, and the

boy closest to Michael started teasing him about

being hit by a girl.

Michael’s response came nervously, “Yo, she

strong, G. I didn’t see
you
get up in her face when

she was in front of
you
.”

“Shoot, she aint stronger than me. I’ll kick that

girl’s ass.” As the words came out of his mouth

Kendra’s fist smashed into the back of the boy’s

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head. The boy collapsed to the ground, holding

his head in loud sobs.

“Sir, you can not use profanity in my class,” I said

to the huddled mass on my floor. “Please Sir step

back into line. Or if you’d prefer I’ll call someone

to come and get you if you’re too injured to

move.” I tried to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

The boy stood up and took his spot in line. I

stood in the hallway by my door as my assistant

led the line out of the class. When Kendra was in

front of me I held my arm up to stop her as the

line proceeded down the hall.

I spoke quietly, “I appreciate you being so

cooperative this morning. You’re a very

intelligent young woman. Your work is nearly

perfect. However, I can’t have you beating up my

class. At this rate, there will be no one left in class

after you’ve sent them all to the hospital. Does

that make sense?”

“Yes Sir, I was just defending you. These boys are

stupid and need some sense beat into them.” She

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was very confident, and I was surprised by her

maturity.

Though I tried not to laugh at her comment, my

face broke, and I let out a laugh. “Well ma’am,

you may be right about that, but believe me, I’ve

dealt with much tougher things in my life than

these boys. I can defend myself without violence,

and I hope in our time together you’ll learn the

same. Cool?”

Her brilliant smile warmed my soul, “Yes Sir.”

“Cool, let’s get to lunch. This place has a pretty

good cafeteria” I held up my arm in the direction

of the cafeteria, and we walked down the hall,

quietly comparing notes about foster care and

having a mother in prison. As I opened up to her,

she stood up straighter and held herself with even

more confidence.

Kendra turned out to be a perfect addition to the

class, a foil to the boys who saw themselves as

indestructible and untamable. She was smart,

witty, strong, and unimaginably fast. She

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challenged the boys to do their best, so they might

one day be better than her. The boys rose to her

challenge, and in the process unknowingly

exceeded my own expectations. When they

couldn’t outsmart her academically, each boy

tried and failed to get the best of her in a physical

confrontation. Her fighting style was fierce and

unfamiliar to the boys. She fought with a control

the boys did not know or understand.

After only a few days, she had established herself

at the head of the class. The pecking order had

been disrupted, and the change impacted the

entire class. Because of Kendra’s enthusiasm to

learn, it was suddenly cool for the boys to read, to

study, and to learn. Just as her demeanor

changed the attitudes of the boys, her own

attitude changed as well. As she established her

place among the fold in our nurturing

environment, she blossomed into a whole new

person. Her attitude change manifested into a

personality change. Her usual attire of short black

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t-shirts, too tight jeans, and platform sneakers

adorned with hand drawn graffiti complimented

by extension-filled hair gave way to more modest

casual dress and natural hair. Only the string

cross remained. Privately she confessed her newly

found happiness and the comfort she felt in her

new school.

In the short time she was with us, Kendra’s

transformation was noticed by and commented

on by the students, faculty, administration, and

most importantly herself. She was pleased with

herself and asked me on more than one occasion

if I thought her mother would be proud of her.

Experience with the same emotionally charged

question prompted the impulsive inquiry, “Have

you written to her and told her about yourself and

all that you’ve done since you’ve lived here?”

The question seemed to puzzle more than upset

her. “I write to her all the time in my journal.”

“Yes, but do you mail the letters you write? You

didn’t answer my question. Have you told her

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about yourself, this you, the new you, the calm,

studious you?”

“I don’t know what that last word means, Sir.”

She said flatly.

“Studious, it means hard working as in school

work, as in ‘you are a studious worker in class’.” I

tried to explain in a manner she would

understand.

“No Sir. But I think if I told her that she would be

mad that I was trying to talk over her. I couldn’t

use that word in a letter to my mother.” She

looked embarrassed, so I tried to be reassuring in

my response.

“I couldn’t use that word in a letter to my

biological mother either. She wouldn’t have been

mad but she would have never known what it

meant, and she wouldn’t have thought to look it

up I’m sure. But you know what, you can write to

her and not use that word. Just tell her how

you’re doing, and tell her that you’re happy even

though you miss her. Definitely mention the

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cross.” I pointed to the cross still dangling from

her neck. “You can write in class as a grammar

assignment. I won’t read the letters, but I will

stamp and mail them for you,” I offered, trying to

inspire a connection between the young woman

and her absent mother.

“I have to admit that I’m a little jealous of you.” I

confessed.

“
You’re
jealous of
me
? Why?” Her confusion was

evident.

“When I was your age, I wasn’t allowed to write

to my mother, and I missed her just as much as

you miss your mom. I wasn’t in foster care with

family like you are, and I know that your situation

is not perfect and it doesn’t make you 100 percent

happy all of the time, but you’re with family. The

state decided that I couldn’t have contact with my

biological family when I was in foster care, and to

be honest I think that just made it worse.” My

eyes got wet but a tear did not fall. Kendra’s face

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let me know that she understood what I was

trying to say.

Then she began to cry. Quiet burning tears ran

down her face. I fought the impulse to give her a

hug. The climate of schools had changed so

drastically since I was a kid. Not many teachers,

myself included, felt comfortable hugging

students. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket

and called Michelle on her phone. She was in the

classroom next door, and I asked her to come

over and provide an escape route for Kendra.

After gaining her trust at the outset, I worked

hard and convinced Kendra that Michelle and

Renee were also trustworthy confidants. In our

tiny microcosm we had established a support

network of honest adults that the kids knew were

unconditionally trustworthy. For these children,

honest and trustworthy adults were hard to come

by.

Kendra’s stay with us was brief, yet monumental.

She changed a lot of perceptions, including my

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own. She was my first truly positive,

confrontation-free experience with a female

student in an alternative behavior setting. The

boys had grown to respect and even rely on her

for her academic and athletic skill. If ever I were

occupied with another student, the boys would

turn to Kendra for help without question and

without having to ask my permission. One

morning Kendra didn’t step off the bus, and I

went to the office to see if her aunt had called. I

was duly informed that she had been withdrawn

the previous afternoon after school. I grieved

silently as I walked back to class to inform the

boys. They took the news uncharacteristically

well, as most of them did not deal well with

change. Later it occurred to me that her being

withdrawn after school saved us all a hard

goodbye, and in my mind I thanked her aunt for

her kind gesture.

Several months after she had transferred out of

school, I received a letter from Kendra addressed

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to me at school. I was hesitant to open it since she

was withdrawn so abruptly. Curiosity got the

better of me, and I zipped a pen through the top

of the envelope, ripping through the seal.

Unfolding the single page, I ached with anxiety

before I read it through. Her handwriting was

more elegant and flowing, her writing not as fluid

as I knew it could be. Smiling and relieved, I got

everyone’s attention and read the letter to the

class.

Dear Mr. Love,

I wanted to write to you and the class to say hello.

I like my new school and my teachers are nice. I

am not in an alternative school. I don’t even

know if they have one here. I miss all of you and I

hope I can visit some time soon. I am still living

with my auntie. She got a new job that’s why we

had to move. I have been writing to my mom and

she writes back. My mom gets out of prison soon

and my auntie said she might come and live with

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us. I hope she does. Do you still write letters to

your brother? Is he still in prison?

Thank you for being so nice to me and respecting

me and helping me all the time. You were the

first teacher who was ever nice to me. And the

first teacher I ever liked cuz you always called me

ma’am. I like my teachers in my new school but

they’re not nice like you. We don’t talk about the

same stuff we did but it’s regular school so I guess

it’s different.

Please tell everyone I said hello. They can write

back if they want. You can write back too.

Bye for now,

Kendra

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It was the middle of February in 1979 when

Bobby gave Matthew and me each a dollar and

sent us to the store. Matthew was to buy whatever

he wanted, while I was to buy a TV Guide for

Bobby. He was too high to go himself and high

enough to let me out of the apartment.
Roots: The

Next Generations
was set to air, and Bobby wanted

to know when. We walked to the closest store a

few blocks away. I handed my dollar to the man

behind the counter, as I placed the small

magazine in front of him. Matthew waited by the

door, already drinking his bottle of Malta, a malt

soft drink common among the people of the

Village. Debbie often snuck it to me in place of

real food when Bobby refused to let me eat. The

thick dark drink was filling like a meal, an

acquired taste, but delicious once you had enough

of it. While Matthew loaded his pockets with

candy, I waited for my change. Once it was in my

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hand, I stuffed it into my pocket and headed