Tears of Every Kind

Today, I attended Locke's graduation. Over 80 percent of our senior class walked - loads better than the less than 40 percent the previous year. I watched Michael beam as he accepted his diploma, knowing full well that tomorrow he leaves for a full ride at American University. I watched countless first-generation high school graduates stand up to announce their plans to attend college. I watched dozens of kids who would have definitely fallen through the cracks in the past, walk across that stage - some with as many tears in their eyes as myself.

What actually set off my own tears - hard to believe I was never a crier until three years ago - was seeing a single student accept their diploma without the golden medal his peers all hung proudly around their necks. Earlier that week, this student had given it to a friend of his, a favorite student of mine, in the hospital. These two friends had been sitting on a front porch. When one went into get a glass of water, a car drove by, four bullets exploded from a gun, and each one of them managed to hit my student.

Before attending graduation tonight, I was visiting him in the hospital. He did not appear to be in any pain, which is a blessing. He told me he is still in shock, that he hasn't fully processed doctors' news he might never walk again.

Today, they found a pulse in his foot, and we prayed together that pulse would be his miracle. That he might beat the odds and not be a victim of paralysis as well as a random drive by.

This is my prayer for all of my students. That they beat the odds. More students drop out of school in Watts then don't. More than that, the rates of shootings, homicides, drug abuse, and gang recruitment are the highest in the country.

They miss school because of lung conditions, often easily prevented and/or solved by clean air and appropriate treatment. They lose their loved ones when an early diagnosis of Cancer could have saved their life. They go to bed and wake up hungry when guardians struggle to make anything near a living wage. They live as child adults, taking care of younger siblings when their parents are forced to return to a country other than the one they call home. They are abandoned and betrayed by friends and family who are seduced by available money-making crimes.

Many of them suffer from undiagnosed - usually completely unacknowledged - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which could happen to anyone who has seen a loved one brutally killed, had a knife cut them on a moving bus, lain flat on the floor night after night as bullets flew by.

And given all of this, almost four hundred of them were awarded a high school diploma today.

In my third year teaching, the highs and lows of the work only seem to get more extreme. In the same few moments, I hugged a senior I helped pass the California Exit Exam required to receive a diploma, wished a student I helped earn a much-needed scholarship good-bye, and bumped into a student I had had two years prior - a kid still falling through the cracks. I listened as he told me of the past year of his life - which he is not proud of. I offered to meet him at Locke to discuss his options before I sent him off, completely unsure if I will ever see or hear from him again. And I thought of my student in the hospital, with his friend's gold medal hanging from scotch tape on the wall of his room, unsure if he will ever be able to literally walk across a stage.

I find myself stunned and determined. More than ever. And I pray, starting with James, for miracles and grace.