M

I never really wanted to know about a kid before he stepped foot in my classroom.  I didn’t want to have a bias or a preconceived notion as to how a kid will behave, but in a middle school when you teach 8th grade, you will have to cover for the younger grades (many times).  We don’t have subs at my school, and teachers are allowed to be fully human much to society’s chagrin, and we sometimes get sick, so onward we go to cover our people because they will be covering us.  If you know, you know!  

So, I knew M before he stepped into my class as my student because we had battled in 6th grade when I covered, and we had battled in 7th grade when I covered.  And, to be honest, everyone in our middle school knew M.  He had a way about him that made you forgive him almost immediately because of his sheepish grin, and he was just so darn cute.  The counselor put him on our team on purpose.  Our team was strong, and I played the mother figure well, and it wasn’t an act.  I love every kid that walks through my doors as if they were my own children.  One of my best friends, and teacher soulmates was on my team.  He,too, loved big, and is still to this day one of the best, most innovative educators I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.  He often played bad cop with M as he was his football coach too.  I often played good cop with M always telling him how I loved him too much for this behavior or that.  He would give me that sheepish grin and hug me.  “I know Ms. Kinder, you right!”  He would always say.  

As the year went on, we battled M on a near daily basis.  One step forward, and three back.  M was headstrong and his abilities in the form of debate were his strongest.  He LOVED when we had a formal debate in my class.  He came to life almost always winning the debate for his side.  When we worked in collaborative groups, I always made him the ‘leader’ of the group.  He never failed to work hard when I gave him that role.  He took it up with pride.  

One day in February, there were rumblings amongst the kids that there was to be a fight.  Not just a fight, a brawl.  A girl brawl.  We alerted all authority figures that this might happen, and the kids were still determined to fight, and they did.  I was getting ready for 5th hour when a sweet girl came in and said, “Ms. Kinder, they are fighting down by the tornado shelters!”  As a teacher, your instincts kick in, and you run.  You just can’t imagine one of your school babies getting hurt on your watch.  I was the only adult in the vicinity.  I’m scrappy, but I am 5’3, and that is generous.  I couldn’t break it up alone.  I took one look at M because he was there, and I said, “help.”  He sprung into action grabbing the alpha girl and hauling her away to the principal’s office.  The fight subsided because he was there to help me.  M had grown to over 6 feet that school year, and it was light work for him.  We were all shook the rest of the day, the teachers, principals, kids, everyone.  

At the end of the day, with my head in my hands, in walked M.  “Are you okay, Ms. Kinder?”  he asked ever so gingerly.  I had taken my teacher mask off because I thought the kids were well on their way home for the day.  

“I’m really grateful you were there, M.”  I said back through tears.  He hugged me. 

“I will always come through for you.”  He grinned that grin.  I always told him he would make millions one day in his future career because of his charismatic self.  He would laugh.  

“And when you do,” I said, “You will donate money to my classroom because I need new desks.”  He always promised he would.  About a week later, I had promised my basketball kids that I would catch a game.  It was the last of the season.  M was on the team.  He was not as adept at basketball as he was football, but I raced home to get my own kids to head back up to school to catch the games.  They were in 3rd grade and 5th grade at the time.  After the games, we took pictures, and I went to work in my classroom for a minute to get ready for the next day.  A minute turned into an hour and a half later…oops.  IYKYK.  It was 9:30 p.m. and I was ushering my kids into my ever-present minivan when I looked over and saw M sitting on the school steps.

“What’s up, kiddo?” I asked. 

“I always get left places,” he said seemingly to no one.  It was true; we all knew M needed rides home if he ever missed the bus or that he would ride his bike the five miles to school and back if need be.  He squeezed into the minivan and my son was thrilled to have a big 8th grader talking to him about sports.  I already knew the way to M’s apartment.  

“See you tomorrow, baby!”  

“Thanks, Ms. K.”  It wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t the last time he needed help.       

Three weeks left in this particular school year, M made a horrible mistake, and was kicked out for the remaining days of school with promises that he could come to 8th grade graduation if he stayed away.  It was bittersweet because we would be lying if we said it wasn’t easier without his presence in our classrooms and hallways.  His personality was BIG, and so much of our time was eaten up by his ever changing demands and personality.  But it was sad too, because he was making such progress.  His heart was as big as his personality as much as it would pain him to admit.  

I got to see him at 8th grade graduation.  He was thrilled to be there with that big ole grin.  “Please keep me updated on your life, okay?”  I said to him that day.  

“Oh, I promise Ms. Kinder,” he exclaimed, “You were like a mom to me this year.”  The lightheartedness of the last day of school is levity in the souls of educators and kids alike.  

I kept up with M through the years.  He found himself at our alternative school his sophomore year in high school, but kept himself on the right path until this past Saturday.  

He was shot and killed in Oklahoma City.  He was 18 years old.  Never to make all that money or have a family or grow old.  I will attend his funeral this week.  This is teaching.  We lose kids who mean the world to us and to their families, and we mourn.  And we get up the next day to fight the good fight and go hard for kids.  

Teach on, Beautiful Warriors.  The Ms of the world need us.  

-Katie  

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