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everyone who had assisted us the day before to

thank each of them in turn, from us and the

family.

I drove to the house after school and was greeted

this time with a deep embrace from Deondre’s

mom in the driveway. She pulled me inside and

cleared a chair, so I could sit down. She sat across

from me, as she had when we first met. Through

her tears, she declared that God had sent me into

her life, but I convinced her it was school and

nothing else. Her faith would not let her accept

my rationale. As we sat there, Deondre came in

and plopped onto a chair at his mother’s side.

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I sat with them longer than I ever had. Deondre’s

mother and I traded personal stories until I had

her laughing her glorious hearty laugh. It seemed

like as good a time as any to propose an idea I’d

had since I saw Tony’s “fathering” techniques.

I started in, “Ma’am, my goal is to get Deondre

out of the behavior program and back into his

regular school. I’ve seen that he can do the work

and he can control his behavior; he just needs the

right motivation. He and I have been doing some

great work at school, and I’d like to see that

continue.”

“Me too. You’re the first man teacher he’s ever

had that he seems to respect. He really likes you,

you know?” She said with a smile.

“That’s great. I know he doesn’t have a lot to do

on the weekends, and you have too much to do. I

was hoping the three of us could make a contract

that would motivate Deondre to work his way out

of the program as well as give him an opportunity

to earn some money.”

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She was hooked, “What do you have in mind?

Anything that will help would be great. I’m out of

ideas, and I really don’t want him making too

many friends in this neighborhood.”

“We’ll make a contract that says for every positive

week Deondre has at school--working toward

leaving the program--I will bring him to my

house that Saturday. We’ll work together in the

yard or on the car, whatever needs to get done.

I’ll pay him $10 an hour and he can work as little

or as much as he’d like. I’ll pick him up and drop

him off.” The more I spoke the more she smiled.

When I was done she looked at Deondre and

asked, “What do you think Dee?”

“I’ll do it. I can do that. Is it real money?” he

asked through his smile.

Looking at him sternly I replied, “Yes Sir, it is. As

long as it’s real work.” Then I turned my eyes to

his mother who hadn’t yet given her thoughts.

“I think it sounds great. He’s always asking to go

somewhere on the weekends, but Mr. Love, I just

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don’t have that kind of money. If you’re wil ing to

do it I support you 100 and 10 percent!” Her

words were serious and sorrowful.

“Believe me, I don’t have that kind of money

either. But I work two jobs, and I’m willing to

invest in this.” I said frankly.

We spoke for nearly an hour, hammering out the

details and making up a timeline for Deondre to

earn his way back to his regular school. Sitting at

the kitchen table, I wrote it up; we all agreed on

the terms, and then each of us signed the

contract. Shortly afterward, I left the house with a

renewed sense of purpose.

School became calm again, and the days sailed

smoothly by. Deondre kept our contract quiet,

just as we’d agreed. For safety I made sure

Michelle and Renee knew the entire agreement.

They convinced me to inform the administration.

This turned out to be a good idea. The principal

called Deondre’s house and confirmed the

agreement. When she put the phone down she

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looked across her desk. Her apprehension was

obvious, but her confidence in me won out.

“If this works out I’ll expect you to take all of the

kids home, you realize that?” she joked.

Saturday came and I drove into Deondre’s

driveway. He was ready when I stepped up to the

door.

“Good morning Sir. We’re going to be working

outside today. You may want to bring some

clothes to change into after we’re done if you

want to still see that movie,” I said to him as he

opened the door.

He ran away back to his room and reappeared

quickly with his bulging book bag. I stood in the

living room and exchanged pleasantries with his

mother who was sitting in her chair.

“You sure you wanna do this?” she was talking to

me.

“Yes ma’am, he’s earned it. We have to uphold

our contract.” I responded politely.

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“If he gives you any trouble you have my

permission to whip him,” she warned, giving a

smile to her son.

“I’d never hit a child, but thanks. I don’t think

there will be any problems.” I shrugged off her

comment and moved toward the door. I looked

back to her, “You have my number in case of an

emergency?” I asked, double-checking.

“Yes I do, right here in my phone,” she said,

happily waving goodbye with her pink phone in

her hand.

After spending several hours working side-by-side

in the yard, Deondre asked if we could stop. We

packed up the tools, washed up, and I handed

him two twenty-dollar bills. His face lit up with

joy.

“This mines?” he cheered.

“What you should say is, ‘Is this mine?’ and yes

Sir it is. But now whatever you want to do you

have to pay for.”

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“Can we get some hot wings, please Sir?” he

asked with uncertainty.

“Of course. Let’s get out of here.”

We drove to a local restaurant that specialized in

chicken wings. Deondre was overwhelmed as if in

a dream world. Wings were his favorite food, and

presented with so many choices, he didn’t know

what to do. He stuck to what he knew and

ordered a dozen as hot as he could get them.

While we waited for our food, he told me that this

was his first real restaurant experience. He said

the only restaurants he’d ever been to were the

fast food places scattered around his

neighborhood.

A few months went by this way. Deondre worked

harder each week, and each week we had fun

adventures that he’d never been able to do simply

because of money. He got stronger and more self-

confident as he worked to earn his own money.

Then the trips after work became less frequent as

Deondre started saving more and more of his

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money. School became a pleasure for everyone as

I spent my days teaching, not disciplining. When

the semester ended, Deondre had earned his way

out of the program and back to his regular school.

There was no long goodbye. Deondre and I did

our best not to cry; I’m sure for different reasons.

Our contract had expired, and he was moving on.

Not only would his commanding presence be

missed in class, but also I had become used to our

Saturday mornings together. He had grown so

much since our time together began. He was a

young man now, with confidence and discipline.

When Deondre walked out of the building for the

last time, I walked him to the door and shook his

hand.

“I’m proud of you Sir,” I spoke still trying not to

cry.

The young man radiated confidence as he shook

my hand firmly, “Me too.”

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There were unfamiliar sounds coming from our

building that got louder as I got closer. Running

in from school, I rounded the corner into the

doorway to see one of the ladies from the first

floor kneeling before a cardboard box beneath

the stairs. In the pale darkness, I heard the small

cries more clearly. They were loud, but I was

mesmerized. Moving forward, I saw the woman

cleaning a litter of kittens. She turned to me with

a rag in her hands. The woman was caressing the

kittens as gently as I’d ever seen anyone touch an

animal. Animals in the Village were not prized or

even common. There were a few stray dogs

around that we often had to look out for when we

were out at night, but not many people kept a pet

of any kind.

The woman repositioned herself and smiled as I

moved closer. I walked over to the cardboard box

on the floor. I bent down and looked in

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amazement at the newborn kittens. Without

asking, I reached in and attempted to pick one

up. As gently as she cleaned her new brood, the

woman took my little hands and told me that I

shouldn’t pick them up just yet, but I was

welcome to sit and watch. I sat for a few moments

longer then thanked the woman and made my

way up the ominous stairwell.

Each night and day I looked forward to seeing the

woman and her kittens. I stole precious minutes

from each day after school to spend with the kind

woman and her crying kittens. After a few days of

watching at her side, the woman handed me one

of the tiny kittens. Nervously holding the kitten in

my hands, I knew I had never felt anything so

soft. Transfixed, I sat down on the grimy floor. I

held the kitten up and rubbed my face all over its

furry body. I nuzzled my nose against it and

breathed in the sour milk smell. Ambivalently, I

handed the kitten back to the woman, thanked

her, and ran quickly up the stairs. That night, I

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hid in my room with my hands held to my face

smelling the sour milk scent of the kitten, reliving

the feel of the tiny animal.

Each day after school, the woman let me hold

another kitten until I had had a chance to hold

each one. Holding the kittens made my days pass

more quickly and my nights more bearable, as I

dissociated from my nights with Bobby to my

time with the kittens. Each day, as I continued to

visit the woman, I saw the kittens growing. The

time we spent together became more important

each day as I found a kitten I favored most.

One afternoon there was a delicate knock on the

door. Debbie opened the door, and the cat lady

from the first floor stood there with her hands

close to her chest. I rushed to Debbie’s side. The

cat woman briefly explained that I had visited the

kittens for weeks and that now they were old

enough to feed themselves. She proffered Debbie

my kitten. Standing at Debbie’s knee, I looked up

at the woman and Debbie alternately. Few words

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passed between them before the woman knelt

down and handed me my favorite kitten.

Debbie closed the door and looked at me with

pity in her eyes.

“I don’t know what your father will say about this

so you keep the cat in your room until I have a

chance to talk to him.” She reached down and

touched the kitten with her fingertips.

“What are you gonna name it?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” I was too ecstatic to think.

The kitten was purring in my ear when Debbie

turned me around and shooed me toward my

room. I moved slowly with the kitten held tight

against my face, rubbing my head back and forth

against its soft gray fur. During a forward swipe of

my head, the kitten nibbled my nose with its tiny

teeth. I giggled and pulled it away from my face.

Wandering toward the bedroom, I stared into the

little sparkling eyes in front of me and felt true

happiness.

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Matthew was in the bedroom playing with our

Spider-Man Colorforms on the floor. Until that

kitten was placed in my hands, the Colorforms

were my favorite escape in my world of the tiny

apartment. I placed the kitten on the floor, and it

stumbled around the cluttered room. Matthew

crept up beside me, and together we followed the

kitten around as it explored the room. The kitten

meandered over every inch of the bedroom, with

Matthew and I following it on our hands and

knees. Soon the three of us were meowing,

purring, and scrambling around the room.

In my excitement, I scuttled to the door to get

Debbie’s attention. I wanted her to see the kitten

swatting a Webble Wobble around the floor.

When the door opened, the Webble Wobble

came sailing past my feet, and directly behind it

came the kitten. The kitten ran faster in the wide-

open space than I’d seen it move in the bedroom.

Matthew and I chased it through the apartment

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while the kitten chased the wobbling toy. I called

for Debbie to watch.

As the kitten ran around her feet I witnessed

uncharacteristic pleasure on Debbie’s face. She

got down onto the floor with her two sons and

played with the kitten. She was more adept at

catching the wily little creature than we were.

Debbie lifted the kitten, rose up onto her knees

and stroked its bushy coat gently before handing

it back to me. I jostled it in my hands as it

squirmed to break free. Without thinking I let the