English class in 7th grade is not about writing a five-paragraph essay or diagramming sentences (sorry ELA teacher friends, but it’s just not in 7th grade). It’s about communicating effectively, reading and thinking critically, finding your voice, and being able to tell your story. It’s a tough and awkward time for everyone.
I want to share one of my former student’s stories. It won’t ever be finished, and if it were a five-paragraph essay, it probably wouldn't be an "A" paper, and that’s why I’m sharing here.
I spent my lunch yesterday talking with three of my students from last school year. We were standing in my classroom talking about one of their former classmates. I could tell they were holding back and they were not sure what to say, so I said what do you remember about class last year? They began to talk and open up.
One of the kids pulls out their phone and shared a video from our class last year- they said they used to record and take pictures all the time because they wanted to remember this class. In my head I thought, maybe these kids are onto something with how they use their phones.
Then I heard his voice and his laugh, I had to turn around and compose myself. I turned back around and one of the kids hands me the tissue box and the other says, “You know what he told me Mr. Storm? That you changed his life. He really liked you.”
I have been thinking about that and trying to understand that. I knew Emmanuel for about four months. Is it possible to make an impact on a life in that short amount of time? I just don’t know.
When Emmanuel walked into our class of 20 or so - a class with amazingly strong “personalities” the dynamics immediately changed.
I was going over dedications and getting into poetry. I was sharing a story about Lauren Hill- a 19 year old college basketball player diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor. We talked about being dedicated and what it means to do something for others and how life is so short, but we can accomplish a lot if we try. (ELA teacher friends, I'd call that "irony").
Our assignment was for each student to pick a moment that they would hopefully experience in their lives and dedicate it to someone else- to think beyond themselves.
Emmanuel looked at me and said, “I’m not doing that Mister”. I sat down and talked to him about the assignment, and he looked at me, one Air Pod in his ear, and just shook his head. I felt like he was thinking “Who is this guy?”- but probably not in those exact words lol.
I made a comment to him about his sneakers as we sat there, he smiled and laughed. I don't remember exactly what I said and was about to make a comment about my own sneakers and the bell rang and he left. I thought to myself, “This is going to be tough, but I like him- his smile and laugh certainly will take him far. The kids got a great personality.“
The day went on and about an hour later there was a knock on my door. I was in the middle of teaching, and I walked to the door and opened it. Emmanuel stood there, in his red sweatshirt hood up, both Air Pods in smiling- and said, “I did my assignment” I said to him aren’t you supposed to be in math class? He pulled his hood off, smiled and handed a folded paper to me. He told me to read it.
I stood in the hallway with him and read the letter below. It was his story to share but he’s no longer here to do that. When I finished reading it I just wanted to hug this tall, lanky teenager standing in front of me. But that would be awkward lol, so I stood there, put my hand out, dapped him up and put my hand on his shoulder and told him “Thanks for sharing this man…I’ve only known you a few hours, but I’m sure your brother would be proud. I can’t wait to see what you do while you’re here. Now get back to math.” He put his hood up, his Air Pods back in, cranked up his music, and I watched him walk down the hall.
We had many, many talks and moments over the course of his short time in our classroom.
And then came the day where I found out he would be leaving. He came into the classroom and told me he was heading to another foster family, I didn’t know what to say. I could tell he was upset, but still trying to act tough.
I asked him where and he said “Whitehall.”
I said “That’s awesome! You're lucky. My wife’s a teacher in the high school there. You look her up when you get there. She’ll take care of you- she’s not into sneakers like me, but she’s pretty cool. Not many people get to experience two "Storms" in their life!” He just looked at me with a smile and shook his head. He walked out my door and I would never see him again.
Yesterday, my former students and I talked about him and how life has no guarantees. It’s fleeting. They laughed at the videos from our classroom, they cried and so did I. I think my tears were for so much more than a tragic accident that took the life of a 15 year old boy.
Maybe it’s not the teacher that can change a life? Maybe, just maybe, it’s the students that can change a teacher’s life?
Rest easy Emmanuel.
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