New Edited Charles Again for Critical Incident

He had the most beautiful, piercing, catlike eyes. He struggled valiantly with words. His stilted vocabulary shrank to infinitesimal proportions, and I believed him to have few words with which to express himself, especially when I asked him a question during class. He was quiet and respectful with a stillness about him which made me wonder what he was thinking. He was in my sophomore English class. With great effort he struggle to pass and I really didn’t know why. He did not appear lazy, but he didn’t do well on assignments. The only thing about him which caught my attention were his eyes.

In the spring my students created Power Point presentations for their research projects about assassinations in preparation for reading The Tragedy of Julius Caesar. Each time our class went to the library to work on their papers, Charles appeared to be working, but when he turned in portions of his assignment, he had little or nothing written. As the due date drew nearer and he still had nothing competed, I stopped him one day and I asked, “Charles will you meet me for lunch in my classroom today? You have some needs for your research, and I want to talk to you about it. Bring your lunch. See you later.” He smiled and left for his next class. At lunch that day, I gathered my things for lunch and in walked Charles. He looked a little uncomfortable, so I set my things down on a student desk. He sat his things down on another desk next to mine. We ate our lunch together –I shared my chips because I said I didn’t want them, but I really wanted to make friends with him. Finally, I asked him what did he think was the real problem with his research? He shyly whispered, “I don’t know.”

I replied, “I don’t know is not really an answer. Will you try to put into words a feeling about your lack of work?” He just shrugged and his beautiful eyes mirrored his internal pain.

A feeling of panic coursed through my body. I thought to myself, “How do I get his attention? How do I show him?” I prayed a small prayer of deep supplication – Lord please give me wisdom. I don’t know anything about the needs of this child, yet he’s waiting on an answer. (If anyone ever wants to argue about prayer being removed from school, I could carry my own in that debate. As long as there are teachers and students, prayer prevails.) I thought to myself. What would I do if I wanted to know something about a topic about which I have no prior knowledge? I could send him to the library then I could eat what was left of my lunch in peace. I could suggest he get on the internet at home and then I could feel as he was responsible for his own work. Wait, I don’t know if he has a computer. I could ask for the advice of another teacher and get back to Charles in a couple of days when I had a better answer. All of these things were options, but Charles was waiting on an answer now – not in a couple of days. I looked behind Charles at my bookshelf of garage sale purchased books which I hoped one day would come in handy. Today seemed like the day. I went to my shelf and got this big book of 20^th Century Occurrences. As I lifted the hug book from the shelf, I had immediate doubts about its ability to help, but I had to start somewhere. I asked him, “Charles, do you know anything about your topic?”

He replied with more force than I had ever heard from him, “I don’t even know where to look!” I was astonished. I thought I had taught and shown and modeled methods of research. Somehow it didn’t connect. How could I have worked so hard with such poor results? My professors in college said that kids don’t fail; teachers fail students because they don’t meet the students’ needs. So, I sat beside him and we looked in the index for his topic. I don’t even remember what his topic was. Suddenly, he jerked his head around, looked me straight in the eye, and grinned the biggest grin I have ever seen. His eyes gleamed!. He said is that all there is to it?

I said, “Is that all there is to what? We simply looked in the index. At that moment, a memory hit me like a ton of bricks.

I remembered being in his shoes and my sophomore English teacher saying, “just take notes from the source. Don’t write everything down. Then write your research paper.” I remembered how helpless and lost I felt. If she would have sat with me for a few minutes, when it was obvious I did not understand, I think I would have comprehended more about what I was supposed to do. However, twenty-five years after my experience, Charles’ synapses fired; his dendrites connected, and he knew what he needed to do. He matured before my eyes!

After that day, his grades increased. He passed sophomore English. He never failed another high school class. Recently, he graduated from college. I see him from time-to-time. His eyes are still catlike and piercing, but now instead of being a timid non-speaker, he is a quiet, articulate young man with a future before him. It was nothing I did. I just happened to see the miracle unfold in front of me. I am glad I paid attention to his needs.