FALL 2009 Synergy 9
everyday occurrences, this imaginative performance struck a chilling link into the reality. It’s hard to say, but one of these kids might end up actually doing something like that. I died three times that day. Something that I learned very quickly in St. Louis was that the kids simply don’t respect or listen to people my age. The first time we met the principal, she guaranteed that we would never be left alone with the children. I found that statement promptly abandoned, and whenever those moments arrived, chaos broke loose. It would come to the point where I just had to sit them all on the carpet and make sure they didn’t kill themselves. I did everything I reasonably could to get those kids to listen to me, but there would always be one or two that made the rest of them freak out. I still wonder what age I have to be in order for the kids to see me as someone “grown” rather than as one of their peers. This is not to say that the kids were absolutely well-behaved when the teacher was around, however. The kids had an elaborate system of methods that they used to distract themselves, especially when they were in trouble. The distractions could range into any variety of small machinations: slipping foot out of a sandal, playing with shirt, putting head in hands, dropping pencils, scratching. Anything and everything was used to pull attention away from the here and now. These were the tiny things that I became accustomed to during my time at Lexington. The so-called grand transformation that I had undergone was revealed to me in one of my final days. I was by myself, setting up a bunch of different stations for a school-wide game day. As I was working, I would occasionally notice things that I thought might improve the organization and effectiveness of the learning games. For example: when I noticed two tables were too close together, I spread them apart; when I saw the stations organized in the middle of the gym, I moved them along the walls; when I noticed the piano bench near a station, I flipped it over and put it out of reach. Each of these adjustments were a kind of preemptive attack against distraction and mischief. I wouldn’t have known any better at the beginning of my time in Lexington. In other words, my experience in the classroom had granted me with a certain “sixth sense” that alarmed me when a situation or setup might be wired for exploitation by a group of goofy kids. I wouldn’t have even noticed this transformation myself until a teacher passing by said, “Good idea! Now you’re starting to think like a full-time teacher!” It understood then that teaching is an art of execution and planning. Almost every minute of every day must be planned out. It’s a taxing, thankless job. I crashed to sleep after nearly every school day. I came to know my parents even better than before. I had experienced a fraction of their stories first-hand. To make a career of this must have truly been a labor of love. At this moment, I would like to share the list of my student’s names.
I tend to use the words “kid,” “children,” and “student,” so a lot of the humanity gets lost. This was my class: Tiye Hyler (really intelligent and the only girl), Kendryck Cotton (smart, but misbehaved), Terrance Davis (the class clown who could talk with the best of them), Debryant Davis (no relation to Terrance, mohawk), Kristopher Crawley (what more can I say?), Martez Freeman (really nice kid almost to a fault), Marlon Allen (skinny, hilarious, I finally understood about 80% of what he said at the end), Arthur Leonard (smart, but cried a lot), Trosodas (smart too, but really REALLY bad, never got his last name), Psalms Lee (Teacher’s daughter, older than the rest and not really in the class.) Ms. Charita Lee was the teacher (might be misspelling her first name.) I, Zarren Kuzma, was the lowly helper. So I should have feared St. Louis. Yet I did not. I look back now and see how little I’ve done. I am nothing but a blip on the radar in the lives of these kids, and I can’t help but ask myself: What did I really accomplish? I won’t be able to recognize them in ten years. I have no clue where they’ll be. Will they be in college? Will they be on the streets? Will they be dead...? Most of the kids left so fast that I didn’t even get to say goodbye. And so I’m left with this paradoxical notion that I have done something and nothing at the same time. I think of those kids a lot, almost everyday. It’ll probably be like that for the rest of my life. I think of them, and I think of the world, and I can’t help but feel downright sad and downright afraid. u