The other day my buddy Zach took me to play ball at these courts in the Kensington section of Brooklyn. I’d spent my first year in New York teaching eighth-grade English at an alternative school in Kensington. That was one of my hardest years, and it taught this white boy from the Detroit suburbs some hard lessons about what it takes to stand in front of a classroom full of riotous inner-city kids.
So we’re at the courts shooting around when I notice one of my old students from that hellish first year. This kid, Steve, is one of those big, loveable, gumpy types. That’s not to say he wasn’t a pain in the ass to have in the classroom. I took a lot of verbal abuse from my students that year, but at least when I told Steve to shut his trap for calling Julio a "stank ass fool" he’d show some respect.
"Dude, I think that’s one of my old students," I said, pointing.
"I’ve seen that kid around," Zach said. "He’s pretty good."
"I wonder if he’ll remember me. It’s been a few years."
"Go say hi. He’ll probably get a kick out of seeing one of his old teachers on the court."
After his game ended I walked over and said, "Steve, right?"
"Yeah," he said, probably wondering how this white dude knew his name.
"I don’t know if you remember me but I was your English teacher . . . Mr. Storchan."
I watched him search his memory bank. A moment later he smiled. "Oh shit, Mr. Storchan. I didn’t recognize you without your glasses," he said. "And you put on a few pounds too."
"Yeah, my metabolism isn’t what it used to be. You’ve gotten pretty big yourself," I said. He’d probably put on about 50 pounds since I last saw him, and had definitely been hitting the gym.
"Yo, this guy was my English teacher," he said to anyone within an earshot.
"Well then it’s time to put the teacher to school," said one of his buddies.
"Come on, Mr. Storchan. I’m gonna’ get you back for all those tests you gave me."
We ended up playing some two-on-two against Steve and one of his buddies. Thanks to Zach’s sweet outside shot we were able to clock the win. Steve didn’t seem to mind the loss, especially because he had the privilege of stuffing his former teacher on several failed lay-up attempts. The embarrassment of getting whooped by another guy on the court always hurts, but after seeing the spark it brought to Steve’s face, I couldn’t help but revel in his joy.»
After the game, Steve joined us on the bench as we cooled down. I passed him my jug of water and listened to him rattle off his future plans. Turns out, Steve’s grades had improved dramatically since I last saw him in the classroom.
"You know why we gave you such a hard time when you were teaching?" Steve asked.
"This I got to know."
"It was because we liked you. I know it didn’t seem like it then, but you were one of my favorite teachers. Still, we used to drive him mad crazy," Steve said to Zach.
During my first open-school night, Steve came in with his mother. She asked me how Steve was doing, and I told her he was a good kid, but that he had some behavior problems and wasn’t doing his homework consistently.
"You’re not doing this man’s homework?" she asked. Steve sat next to her, guilt pouring out of his face.
"No mama. But I can explain ..." Before he could finish his thought his mother smacked him a hard one in the face. It was an awful moment and even though the kid was blowing off my class I didn’t want to see something like this happen. Steve sat there, tears rolling down his cheeks, not saying a word.
"I’m sorry about my son’s behavior. It won’t happen again," his mother said. Then she stood up, grabbed Steve, and headed for the door.
It had been a while since I thought of that night. I think it’s one of those incidents you tuck away in the back of your mind and try to forget. But sitting there next to Steve, it all came back. And although I reported what happened to my principal, I always felt like maybe I could have done more. Fortunately, Steve seemed pretty happy as he chatted away about passing the Regents and making the football team. He told me I could find him on those courts everyday for the rest of the summer, and that I better come back for a rematch. Then we shook hands and he walked back over to his friends.
"He seems like a good kid," Zach said.
"Yeah, I have a feeling he’s going to do all right," I said, allowing myself a tinge of pride. After that, we sat back and watched the next game.
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