This Is What I Learned Today…
Posted by Debra Baker on February 23, 2009
It’s Monday.
I am fairly certain that I did not teach anyone anything today. But I learned.
I learned that if you want to take a fourteen-year-old to get a physical, so that he can look forward to something in his life, like playing high school football, so that he can get some years-ago needed glasses, so that he can quit squinting when he needs to copy numbers from the whiteboard in his algebra class, so that he can find out why his leg throbs all the time, so that maybe, just maybe, he can get a referral to a dentist because he has never been to one in his life and his left molar is killing him, yes, I learned that if you want to take this fourteen-year-old to get a physical, you had better make sure that his Medicaid card has not suddenly become inactive. Because I never knew that Medicaid could just quit working, like a beat up old washing machine. And I learned that if that card is suddenly inactive, there ain’t no way that you’re gonna get someone from that darn 800 number printed on the back to answer the friggin’ phone to tell you why this kid with no parents has a bum Medicaid card. And I learned that even if, after calling sixteen times and giving up, you are willing to shell out the 75 bucks for the physical because, gosh darnit, this kid who has already missed the whole basketball season because he had no physical, this kid is, for once, gonna get exactly what he needs, well, I learned that even that ain’t as easy it sounds.
And when I yank out my credit card and he mutters, “Thanks, Ms. Baker” and looks up at me with these grateful eyes, I think, jeez, please, please don’t say thank you because you kid, no kid, should have to say thank you for getting to see a doctor at some clinic so that he can play high school football.
So we sit down and pretend to be amused by all of the little kids running all over the place, waiting for their appointments. But then they call me up to the counter and they see me, a white woman, with this black-skinned teenager and they ask, “is he a ward of the state?’ and my answer is “no” and they ask “are you are the guardian?” and my answer is “no” and they ask, “are you the case worker?” and my answer is “no”, and then they ask again if he is a ward of the state. And now they want to know who the heck this white woman is, and I whisper, “I am his teacher,” that’s who I am. I am someone who gives a damn about him, who wants him to get his glasses and wants his knee to quit hurting. I am someone who knows that he is bright and inquisitive, well-mannered and lonely, and that he is three feet away from getting lost, Miss, just three feet, and I am someone who knows that that just cannot be okay. And that maybe I am deranged for even considering this, but I think that this physical may be this doctor’s bright and shining moment, because this physical may just help save this kid’s life.
And so then they ask if I have a note from the guardian and I want to scream in jubilation, “YES!” because yes I do, I have this scribbled note from his guardian, this guardian who happens to be the 20ish-year-old brother of this boy, this boy without the working Medicaid card, this boy whose mom died a year ago this Friday, this boy whose dad has long ago disappeared. And I feel this sudden rush, because, holy cow, I have this letter, I have the $75, we passed the test, and we are almost at the end of this journey. But then she says, “No ma’am. The letter, it needs to be notarized.”
No.
I retrieve the 75 dollar refund and I whisper, I’m sorry, to him, which, to my own ears sounds pathetic, and he says, “It’s not your fault, Ms. Baker,” and, of course, I know that. I think. But maybe it is my fault. Maybe it is our fault. Our collective fault. Because it can’t be nobody’s fault, and I just don’t know who to blame.
Then he asks me what a notary is and how a person becomes one, because this kid asks and asks and asks, this kid is hungry to know everything about how this complicated world really works.
After bumbling through an explanation, I smile a weak smile and say, “You know, after my kids go to the doctor, we always head out for ice cream.” So we drive to Ben and Jerry’s and he orders a chocolate-peanut butter milkshake with whipped cream and I order nothing because I feel just too darn disgusted to eat ice cream. And then he tells me that he just knew he was not going to get that physical today, and when, dumbfounded, I ask him why not– we had the appointment and the Medicaid and the note and the money– he says, because, Ms. Baker, I just don’t ever expect things are gonna work out for me.
This is what I learned today.
February 24th, 2009 at 12:14 pm
Deb immediately send this to every elected official – rep, senator, President! Then give me permission to do the same and pass it on to others to do likewise. We should all share in feeling powerless, sad, angry. We as a society are failing this child and how many others every day?! It may be little solace, but Deb at least you tried, you didn’t sit idly by!
By the way, here is a link to St. Louis County’s FREE health clinics. Start with the John C. Murphy Health Center (Berkeley) = http://www.co.st-louis.mo.us/doh/hlthctrs/services.html#anchormurphy. Although, he’ll surely still need his guardian to take him or a notarized note.
February 24th, 2009 at 1:38 pm
OK, I’m crying while my students are busily taking an exam on a book about the injustices of slavery. Injustices abound.
February 24th, 2009 at 10:23 pm
Well, you’re wrong about one thing–you did teach me something–something they do not teach you at the School of Ed. “Don’t smile until December”, they say. “Don’t get involved in their personal lives.” “Let the counselor deal with it.” All well-intentioned advice, I guess, until you meet one whom you know is looking at you with those grateful eyes, like maybe you’re the one adult in his life who won’t let him down. And then you didn’t let him down. You pushed aside the teaching thing and did the human thing. What you taught me today was, it’s ok to care. It might be terrifying, and it ended up being frustrating as hell to care, but you showed him that you thought his life was worth the waiting, and the rejecting and the trying again. And again. So thanks for teaching me, Ms. Baker, that even though it ain’t so easy to care, sometimes you do it anyway for that kid who needs to believe in the one adult who won’t let him down.
February 25th, 2009 at 8:29 pm
Unfortunately I have nothing to say here. I find it amazing, ridiculous and shameful. I too am sorry.
February 25th, 2009 at 8:40 pm
Holding back tears. I agree with Bill–ridiculous and shameful. No one should ever live expecting that nothing good will ever happen. Heartbreaking. Thank you for telling this story. It is a reminder to teachers everywhere why we really do what we do. There are kids all over who need us to act just like you acted, ice cream and all.
February 25th, 2009 at 8:55 pm
Thank you for sharing this. I cannot say much more because I am just at a loss for words. But thank you.
February 25th, 2009 at 9:07 pm
Heartbreaking. Thanks for sharing your experience so we can ALL know the true impact the system has on our kids……..
February 25th, 2009 at 9:50 pm
[...] friend of mine, Debra Baker, wrote a blog post today about a student she was trying to help. I’m blogging this for two reasons, so I keep [...]
February 25th, 2009 at 10:49 pm
What’s most unfortunate is that you learned a lesson today, and the boy, well, he learned it years ago.
I admire your effort, your innate nature.
February 26th, 2009 at 5:39 am
I think you’ve taught us all something today. I can’t get your lines– But maybe it is my fault. Maybe it is our fault. Our collective fault. Because it can’t be nobody’s fault, and I just don’t know who to blame.–out of my head. These things that are happening to kids can’t possibly be no one’s fault. How do we fix things for our students? Who is to blame when a child doesn’t expect things to work out for him?
Thanks for sharing this story. I am sure having you as an advocate makes a huge difference for this student.
February 26th, 2009 at 6:42 am
I am a teacher in an urban school, where kids don’t play sports, or have dance lessons, or art classes, or checkups, or dentist appointments. Next week, they will take the state reading tests. And the teachers at my school, who are just like you, and do this kind of thing on an ongoing basis, will be told they are failures. This breaks my heart.
February 26th, 2009 at 10:26 am
Thank you Debra! Thank you for caring. Thank you for making me cry and reminding me to keep caring. Thank you for sharing your frustration and anger and pain. Please keep caring, keep sharing and keep writing. I am sending this th everyone I know.
February 26th, 2009 at 10:41 am
Wow. I got goosebumps. Thank you for writing this…sorry this comment isn’t more profound.
February 26th, 2009 at 11:04 am
this story breaks my heart. once upon a time doctors were just doctors, not so worried about taking care of the legal or possible legal concerns that patients were sacrificed. this is horrible, and i’m so heart broken to have found this. something has to give, so people can just go back to being people.
February 26th, 2009 at 8:12 pm
I want to scream. It’s insane that we live in a society hellbent on compounding these kinds of injustices. I’ve sent this on because it so clearly illustrates what teaching is today for those who have no clue. I also agree, this needs to be sent to every elected official. Thank you for taking the time to capture this moment on your blog.
February 27th, 2009 at 6:16 am
In the UK we moan about our National Health Service – but this could not happen here! So thank goodness that, with all of its faults, we still have it.
I cannot believe that the richest country in the world allows this to happen to its people.
Best wishes to you all.
February 27th, 2009 at 6:59 am
This made me so very sad and appreciative of what we have. Thank goodness, someone is trying to help – even if it didn’t work he knows you were on his side, at least one grown up wanted to do something for him. Good luck with this, Di
February 28th, 2009 at 11:47 am
Yes you know I broke down and cried.
All I can say Deb is that you cannot let this tragic story end with a blog.
There are local and national newspapers and talk shows out there that will certainly pick up this story and it will culminate in a happy ending. Don’t give up! You can make a difference.
Gino
March 1st, 2009 at 11:57 am
Deb:
What an amazing story. Even for those us already teaching, it is powerful to be reminded of those like you who are truly serving. Before I give you my unsolicited advice, let me make sure you know I heard your anger and frustration at what happened. We all have a need for fairness and justice, and they certainly weren’t met in this instance. As for my advice: Call the local office of your member to the U.S. House. They have staffer whose job it is to handle these local issues for people like you. You won’t have to call 18 times and they should willingly lend a hand. Eric
March 1st, 2009 at 7:51 pm
Ms. Baker- you are a hero! Your story reminds every one of us what this work is all about!
March 1st, 2009 at 8:06 pm
There are no words to respond to this. I only pray that there is action.
March 1st, 2009 at 8:11 pm
I ma heartbroken for this boy and for all of the others out there like him. I applaud you for your efforts and for reminding us how fortunate we are and how we should all be doing more to help others.
March 1st, 2009 at 8:21 pm
Deb – Whatever you do, don’t give up on situations like this. It’s embarrassing that things like this happen at all in our country. You are serving as the advocate for your student – a job that we all, as teachers, have chosen to do. You are the true description of what a “teacher” is supposed to be. (You are also a saint!) Know that we are all out her cheering you on, and sobbing with you when things go so horribly bad. Keep your chin up. Please let us all know how this turns out. Thank you for sharing your feelings, and this story.
March 1st, 2009 at 8:28 pm
That is a powerfully moving story. There were times, way back when I was still in the classroom, that I felt I was the only one who dealt with these issues. There are so many teachers and administrators who never had to deal with anything remotely close to this situation. Somehow these lessons and learnings need to be shared amongst educators.
Thank you for sharing.
More importantly thank you for making a difference in his life. Long after the ice cream is gone, and football season is over, he will rememeber your kindness and compassion. It could be the one thing that changes his life.
March 1st, 2009 at 8:32 pm
Thank you.
March 1st, 2009 at 8:36 pm
Thank you so much for taking the time to share this story. It’s one that reflects a reality that is far too sad for far too many students. Your role as selfless advocate for this young man deserves to have a happy ending. I hope that there will be a follow-up…
March 1st, 2009 at 8:40 pm
Deb,
Please pursue this–in the newspapers, with your voice, however you can–and let us tweet it all over, blog about it, and share it with the world. You are a powerful writer and I am terribly sad your voice came out over such in incredibly horrific event. You have many of us crying tonight, but also cheering your spirit on and praying a solution is found. Please let us know the next steps in this saga.
I admire your caring. Thank you for sharing.
March 1st, 2009 at 9:01 pm
Ms. Baker, There are tears in my eyes and a sureness in my heart that at least this ‘kid’ will get his physical and his chance because he was lucky enough to end up in your room. How honored I am to call myself teacher when I share the title with the likes of you. We can make a difference, we do it every day in small ways. Maybe, this is the time for big change to happen. Thank you for your honesty.
March 1st, 2009 at 9:24 pm
I just tried to read this to my wife. I couldn’t.
PLEASE update this post when this young man gets his physical, and gets to the dentist.
Geez…. I’m absolutely heartbroken.
March 1st, 2009 at 9:27 pm
Welcome to my world! I am an emergency medicine provider and work part time in the clinic also. Even more dumbfounding is that I am allowed to provide contraception and abortions (but don’t) without asking for parents permission but I can not even treat an ear infection or a cut without “authorization”. I have learned over the years that if I don’t ask and just treat I am covered. In essence, if you came in to my ER as a white woman speaking English with a black child that only spoke Swahili, I would assume you are his birth mother, period,no questions asked and he gets treated. We call it our own little don’t ask don’t tell policy. You are probably the closest to a mother he will ever have. Go to another clinic and get his physical mom. God Bless you for caring.
March 1st, 2009 at 11:55 pm
Ms. Baker, thank you. From a new teacher, who hopes to make half the impact that you do.
March 2nd, 2009 at 12:07 am
Thank you Debra for writing such a powerful post. And, more so, for being the teacher and person you are. Heartbreaking for this boy, and for so many others.
March 2nd, 2009 at 5:22 am
I’ll my ‘wow’and ‘thank you’ to all the others. Sadly, state standards, standardized testing, contracts, budget cuts, etc. will never record, know or understand anything like the actions you’ve taken to help a single student, but the student will, and that makes all the difference.
Namaste
March 2nd, 2009 at 6:24 am
I am holding back tears and thinking of a few of the students in my class. the ones who have no one and think no one cares. Bless you for being there and doing something. The physical may not have happened (and that is maddening) but you happened for the student. I am sad that in my district, I would have been suspended for taking a student anywhere (even home.)
March 2nd, 2009 at 3:23 pm
This is a sad story, and my heart goes out to the poor kid who has learned to live with so much disappointment that he isn’t even disappointed anymore!
Playing devil’s advocate though, I don’t think the doctor’s office is wrong to require proof that you are authorized to bring a child for treatment, a check-up, or what have you. Imagine if you had just been the neighbor down the street, and you had said, sure, I’ll take Jane to the doctor’s, no problem, just send me with a note and we’ll be fine. Imagine if during the physical, something went wrong, and the doctors needed someone to authorize whatever procedures or remedies were needed under urgent conditions. Or… imagine if your child were taken to the doctor by some stranger, who had a fake note saying it was okay.
There are reasons these rules are in place, and every time we add a rule to protect children, we also make it harder in many ways to help children flourish.
March 3rd, 2009 at 1:21 pm
I have read this story several times and work with so many at risk children with so many stories. These kids are victims of our society. What I have found is so many major corporations say one thing and do the other. When tragedy hits, the press is all over it saying what can we do to stop the violence, level of illiteracy and lack of compassion for human life.
I will tell you it starts with self to the top policy makers down to the predators and people who neglect these young women and adults.
Bottom line is “It takes a village to raise a child.”
This is a GREAT story and great responses. As long as we each do our own part we will be part of the solution and not the problem.
Thank you Carol for sharing this with me and all of your support over the years.
March 3rd, 2009 at 7:55 pm
While this is a difficult story to encounter, unfortunately it is not an isolated incident. Thank you, Debra Baker for reminding all of us to ask how we can continue to try, and try, and try to make a difference in spite of the mountains of obstacles.
March 3rd, 2009 at 8:50 pm
Deb,
Thank you for your persistence and sharing so honestly. Please let us know what happens.
March 10th, 2009 at 10:12 pm
I am fairly certain that I did not teach anyone anything today.
What’s most unfortunate is that you learned a lesson today, and the boy, well, he learned it years ago.
While it may be of little solace, I am convinced that you did in fact teach someone something very important–you taught your student that there are adults who care. You also taught him that when the world puts up obstacles, there are adults who will respond with grace, patience, and kindness, as you did when you smiled and bought him ice cream.
I am not suggesting by any means that we should be satisfied with buying ice cream for children who need medical treatment. At the same time, I think we can’t emphasize enough how important it is simply to be kind to young people. They learn much, I’m convinced, from our seemingly simple acts of kindness, just as they learn too much from our acts of selfishness or thoughtlessness.
The note of hope in your story is the example of kindness you gave your student, like a rope thrown to a man in a rough sea.
March 11th, 2009 at 11:35 am
This is a powerful story, thank you for sharing it. What rings in my head over and over again is Institutionalized Racism. Although the story printed is about one individual, these circumstances are experienced daily – most often by people of color. We live in a society in which those of us who are white don’t really ever have to worry about having this kind of experience — what a privilege.
I believe we all need to take responsibility for positively affecting change and making our communities places where equity lives and breathes.
March 16th, 2009 at 5:26 pm
This story is just one more reason I love teachers. So many of you guys go above and beyond day in and day out, and no one ever hears about it.
But rest assured, somebody is watching, somebody is being touched for the better and you just never know how many lives you saved when it all comes to an end.
Thanks Debra for this story.
I have written a novel about a veteran special education middle school teacher. You and your readers can check out the first chapter at http://www.tomsboomertimes.blogspot.com. It should be out for sale within the next two weeks.
Take care.
March 24th, 2009 at 11:17 am
Debra teaches BECAUSE she learns! “A teacher who cares” should be a redundancy. The poor are not a problem, to be solved by legislation or even by a notary. The poor are PERSONS whose claim contradicts “survival of the fittest.” Poverty is usually defined by what it is NOT–no money, no home, no health care, no education, no job, no prospects…. But, one may say, poverty IS the revelation of our shared humanity. WE don’t “help” THEM. We share our lives together. That’s a teacher. That’s Debra.