MY OUTLOOK in the classroom, and I suppose toward life in general, is an ecological one. Each party contributes something, for better or worse. A child misbehaving may indeed be a messed up kid, but it takes two to tango. This same child picks up cues and messages from his teacher and peers. Some of these messages may lead, directly or indirectly, to behavioral problems.
Another crucial factor in a child's life, of course, is the home scene. I made it my business to visit each of my student's homes at least once during the school year. My trip to Phil's house was a real eye-opener. From the outside it looked as if a bomb had been dropped on it. The porch and walls were rotting away. Shutters were dangling precariously on one hinge. Whatever paint that was left on the old wood was badly peeling.
I knew from Phil's school records that he had several brothers and sisters. Most were from different fathers. He often told me he wasn't sure who his dad was.
As I approached his house, I was shocked to see a "condemned" sign glued to the front door. There was no doorbell, so I knocked hard. I promised myself right then and there to never again complain that my family's living quarters lacked central air-conditioning, wall-to-wall carpeting, or needed two-and-a-half-baths. Suddenly, I was real satisfied with my humble abode.
A large, sweet-looking woman came to the door.
"Hi," I said, trying to be as polite as possible. "I'm Dave Lazerson, Phil's teacher."
"Oh my, Mr. Laz," she said. "Phil talks so much about you."
She seemed a bit nervous about my visit. I guess it was pretty stupid of me to come unannounced.
"Is everything all right?" she asked. "Did Phil do something bad?"
"No, no," I smiled. "Everything is just fine. In fact, I was just driving by and I thought I'd stop and tell you how well he's doing."
"Oh that's good," she said. "That's real good."
She paused. Neither of us knew what to say next. Then it occurred to me that she didn't want to face embarrassment by asking me into the house. I felt awful for doing this to her.
"Well," I said, bailing us both out. "Is Phil here? Could I speak to him for a minute?"
"Sure, just wait a moment," she said. "I'll go fetch him. Would you like something to drink?"
"No thanks. I just came from school and had something there."
She turned and called Phil's name.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," I said.
"It was so nice to meet you, Mr. Laz," she replied. "And please keep me posted on my son."
Phil seemed both surprised and nervous about my home visit. I tried to put him at ease by presenting a relaxed demeanor. Of course, I didn't say anything about his house. Subsequent to mommas and family members, the crib, (home), was next on the ribbin' list. I witnessed many a fight that started over a line like, "Man, your crib is the city dump!" (An aside: I appreciated the clever lines the guys used to rib one another and often had a hard time resisting laughing out loud. But I couldn't help cracking up one morning when one of my students said, "Hey, I saw you kicking a can down the street and when I asked what you were doing, you said 'moving!'")
We sat on the porch steps and talked about our scout troop. I offered him the job of patrol leader, which he accepted somewhat reluctantly. A few minutes later while driving home on the expressway, I was deep in thought about my visit to the other side of the tracks.
In spite of the potential for awkward moments, home visits normally proved enlightening and helped me better understand my students. So much so, that I made them a mandatory requirement for any student teacher who worked with me. In fact, I also made them a prerequisite for any university student who took my graduate courses. In spite of the difficulties involved, no one ever denied the value of these experiences.
About a week later, while teaching class, I got a phone call from the office telling me that Phil's brothers were here to see me.
"Looks like they're returning the favor," I told the secretary.
"Pardon me?"
"Nothing. Just talking to myself. Tell them I'll be there in twenty minutes when I have a break, okay?"
Phil spoke highly of his brothers, particularly the one who lived in North Carolina. He held a black belt in karate and according to Phil's stories, had won several competitions. I was eager to meet them.
Twenty minutes later I was standing in the main office introducing myself. The first brother looked about twenty-five to twenty-eight years old. He was my height, but a lot huskier. He had a short, bush-type Afro and was quite muscular. The other brother seemed quite a bit younger, perhaps in his late teens. He was shorter than me and on the thin side. Both of them talked with their eyelids three quarters shut. They were obviously stoned on something other than Tylenol.
I decided it might be better to talk somewhere other than the main office, so we proceeded across the hall to the teacher's lounge and lunchroom. The younger brother had difficulty sitting down and basically stumbled backward into the chair. I brought drinks and nosh to our table. They were pleased with this move and said, "Hey, all right!"
For a few minutes, nobody talked. We just ate and drank. When it seemed like the right moment, I told a few jokes.
They laughed that boisterous, drugged, somewhat out-of-control, out-of-place laugh. I chuckled about the entire scene – we were a sight to behold. A long-bearded Orthodox Jew swapping stories with two tough, inner city dudes who were high as a kite, in the faculty room of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community School! The other teachers in the room pretended not to notice, which made the sight even more absurd. The efforts of a playwright with the most bizarre imagination couldn't possibly have conceived a crazier scenario.
In a strange way, I felt I had more in common with Phil's brothers than with my teaching peers. Perhaps we were both social outcasts of sorts, living on the fringes of society. We silently acknowledged our respect for one other, something that was felt, and needed no verbalization. Then, too, because I am a product of the 60's, (with the drugs, rock scenes, and politics), I wasn't at all intimidated by their behavior. I had been there, and they knew it.
"Are you the famous black belt that Phil's always talking about?" I asked, looking at the older brother.
"Naw," he answered, starting down at his plate. "He's down in Carolina."
He looked up at me with eyes still half-closed. "But if you ask me, man. I'll tell ya. All that karate and martial arts junk is a waste of time. I don't care how fast some dude is. What I carry with me will stop anybody dead in his tracks. Know what I'm saying?"
"Yeah, I know whatcha mean, man," I responded. "But you know, with me it's a different story. Having kids around the house, I can't be carrying one of those. Shoot, with my luck, I'd wake up one night and find my two-year-old pointing that thing at my head."
The younger one just about fell out of the laughing.
"Yeah," the older one said and grinned. "You gotta watch yo hide with those kids."
I noticed that some of the other teachers in the room smiled, while others looked at us uncomfortably. A few gratefully headed back to their classes because their break was over.
"Anyhow, Mr. Laz," the older brother said, "We just came by to tell you a little about where Phil is coming from. I think it's important, you know?"
I nodded in agreement.
"His living situation ain't easy," he continued. "The house is in bad shape. They got rats in the house, man. Rats! You don't know what it's like to sleep in a place where you got to worry about a damn rat waking you up."
He paused and looked me in the eyes. I didn't say a word.
"His mom is on welfare, and you know, there's lots of kids running around that house, too." He went on, "Phil's real father's been long gone, ever since Phil was born. Now, I'm not trying to make any excuses for him. But, hey man, it's important for you to know about this."
"Yeah, I know. I know. I appreciate you coming down here to speak with me."
The other brother never said a word. He just nodded his head.
"How's my kid brother doing?"
"He's doing real good," I said.
"Be honest with me."
"Seriously," I leaned forward on the table. "He's doing well. He tries hard. I just hope we can keep him going at this pace. With hard work, he'll be all right."
"You ain't jiving me, are ya?"
"No jive," I said. "He's doing fine. He's a good kid."
"Well, lookit. If my kid brother ever gets outta line, you just give me a call, and I'll fix his jaw, ya hear?"
"Hey, no problem," I said. "But I don't think I will have to call for that.
"Ya see, if I let him slide back, he goes nowhere. Like I say man, just let me know and I'll fix his jaw."
They started clearing off the table. "Don't worry about the table," I said. "I'll get it after lunch."
We exchanged handshakes in the hall.
"Thanks for your time, Mr. Laz. Appreciate it."
"Any time, man," I said. "Take it easy."
I stood in the hallway a few moments, reflecting on the conversation. On the one hand, I was amazed about their concern for Phil. On the other hand, I knew that the older one was quite serious about his "jaw fixing" policy. I believed that this particular method wouldn't really help Phil, and certainly not if I brought it about by calling for big brother's assistance. For the time being, Phil trusted me and enjoyed the class. His jaw was doing okay.