This is why I do it...

Making parent phone calls is such an unpredictable thing. Even when the reason for your call in innocuous or even positive, you just might get someone with an axe to grind...on your conveniently presented head.

This is how I felt when I picked up the phone to make a pretty standard parent contact one morning. I recently tested my 5th grade students for instrument aptitude and, as happens sometimes, I encountered a little girl that didn't score well on anything. I'll call her Alice for convenience. The phone call was to her mother to discuss Alice's options for instrument placement.

Alice had come to us from down south, blown in with most of the other Katrina/Rita refugees during that time. Her first days in class were obviously painfully unbearable for her. She only nodded to my attempts to draw her out...never looked me straight in the eyed. A mousy little dishwater blond with cokebottle glasses, she mostly sat quietly and stared at the walls...or the floor...or her lap. I retreated from my usual porceline smashing bovine social approach and left her alone. I reasoned to myself that she needed to settle in but in reality I had no more tricks for drawing her out. I did have the forthought to get her a recorder, a book, and a partner to help her with the class routine.

Now here we were, about seven months later. Alice had come out of her shell a little, made a few friends. I didn't do anything special nor anything I don't do with any of my students; correction for wrong behavior, praise for right behavior, teach, reteach, and encouragement to get her going.

As I introduced myself and explained my reason for calling, I also prepared myself for possible confrontation. After all, I was telling her that her daughter would have too difficult a time playing the instrument she longed to play and in my professional opinion would be better suited on something else. I came to the end of my explanation and waited for what seemed like a long silent minute.

"Whatever you think, Mr. Grace. Alice just wants to be in the band. She loves you. She talks about you all the time!"

It was my turn for a long silence. "R-really?" I managed, a little confused.

She went on to tell me that she had adopted Alice and her older sister and younger brother. Child Protective Services had picked the children up living in a car under a bridge. There mother was an addict who often left them alone or in the care of whatever boyfriend was funding the "party." There was obviously abuse of many types going on. When they were picked up, the younger brother was in a diabetic coma.

For the first couple of years they were with her, Alice would only speak to her adopted mother. She would also hide under the table when the doorbell rang. Her older sister was legally blind and younger brother was declared retarded with no hope of advancing academically. Like many parents with special needs children, she fought with her district in the south for services but did what she could with all three.

When the hurricane came, they were forced from thier home, the only security these children had ever known. They spent eight hours on the road north before finally stopping at our little town. I don't know the reason they came to McGregor, but I like to think God had his hand on this little family.

She explained to me that Alice was afraid of most men, but talked often of me, my classroom, and our Principal. She had formed friendships with some other girls and was excited about being in the band. Her sister was going to receive an award at the High School Academic Banquet. Her brother had passed his TAKS and was proceeding, on grade level, to the next grade. Alice herself, I found out later from her teacher, was to receive the fifth grade award and passed all of her TAKS. Alice's mother sang the praises of my district, my school, and me for twenty minutes. I was stunned. I stuttered a few inadequate gratitudes and said goodbye.

Sitting in the quiet of my office, a lone tear roled down my cheek...for the three lives begun so horribly...for God's infinite wisdom and caring expressed through one woman...for God's grace in turning my own mundane little classroom into a place of healing. The veil was drawn back for a moment and I gazed into the eternal. Past the chairs and books, past the lesson plans, beyond my forty-five minute world into the heart of a child. It humbled me...and still does.

This is why I do it...