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bedroom unnoticed, smoking as much of the joint

as I could get down before having to hand it off to

Matthew, who I knew would not give it back.

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Standing on the chipped concrete steps in my

teacher clothes, I knew I still looked more like a

cop than a teacher, having often been mistaken

for such, even in school. I knocked on the

plexiglass storm door. The inner door was open,

and I could see three adults, two men and a

woman - all under 25 - sitting in various spots in

the living room. When I knocked, two of them

looked up at me for a second and looked away.

One of them spoke to the young man sitting in

the corner. He was busy counting a large stack of

money, and there were several other stacks on the

table in front of him. Next to the money, I could

see what appeared to be bricks of marijuana, but

I could not be sure. Directly in front of me (on the

coffee table just inside the door) was a row of

blunts: large marijuana cigarettes wrapped in a

cigar shell.

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The young woman closest to the door waved me

in without a word.

“Hi, I’m Greg Love, Deondre’s teacher. Is his

mom at home?” I asked politely.

“You Deondre’s teacher for real?” asked the

woman who had waved me in, caressing her

pregnant belly.

“Yes ma’am,” I replied.

She smiled a wide, gapped-tooth grin, “My name

Tamesha. I’m Deondre’s sister. Momma aint

home right now, but she be back in a minute if

you wanna wait,” she offered.

“That’d be great. Thanks a lot.” I stood to the

side of the door, waiting to be asked to sit or to be

introduced to the other people in the room, but

no one spoke. The young couple on the couch

just stared at me through deeply stoned eyes.

Trying not to look at the obvious mounds of

marijuana on the kitchen table and the stacks of

cash beside them, I looked around the small

room. It was cluttered with baby toys,

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newspapers, fast food bags, pictures and cheap

paintings leaning against the walls. To my right

sat a large projection television nearly as tall as

myself. In front of it on the floor lay an old

dissected VCR and a PlayStation. To my left, just

inside the door, was a large glass aquarium in

which lay a huge ball python. Lamps with bare

light bulbs sat on TV trays, strewn around the

room. The room and the surrounding rooms that

I could easily survey were tidy but not clean.

The young man in the corner looked up from his

counting. As he wrapped the stack of cash in his

hand with a rubber band, he spoke at last: “You

Deondre teacher?”

“Yes Sir, I’m Greg Love.” I extended my hand to

him as I stepped toward him. He leaned forward

and shook my hand in several complicated, yet

familiar, motions. His blank expression evolved

into a half smile.

“Tony,” he said squarely as a means of

introduction. I recognized the name, and I knew I

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was speaking with Deondre’s older brother, the

man of the house.

“What’s up? We aint ever had no teacher come

by here before.” The young man sat back in his

chair, staring me directly in the eyes.

“Deondre’s been having some trouble in class and

I was hoping to talk to his mom. . .” Before I

could finish my sentence, Tony stood up and

yelled for Deondre.

Deondre appeared sheepishly from an unlit

hallway off the main room, his head held low.

“Good afternoon Sir.” I greeted him cheerfully.

“What’s this about you causing trouble in

school?” Tony demanded.

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, his head still down.

“Boy you better answer my question right. What

the hell you been doin’ at school?”

Deondre stood still and silent.

Tony looked from Deondre to me. “What’s he

doin’?”

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“There’s quite a bit really. He’s been very

aggressive with other students, he’s not doing his

work, and several times he’s tried attacking me.

I’ve been calling, but I couldn’t get a hold of

anyone; that’s why I’m here.” I explained in my

most teacher-like fashion.

Tony considered my words and looked as if he

was about to speak. Instead he erupted in a fury

of violence, attacking his younger brother.

Deondre cowered under the abuse, as I instantly

regretted speaking to Tony. Images of Bobby

flashed through my head. Pain and anger swelled

in my mind. It was not my place to intervene, and

I tried to keep my irritation to myself.

Deondre was helpless on the ground, but Tony

continued his tirade and his beating.

In too-familiar breathlessness, Tony stood and

asked me if there was anything else Deondre was

or was not doing.

I stood firm and answered with my common

courtesy, “No Sir.”

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“Go get your homework and get it done, NOW!”

Tony commanded his brother. Less than half his

brother’s size, Deondre stood up and moved back

through the darkness from which he had

appeared, and I heard a door close.

The two silent observers on the couch never

moved during the outburst. When Tony sat back

down, he offered me a seat.

“So you come ta student’s houses all the time?”

Tony asked as if we had just been introduced.

“All the time actually. I’m sorry I didn’t call first,

but I couldn’t get through. Deondre’s a good kid.

He’s got a good heart. We just have to find it.

He’s got a lot of anger that he’s holding inside,

and right now he’s acting it all out at school.” I

repositioned myself in my chair and made myself

at home. It seemed I would be there a while.

“You come ‘round this part o’ town all the time

too?” Tamesha asked with a glazed stare.

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“Yes I do. I’ve got friends all over this part of

town,” I replied and spun my finger in the air

indicating the neighborhood.

“Like who?” Tony asked in a disbelieving tone.

I rattled off a list of names he was sure to

recognize. “I used to live on this side of town a

few years ago before I was a teacher.” The names

had an obvious effect on Tony’s disposition. He

stood again and offered me some Kool-Aid. I

thanked him as we drank our purple drink

together.

The young man on the couch finally made a

move, as Tony and I talked over our drinks.

“You wanna get high man?” the young man

without a name slurred.

“No, thanks man, I’m cool,” I cocked my head

and held my palm up like I was stopping traffic.

“I don’t know when my mom’s gonna get back.

I’ll tell her you came by if you got somewhere to

be,” Tony offered kindly.

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“I have the time if you don’t mind me hangin’

out. I really want Deondre to know that I’m

serious. It’s really important to me that he

understands that I care enough to spend the

time,” I said sternly.

“That’s cool, man. We just chillin’ anyway.

What’s your name?” Tony asked pleasantly.

“Greg Love,” I smiled, unsurprised that he didn’t

recall my name.

The storm door creaked open, and a large

middle-aged woman stepped into the room to a

cheerful welcome. Almost in unison, all three of

the residents called, “Hey momma.”

“Whose Jeep is that in the,” momma began,

stopping short as she noticed me sitting in the

corner across from Tony.

I stood up confidently and introduced myself. She

was kind and welcoming.

“Have a seat honey; I’ll be right with you.” She

turned to Tony and quietly asked him to move his

stuff so she could sit down.

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“Where’s Dee?” she asked Tamesha.

“He in his room,” she replied.

“Dee!” His mom called from the chair Tony had

been sitting in.

Deondre appeared quickly, holding a book and

some papers.

“Hey momma,” he said uncomfortably.

“What’s your teacher doing here honey?”

“I, I wa’n’t doin’ my work and…” his voice

trailed off.

“And what honey, tell your momma, Dee.” Her

voice was reassuring and very kind. Her honest

motherly concern broke through his front, and he

looked at her, his face full of disgrace.

“I was wrestlin’ in class and… I tried to hit Mr.

Love, and he restrained me.” His voice was soft

and embarrassed.

“Is that true?” She asked me, sounding

displeased. I wasn’t sure if she was upset with her

son or me.

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“Yes ma’am, it is. Michelle and Renee tried to

call to let you know, but they couldn’t get a hold

of you. They offered to come by earlier, but I told

them I’d come by myself since we hadn’t met

yet.” I was rationalizing, thinking I had to justify

my presence and my actions.

She sat up and looked sadly at Deondre. “Dee

you know better. Mr. Love, I’m sorry if he caused

you any trouble. Dee, go get your books and

come sit here at the table and finish up your

homework.” She sat back in her chair and took

off her shoes.

We talked for a long time, as Deondre completed

his homework sitting between us. She told me of

her troubles, financial and medical. She opened

up about Deondre’s social and school history,

information that wouldn’t be found in any file.

He’d had a less-than-easy life, including

witnessing his grandfather’s death in a farming

accident. His father was in and out of his life, and

now his brother was his father figure and

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disciplinarian. She never mentioned the drugs or

the money that had been laid out before us when

she had entered the room. The money I had seen

was not part of her economic situation. I learned

later that Tony’s business was his own, and that

his mother would not accept his money.

As I left with Deondre’s homework in my hand,

his mother welcomed me back anytime, saying

her door was always open for me. I was pleased I

had come and felt a new connection with

Deondre. I drove home contemplating all that

had happened. Thoughts of the beating kept

Bobby weighing heavily on my mind.

Factoring in my newly acquired knowledge, I

changed my approach to Deondre. I spent more

time with him and concentrated on our

relationship. The school days following my visit

were quiet and peaceful. Deondre had been an

impetus for disruption in the class, and his new

attitude had a calming affect on the class. His

schoolwork had improved along with his

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behavior. For weeks this pattern continued. I

visited his house frequently to provide positive

updates and solidify the relationship between

home and school.

Then came a gradual but noticeable decline, first

in appearance, then schoolwork, and finally in

behavior. I went immediately to Deondre’s house

after school on the day I had to restrain him. His

mother was home, and she was not surprised by

what I told her. She explained in more detail the

extent of her financial circumstances: she was on

the brink of being evicted, the water had been

shut off a week earlier, and the electricity was due

to be cut within the week. Her situation was too

familiar. There were resources available to her,

and I left promising that I would do what I could

to find them for her. Her bills were

extraordinarily high, and it would cost a couple of

favors to pull off what I had in mind. In my car I

called some friends, Michelle and Renee first. I

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told them what needed to be done, and they said

they would make some calls themselves.

The next day at school, I sent Michelle and

Renee around town visiting churches and

charities, making deals, and calling in favors. By

the end of the day, arrangements had been made

to meet nearly all of Deondre’s family’s expenses,

including groceries. The one account we could

not clear was a nearly $300 phone bill. None of

us knew anyone with influence at the cell phone

company. While home visits were easy enough for

us to make, we all appreciated the true necessity

of a phone, especially with children in the house.

I took out my checkbook and wrote a check for

the full amount. Michelle and Renee objected to

my decision, but I wouldn’t listen. With

instructions for them to pay the bills, then visit the

house to inform Deondre’s mom that all her bills

were paid (but not to tell her I paid anything) I

waved the ladies away.

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Deondre returned to school the next day clean

and happy. He handed me a piece of paper he

said was from his mother. It was a heart-

wrenching thank you letter with prayers of thanks

and praise. There was also an invitation to stop

by the house. I passed the letter to the ladies and

asked if they would make some follow up calls to