A friend of mine, El Grego, introduced me to American Idol (AI for those who know) years ago. I didn't really pay much attention until then as I found the best show for talent search was, well, Star Search. Watched hours and hours of Star Search growing up.
I just spent an hour of my life watching the AI finals: Duo of the Davids. And, it was pretty enjoyable. I don't watch AI every week or every other week. I may watch one or two episodes during the season and keep track of it through the recaps the next day.
It is so funny to watch the audience, read the posters (this post's heading), and spend more time picking apart the judges' comments rather than the performances. But, this evening I was reminded of defining moments. Moments where you discover a part of you, moments you never forget, and moments that will define you far into the future. One of which I wanted to capture~
I was the only teacher in a locked-down child psychiatric unit that was a short-term facility in the inner-city of Chicago. Our work was to assess and stabilize the children as soon as possible and then transition them to situations where they could flourish. Latrice, a 13 year old with a broken front tooth, was one of the most challenging students I had ever had the pleasure of working alongside. Every moment was a battle. Every minute you were on your toes hoping that the next thing you said or did would spark something for her.
She was ready to pick a fight with everyone about anything. Most days she scared me with how intensely her hate struck each of us. That was her armor.
Latrice, the youngest of 10 children, seemed to have a hardened criminal mentality, but she was really a caring person. Her mother had very limited cognitive abilities. Latrice would hoard food from her own meals and then give it to her mom when she visited.
After a couple of weeks, I built enough trust with her to allow me close enough to ascertain her reading level. Latrice could not read; her literacy prowess was that of a preschooler. Any interaction before that established trust was a fruitless power struggle--a physical, emotional, and verbal struggle.
It was on a Tuesday afternoon. I had managed to work her schedule so that she was with me when I had fewer students in the classroom. It was her last day before transferring to a residential facility. She wasn't happy about it. She struggled with transitions and experienced a rough morning on the unit. Thankfully, during school she finally agreed to listen to a book on tape. (The only literacy activity I could engage her in without a fight.)
She chose Madeline and listened intently to the story, really enjoying herself. Somehow she had crossed a bridge between her inner-city, homeless upbringing to the adventures of a child in France.
As the tape ended, there was a song in French recorded at the end. As the last minutes of her time with me ticked away, she began to sing softly along to this song. Surprisingly, her voice was devoid of hate, devoid of pain, devoid of anger, devoid of posturing. Her voice falteringly pronouncing the foreign words was that of a child. Her affect was so peaceful.
That was my defining moment. To have the patience and unfailing desire to provide the space and opportunity for a child to be a child.
