By Tom

I got a new kid this week. I first spotted him in the office. He was sitting there next to his mom, who was filling out the new kid forms that we use in our school. So I started up a conversation, asking him where he was from, how old he was; the usual things adults ask kids when they don’t have anything to talk about.

 

Turns out he’s a third grader, and he’s assigned to my class. He started the following day, after I got to learn about him from his file. And from the CPS field officer assigned to his case.

I’ve been thinking about the task ahead of me. And I’ve also been thinking about apples, our profession’s ubiquitous icon.

 

You see, I had the opportunity over the past summer to tour my friend’s apple orchard and apple packing plant in Yakima. I learned exactly how apples get to your house.

 

They start out as blossoms on trees. Trees that are cared for by a farmer and his employees. My friend told me about nights spent out in the orchard, using fires and large fans to keep the air above freezing in order to preserve the fruit. I learned that the trees have to be healthy and strong so that they can spend the summer pumping water and sugar into the growing apples. The trees that can’t do that are removed.

 

My new kid started out back east, a single child living with a single mom. Sometimes she hits my new kid and sometimes she lets him do whatever he wants. She always loves him but she doesn’t always know how. That’s why she’s taking court-ordered parenting classes.

                                             

The apples are picked at just the right time. Then they’re brought to the packing plant and unloaded onto a conveyer belt. They pass through a machine that applies wax to their skin. This makes them look better and increases the chances that they’ll be sold.

 

My new kid started school with a fresh haircut. An eight-inch Mohawk. Shaved along the sides and really tall down the middle. There’s nothing inherently wrong with a haircut like that. It’s purely cosmetic and it reflects his taste and style. But it frightened every one of his new classmates. It presented a barrier. It was not a good choice for a person who wants to make new, eight-year-old friends.

 

The apples go past a group of people who look at them carefully. The rotten ones are thrown away. The ones that don’t look round and perfect are sent to the juice makers.

 

Every kid in America is accepted into the public school system. Even the ones that don’t want to be there. My new kid has been to four schools already, not counting the two months he was home-schooled.

 

The apples continue to a room where another group of people sort them by size. It makes them easier to pack, and apparently the store owners prefer boxes of apples that are consistent in size.

 

My new kid was placed into a second grade class at the beginning of this year. He’d missed a lot of school and his basic skills were more consistent with that of the school’s second graders. But he was a year older than everyone, didn’t like being there and refused to do any work. So his teacher let him sit and draw throughout the day. Then, just before he moved to our school, the teacher began to demand some productivity out of him. My new kid responded by standing on his desk, screaming and kicking at anyone who approached him. The school responded by suspending him.

 

The apples are sold to stores and attractively displayed in the produce section. People buy the best looking ones they can find. They understand that it’s much easier to make delicious pies out of apples that have been grown, packed and brought to market by competent and responsible people.

 

But teachers make pies out of the apples they get, not the ones they picked out. I get to work with my new kid, hopefully for the rest of the year, and try to get him to learn.

 

According to the people who write standards and design tests, we’ve got a long ways to go. I’m not supposed to leave my new kid behind; even though he’s already way back there. At least two years behind in math, a year in literacy. And after one day in my classroom, it’s clear that there are some other things he needs to learn, too.

 

It’s going to be interesting. There will be some conflict. There will be days when I’ll feel like the best teacher in the world. And days when I’ll lose faith. I can’t change the way he came to me. But I can change, and I will change, the way he’s headed. And I can’t wait to get started.