Eddie comes to visit the week before starting college. He is taller and slimmer than when he was in my 6th grade class, exchanging pudginess for a hint of muscle. His English is nearly perfect now; I strain to hear the trace of an accent. His grammar is good, and he has the decency to blush when swear words slip out among the slang he has picked up in the six years since I taught him.
He was quiet and restrained in my class. That year I had a particularly boisterous group of students. Between scolding them for sneaking kisses under the stairs after school, separating the boys that bounced off of each other like puppies, and redirecting the girls that vied for attention, I could have easily let Eddie slip through the cracks, unnoticed. I sat him as close to my desk as possible for most of the year, because his conversations with me were almost whispered. It was only due to his proximity to me that I realized how truly bright he was, listening to him giggle at throwaway lines I muttered under my breath. He had a smart kid’s sense of humor.
That he spoke at all was somewhat of a miracle. He did not talk until he was four years old, and being bilingual was almost unthinkable. He came to the U.S. in 3rd grade, by which time his mother had invested countless hours in therapies and schooling for him. He took on not only a new language, but an unfamiliar school system and a new culture. That’s hard enough for an outgoing child, but overwhelming for a student who’s shy and struggles to speak.
I worried about him. His mother was a joy at every parent conference – funny, outspoken, chatty – everything Eddie wasn’t. They had fled her alcoholic husband, Eddie’s father, leaving him in their country of origin. Eddie never mentioned his history; I was lucky to drag a conversation out of him about the present. Any ill effects from his past were rarely visible, limited to a flash of dark anger in his eyes when provoked.
When Eddie was in my class, his writing was abysmal. His printing looked like it had been forcibly dragged across the paper, and watching him grip a pencil was almost painful. Every once in a while, however, a brilliant phrase jumped off the page, shining through his fractured English, and I was reminded of his great intelligence, trapped behind the words he could not say.
After 6th grade I ran into Eddie on campus on occasion. As with all of my former students, I would ask, “What are you reading these days?” Unlike so many of them, Eddie always had an answer. I feigned excitement as he retold tales of dystopia, dragons, spells, or extraterrestrials. I was delighted not by the plots, but by the fact that he now read for pleasure and that we were actually having a conversation.
Eddie stands before me now, tall and confident. He pulls his SDSU ID card out of his wallet to show me. He’s excited about his double major and proud of passing Advanced Placement tests and graduating with honors. He wants to work, but isn’t sure he can handle the academic load and a job. He doubts that he filled out financial forms correctly, and worries that his mother will take on yet another job to help him pay for school. He plans out carpools and trolley rides. He frets about his younger brother, even using the phrase, “Kids these days….” I cough back a laugh, until I see that Eddie is laughing too. He is deliberate in his word choice, funny and astute.
We chat for more than an hour, as I meander around my classroom getting things in order for the following day. This is the most I’ve ever heard Eddie talk, and I don’t want to break the spell. I’m amazed. The chubby awkward boy that once sat next to my desk has become a man, confident and articulate, with plans to better himself and country he has adopted as his own.
As he turns to leave, Eddie hugs me, another first. I swallow back tears, amazed at the marvel in front of me. I wish I could thank every teacher and coach that helped draw him out of his shell, every adult who took the time to listen as he stuttered out sentences, and even the girls who flirted with him enough to plant the seeds of self-assuredness he displays today.
After Eddie leaves, I look at my class list, the fresh-faced 5th graders I am barely getting to know. I hope that there’s another Eddie among them, a lump of coal who will let himself be polished into a diamond.
