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Monica'S Story

Cynthia R. Smith
Burns Elementary School
Charleston, SC

Ayers describes James, whose brother is on trial for murder and has been falsely accused of gang membership. His teacher says, "He's no good today." I wonder if the teacher would have the courage to report to work if her brother were to go before the judge that day for murder? Can the teacher's obstacles with the system compare to one day in James's life?

James reminds me of Monica, whom I tutored in reading. Each day Monica came to me with her thumb planted firmly in her mouth and the hood of her sweatshirt pulled closely around her head. She was ashamed of her dirty and knotted hair and desperately in need of love. She often came to school smelling of urine and that "copper penny" kid smell. Her mother abused her, so she lived with Grandmama who was working and raising five children. Monica had an older brother, but she was the oldest female sibling. Because Grandmama was often ill, the children sometimes had to care for each other, which meant Monica cared for her younger brothers and sisters.

I visited Monica's home and watched as she disciplined her younger siblings and changed their diapers; Monica was six. She was efficient at diaper changing, and I did not interfere with "her job." The diapers, both clean and dirty, were lying about the room. Monica found a plastic bag to dispose of the ones I watched her change, but she wasn't sure what to do with the bag, and eventually hung it on a doorknob. The baby wore a child-size T-shirt turned inside-out. The shirt, stained and worn thin, used to be Monica's, but she "give it to baby cause he got no clothes." Monica was the "Mama" of the home; no wonder she wanted to be babied at school.

Grandmama knew I was coming, yet I was the only adult in the house for over an hour. There was nothing to eat in the house; there was no refrigerator. I brought Halloween candy as a treat, and the children were grateful. The youngest gobbled up the candy nearly eating through the wrapper, then Monica guarded the bag to allow "only a few each." The children were surrounded by filth, and there was evidence of roaches and rodents. Monica's sister was a bed-wetter, and the sheets were heavily soiled. The heat and humidity typical of Charleston added significantly to the urine smell. My son, whom I brought along so Monica could read to him, was red-faced and wet with sweat. I was shaken by the living conditions, but not shocked. I had learned a lot about Monica during tutoring sessions. Now, I had learned so much more.

Monica told me about her older brother, Rusty, who sometimes watches the children when Grandmama is sick. He was recently in jail. "We went to the hotel, but the police man come and take him," she explained with downcast eyes. Rusty met me at the door when I arrived and allowed me to enter only after checking with Monica as to my identity. Rusty was the protector of the children, but he allowed Monica to do the parenting. As Monica and I read stories and talked, Rusty peered around the corner and asked if I taught night school. His dialect was thick, and Monica had to interpret for me. I explained that I knew a lady who would help him earn his GED if he was interested. I gave him the name and number of a friend. Monica later told me that Rusty knew math but could not read her books. I guessed Rusty to be an early dropout, not yet sixteen. His stature was small and his language poor. How long had he been protecting the children or in jail? How long had it been since he was in school? Rusty never called my friend.

Monica, and children like her, who learn to read in spite of the system and their home lives, are the real heroes. Monica is now a second grader who reads and writes. She tells me how she is going to move because they "got roach" and the children "mess up the place." She is still sucking her thumb, but the hood is off. The smile seems brighter, but she still desperately needs love. I saw her today and told her how special she is, and she looked me in the eye and smiled. It was a big step for Monica.

Ayers challenges teachers to "look unblinkingly at the way children really are, and struggle to make sense of everything that we see in order to teach them" It is difficult to make sense of hungry, neglected children. But we can find strength in the adversity to help us teach them better. I learned how resourceful and independent Monica could be, and I used it to help her gain independence in reading. I became a trusted person when I visited her home, and she let me help her learn to read because she trusted me. Trusting me took courage. Previous experience with adults who look and sound like me had not been good for Monica. How did she know I was not going to label her and give up on her? She took a leap of faith. Ayers contends that the "child's courage results in learning" and that we only create the environment. She took a leap of faith. She trusted me, in spite of her instincts. She learned to read, in spite of her poor home life. She succeeds, in spite of the odds.

Ayers, William. To Teach: The Journey of a Teacher. New York: Teachers College Press, 1993.