For David

“I won’t do the extra work, Miss,” says David as I hand him the extra essay assignment, “I spend every night with my homeboys.”
“Maybe you can spend twenty minutes on it tonight,” I say. In my second day enthusiasm, I add, “Your writing is impressive. I think we can really improve over the course of the four weeks.”
The following day my enthusiasm is smashed by the realization that none of my students have turned in the homework. Mulling over this hurdle silently as my students file out at the end of the period, David approaches the desk.
“Miss,” he whispers, assuring Ernesto does not hear what he is saying, “I brought this for you.”
Without thinking, my jaw falls agape and I mutter, “You did?”
Trying to cover my shock, I put on the best teacher face I can and ask him to put the assignment in the basket.

Over the course of the weeks, David turns in five extra assignments and revises each of them. On the last day of class, he bashfully approaches the desk.
“Miss,” he says, “I brought you something.”
I grab the paper crumpled into a ball from his hand and wish him a safe and enjoyable summer. Returning to the quiet of my dorm later in the afternoon, I remember the ball in my pocket and try to unravel the maze of creases.

“Dear Miss, My mom and I used to read together before bed. I always waited for her to get home from work. She died six years ago and I stopped. My homeboys and a lot of bad things replaced her. But Miss, since your class, I started reading again. My mom used to pray each night that I could finish high school and now, because of you and the other new teachers I think I might get through. Your class was the closest to family I remember from a long time. I wish you best in Mexico and remember to keep telling people to read. I think you are right when you say it teaches living better. I will miss you.”