Ju Rang

Used to be, I'd cry at the movies, cry at Hallmark commercials, and cry when I wasn't getting my way.

Room 212, you've changed all that.

Now, let me just say, I don't walk into my classroom, bawl all day, and then go home. My kids and I laugh a TON, and there are plenty of days, yesterday included, when I get so frustrated and irritated, I'm ready to quit my job and go be a cashier at Home Depot.

And yet? Oh, these babies. They do make me cry.

A couple of days ago, a young sophomore in my journalism class asked if he could stay after school to make a phone call. Towards the end of class, I had noticed Ju Rang analyzing several pages of a phone bill, and I'd wondered what the heck that was all about. Turns out, the bill was long over-due and he needed to speak with the folks at Verizon to find out why they were sending notices to his parents for a cancelled account.

Ju Rang's parents don't speak English. The folks at Verizon don't speak Korean.

When Ju Rang should have been outside kicking around a soccer ball, he spent over 30 minutes muddling through a phone bill. He never once lost his patience. (I confess, several times, I almost yanked the phone away from him and yelled into it, "He's told you! The account was cancelled! Stop harrassing this family!") Ju Rang was unceasingly polite, and when he finished his call, he invited me to his church and then went outside to find his best friend Elmer.

Now, Elmer, he's another story. This sweet kid is a dedicated swimmer in a sport that's not exactly conducive to families without a lot of financial resources. Yet there he is, six days a week, both before and after school, at an aquatic center he has to take a bus to in order to practice and compete. Matt and I watched him at meet couple of weeks ago, screaming, "Go Elmer!" as he swam the the first heat of the 200 breaststroke.

He lost. Elmer's parents were not there.

The next day, Elmer asked, "Miss? Will you and Mr. Forbes come watch me swim at sectionals?" Yes, Elmer, we will come watch you swim at sectionals. You got it.

I was late to pick up Matt the other day because Mariana needed to stay after school to catch up on her work. Well, that's what she said she was doing. In reality, she was watching YouTube videos on a laptop and giggling like a second-grader. I wasn't in a hurry to leave because I know her home is a shithole (her counselor's words, not mine). When I finally told her I needed to scoot, her face fell. But then she perked up and said, "I liked what we did in class today. It was kind of exciting. I'm going to do the assignment."

I don't cry in front of them. But when they leave, I pace around my classroom, sometimes throwing things, sometimes staring out the window, and often -- far too often -- getting really angry. I find myself thinking, over and over, "For heaven's sake, could someone please give these kids a break?"

I cry. And then I go home and heat up some veggie burgers for my sweet husband.

This is room 212.