a boy named stevie

While my intent in these blog posts is to chronicle my journey over the next few months, this little series wouldn't be complete without a few stories from the past.  The highlights, if you will.

Over the years, I've had the privilege of teaching over 1000 students. While they're all special in their own way, there are some kids who jumped right into my heart and stayed there.

Stevie is one of those kids.

Several years ago, I was assigned a class of "advanced" seventh-grade language arts students. All of them were identified as high-achievers or gifted in the areas of reading or writing except one: Stevie. Don't get me wrong- he was brilliant in many ways...but language arts just weren't his particular brand of genius.

I'm not sure how Stevie ended up in there. If I recall, it was because of numbers and scheduling. Regardless, there he was.  

Stevie was one of those kids whose name preceded him. "Oh, you have Stevie?" other teachers asked. "You'll love him...but he'll keep you on your toes."

So with that in mind, I wore high heels the first day. I had a feeling I was going to need all the help I could get.

On the first day, I passed out the syllabus titled "Advanced Language Arts." Stevie looked at the paper, then looked up at me, quizzically. But before the other students noticed, he nodded his head and leaned back in his chair as if to say, "Yep. I knew it all along. I'm a reading genius."

I never told him differently.

I've come to realize that God places certain kids in certain classes for certain reasons. And that year, Stevie was a ray of light. I quickly learned what the other teachers meant when they warned that he'd "keep me on my toes." See, Stevie never sat down. Ever. He "perched" in his chair like a bird. Sometimes, he'd decide to sit at my desk. Other times, he'd sit on the floor. Usually, during a lesson, he'd walk around the room, busying himself with little tasks. "This closet is a mess!" he'd announce as I was teaching. "I'm cleaning it!" And the weird thing is, I'd let him. He had an uncanny ability to multitask, that boy.

I run a pretty tight ship in the classroom, but for some reason, I let Stevie get away with more than most. Perhaps I was  learning to pick my battles. Perhaps it was his charm. Either way, the kid played me like a fiddle, and he knew it. His song, however, was more endearing than annoying.

I learned a lot from watching Stevie that year. Not only did he believe he was gifted, but he believed that I thought he was gifted. And because of that belief, he excelled. He tried a little harder, read a little more... it was really quite remarkable.

You see, Stevie taught me that kids will match the expectations that one sets forth. Tell them they're smart, and they'll show it. Tell them they can't, and they won't.

The following year, I was assigned to teach one period of an 8th grade elective class. Until that point, I'd never requested a student. But when I learned I'd be teaching an 8th grade class, I marched down to the guidance office and asked for Stevie. "You want him again? You had him for three hours a day last year. Didn't he wear you out?" they asked.  They were confused, but they put him in my class anyway.

One of the first big projects I assigned was a public service announcement. The kids had to choose a topic and create a computerized slideshow encouraging others to take action on an issue. Stevie hated projects. To him, they required too much time, and he often lost interest pretty quickly. But to my surprise, he was all about this assignment. He got to work quickly and deliberately. 

Feeling suspicious yet? Yeah. I was, too. 

When I asked him his topic, he wouldn't tell me:

"Don't worry, Mrs. Nianouris!  I've got it under control!"

"I know. That's why I'm worried," I replied.

"Don't you trust me?"

"I'm not sure. I'd like to...Is it appropriate, Stevie?" I asked.

"Yes. It's appropriate."

"Can you at least give me a hint about the topic?"

"It's a serious concern, Mrs. Nianouris. Just trust me. Promise." 

So I did.

On the day of Stevie's presentation, he begged me to go first, and I let him, anxious to see the result of his hard work. He dimmed the lights and set up the computer. Soft music began playing as the first words appeared on the screen:

SAVE THE COCK. 

"Stevie!" I yelled, searching frantically for the remote to stop his presentation. More words appeared on the screen.

DO YOU CARE ABOUT COCKS?

"Stevie! press pause! NOW!"

 IT'S TIME WE TAKE A STAND TO HELP THE COCKS!

I rushed to the computer to stop his presentation. And then, the first picture appeared: A chicken. Then another: Two chickens. Two fighting chickens.

His entire presentation was about stopping cock fighting. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

At the end, he turned on the lights. "How'd I do?" he asked, beaming and winking all at once.

"Stevie, you followed the requirements, but do you really think that was an appropriate topic choice!?"

"Mrs. Nianouris, MY presentation was about the ABUSE of chicken fighting! It's a very serious issue!" he exclaimed with feigned innocence. "If anyone's mind went somewhere else, well, that's just sick!"

Well played, kiddo. Well played.

I gave him a B+, and he gave me a great story to tell at cocktail parties for years to come.

* Names have been changed to protect the privacy of the student