There is a really sweet boy in one of my classes who got a perfect 100% on his classwork for the quarter and regularly gets very high grades on quizzes. Sometimes he has the maturity level of a little kid, but he’s goofy and hilarious and means well. (He’s the kid who got on the Gator that administration uses to troll the park for fights, leaned back in the seat, and started singing, “They see me rollin’, they hatin’…” to make me laugh.) He’s extremely respectful and gentlemanly and all his teachers love him. His only issue is that sometimes he calls out, so he’s practicing covering his mouth with one hand while raising the other one…again, because he knows it makes me laugh.
Oh yeah, and he also came to school with a required ankle bracelet last year before being sent to juvie for awhile.
Today he came to conferences with his grandmother and his guardian. They don’t speak English, and he asked me if I could come translate while he met with his homeroom teacher. I was a little surprised, because he speaks both languages perfectly and could have translated for himself. When I asked him why he wouldn’t do it, he told me they wouldn’t believe what he said.
As I translated the conference, I realized what he meant. The teacher was gushing about how amazing he is and how high his grades are and how awesome and respectful and well-behaved he is every day. His grandmother was smiling awkwardly like she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or not. The guardian couldn’t do much more than stare. And the boy… he couldn’t contain his ear-to-ear smile or the pride that was just oozing from his pores.