Last week I emailed a kid to make a proposal. He does ONE presentation he's scheduled for, does some work from a lower-level class, and switch out of honors class and I'll give him a pity C.

As you might imagine, he's in pretty deep shit, grade-wise.

He said he didn't want to drop the honors class, he'd make up anything, I'd really lit a fire under him, and could he please work out a schedule with me to turn in old work?

J's a tall kid with a kind of retro flat-top. He's cocky as hell. Twice this year he's gotten in trouble for mouthing off to teachers. It seems like it's mostly female teachers, too, like we wondered whether maybe he has a problem with women in authority. I like him though. He's cocky for good reason -- a good mind, a good writer, funny.

Yesterday his mom was supposed to come to the school, so the counselor, the history teacher and I sat around and waited. She never showed. We tried to get her on the phone but there was no answer. His social worker was there, but she wasn't on any of the official school paperwork, so we couldn't hold the meeting with her. I wondered what had happened in between setting up the meeting and attending it.

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I try not to have favorite kids, but you know... When Azadeh asked if I had a favorite student, before I could even think about it or deny it, M's face was in my mind. She's a great questioner. She questions everything. She wants to know why we do education the way we do. Who chose the curriculum? Why this book? In what way, exactly, is this going to help her get to college? She's got more philosophical questions, too. I love a good question. And she's involved.  Mentoring, clubs... She actually misses class more than a lot of other kids because she needs to talk to the counselor, the director of a group she's in, her mentee... or she's on a field trip to colleges. It's that fine line some kids walk between doing a lot and doing too much.

Just recently, her work has slipped. She didn't turn in an important assignment. I kept trying to catch her to talk to her, but with all the in-and-outs, I didn't get a chance. Finally today I told her I was worried about her. She spilled the beans: she'd had trouble getting her work in because her mom had kicked her out and she didn't have regular access to a computer.  Her mom kicked her other sister out last year -- she knew I'd remember because one of the other teachers on campus adopted her. Apparently, the mom just gets this way. She sees the girls on the path to success or whatever and flips out. Stops parenting.

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A is that kid who, though she is different than me, reminds me of myself. She's a little brash. Different. Not into what everyone else is into. Constantly challenging the rules. She wears a hat into class every day, her earphones balanced on her head (both dress code violations). She drops the F word a LOT. Last year she got expelled, went to a credit recovery school for a while, and then came back this year.

She's one of my best writers. Completely not in the same category my other kids are in. Just a total risk-taker. One assignment early in the year was a "pastiche," a parody of a writer's style. Hers was so funny I laughed out loud in my chair, told my colleagues about it, saved it for ages before finally feeling obligated to give it back to her.

The other day we were talking about college. Her grades aren't that great, so I was asking if she works or does community service. She works three jobs. But she assured me over and over that it wasn't that many hours total -- some of them are only occasional. Today as we talked a little more about her life -- dad's in jail, mom's a bipolar drug abuser -- I asked her, "if you want to succeed, and you're capable of succeeding, why aren't you succeeding?" She looked at me as if in total confusion. Behind the big mirrored sunglasses she kept on, I saw a tear. "What's stopping you? Like, when you get home, what do you do?" "I go to sleep. I pretty much go home and go to sleep."

I asked her if maybe she could be suffering from depression and she told me that she had been diagnosed with depression and had been on medication for it and been in counseling, but basically felt so judged by her mom for it, that she'd stopped.

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A few hours later, after school, my colleagues and I were talking about social-emotional learning, about restorative justice, about self-management, goal-setting, and grit.

And I'm so conflicted, because of course our kids need that stuff! Of course it will help them succeed! Of course the only way to really help them achieve academically is to make sure they have these things in place.

And also... I was supposed to teach English. Verbs. Counter-arguments. Similes and shit.

I don't know if it was clear: all three students described above are in the most challenging classes on campus. They're striving for admissions to the good colleges. They've voluntarily taken on the hardest work in exchange for some bonus GPA points. They're motivated, they're trying, they want it. They're struggling so hard, and the challenges in their way are so huge.

I find myself, fairly or not, kind of mad at their parents. I mean -- these kids are doing their best. If you can't help them, could you at least get the fuck out of their way?

If my best kids, the top five or ten percent, are struggling like this, what's going on with the kid in 3rd period whom I haven't seen in two weeks and whose special ed teacher would only say his family issues were "serious"? The kid living with a "kind of like a guardian"? The "gang-identified" kid, the kid with the pregnant girlfriend, the kid with anxiety and old scars on his arms?

I know I'm a bleeding heart liberal or whatever. I don't know how I would even begin to address the problems they face, since they range from poverty to health to violence to abuse to drugs to... I know that to outsiders they look like "ghetto" kids and kids that won't go anywhere and kids that are scary to sit next to on light rail. But they're kids. They're my kids, and I love them, and I'm seeing how few of them -- even of the most motivated and successful ones -- have the kind of resources and support they need. They need and deserve loving, stable homes, and so many of them don't have that. And I don't think all the lessons on "grit" in the world make up for what they don't have.

Venn diagramming

The kids have things in common. They're both ridiculously good-looking, for one. Both big eaters (and adventurous ones). They both like the outdoors -- in fact, both kids, when upset, generally calm down if you simply walk them outside.

And some of the differences I've already brought up. She doesn't sleep, and he does. She was fussy and he's mellow. She was verbal and he's not.

But we keep noticing funny little things. Some of them are things that I don't think I'd have ever particularly noticed about Azadeh if Lochlan didn't present such a contrast. For example, she never cared much for stuffed animals. He loves them! He picks them up, points to them, naps while cuddling them, asks us to kiss them, offers them a turn at nursing time... He loves trucks and buses still, of course, but he often jams an Elmo doll into the top and drives him around.

She liked to be held, but was otherwise not that affectionate. She didn't want kisses or hugs. He voluntarily gives both, and smiles bashfully if you just kiss and kiss him. Yesterday there was a video on that he was watching. He was standing in front of me, and my left leg was crossed over my right. He rested his arm on my leg, and then thoughtfully stroked my leg back and forth while he watched. He likes to be within touching distance of you, to pet your hand, to gently pinch your forearm.

She never wanted to be groomed -- she'd run from having her hair combed, and until this very spring, getting her to brush her teeth often resulted in screaming matches. He happily opens his mouth to have his teeth brushed, watches you pleasantly while you comb his hair, and lifts his little chin towards you if you threaten to put Chapstick on him.

And he really watches for other people's reactions to him, in a way that she never could be bothered with. If you turn on Sesame Street, he laughs and points and smiles and whoops, and every few seconds he turns to you to make sure you're watching, too. If you're reading and he knows you're about to make a funny face, he turns to watch your face. If you set him free to walk on the sidewalk, he'll go, but he'll turn to make sure you're there.

She's gotten more affectionate as she's gotten older -- she especially likes it when I pick her up and swing her around. But she's never been a big kisser. I try to respect her boundaries. Tonight I asked, "May I give you a hug?" and she said yes. When I asked if I could have a kiss, she turned her head away and changed the subject. That's okay, too.

Lochlan's an easier child. That's not to say that he's easy. He fights diaper changes. He spills water everywhere. He harasses the cats. I love them both like crazy, but I admit it is a little nice to get a volunteer to snuggle here and there.

I should really post pictures, but I'm too lazy to go grab my phone and upload them. Another day soon, I promise.