a life story, revisited

I've been thinking a lot about a particular theory of counseling, which has a somewhat misleading name: Narrative. Simplistically stated, the creators of the theory postulate that every individual creates a story about their lives, and that therapy can help them to fashion a new way of looking at those same life experiences. Very existential, which is not typically how I would approach working with children. However, in working with this theory for a class project, I started to think about how this theory actually played out with one of my favorite past students, Abziz.

I knew all about Abdul Azeez before we ever met. He was on my fifth grade class roster for my first year working in a Phoenix school for grades K-8th. Teachers told foreboding stories of a child out of control, lashing out at classmates violently, neglecting to pay attention or complete assigned work, and talking back to adults shamelessly. For awhile his arch enemy, another Somalian refugee student, was also on my list, but my fellow teachers convinced the principal that this combination would surely scare the new teacher (me) away. The arch enemy was transferred to another classroom. I spent the two weeks before school alternately excited to start a new year and terrified of this "devil child" I'd been warned so much about.

The first day of school turned out to be relatively event-less. Upon meeting the students in my class, I could not immediately tell which individual was indeed Abdul Azeez (or as he liked to be called, Abziz), nor did anything transpire to make me think this child was in fact from the devil. Day after day, Abziz showed up to class, worked hard and behaved himself, then went home. I sighed with relief every afternoon, wondering: had the teachers confused him with another child?

Then it happened: a call from the art teacher, a wonderful, spirited woman who had great rapport with students, requesting that I escort Abziz to the principal's office. It had been three weeks without incident, and I dreaded hearing what had occurred. Opening the door, Abziz rushed to my side, a torrent of words spilling from him. Mostly words about things not being his fault, it was the other kid, etc, etc. I put my hand up; he went silent. I motioned for him to follow me and headed to the principal's.

As we walked silently, Abziz's head was bowed. A minute or two passed and he whispered, "Won't you talk to me?" I responded that I would, but he might not like what I had to say. He said, "Oh, I know that I am a terrible boy. I do the worst things and I cannot seem to stop myself. Go ahead, say it." I turned to him, looked him in the eye, and asked, "Do you know what a reputation is?" He shook his head, clearly having never heard the word before. "It's what people think and say about you when you are not around. You can have a good reputation, where people respect you and listen to you, or you can have a bad reputation. What do you think kids say about someone with a bad reputation?" Abziz thought for a moment, and tearing up, said, "The things they say to me. I have a bad reputation, don't I?" I nodded, "But some people don't pay attention to what others say. For example, I have heard things about you, but I have chosen to form my own opinion. I have seen you make good choices, and you have not earned a bad reputation with me... unless you continue to act the way you did in art class today." Abziz looked straight into my eyes and promised, "I will work hard to be a good reputation with you, Ms. G."

And he did. From time to time in the next few years, Abziz would get himself into trouble at recess, on the bus, or at a special class, but he never failed to be respectful and hard working in my classroom. Eventually, other teachers began to use the term "good reputation" with Abziz with similar results. My favorite moments were when fellow students, who had been listening to all the conversations we'd had, would quietly remind Abziz of the reputation he was building. I'd hear, "Ziz! Don't start talking smack (this was years ago, mind you)! You'll lose your rep." It made me smile. When it was time to say goodbye and send my class off to their middle school teachers, I was particularly sad to see Abziz go. I'd grown so fond of him, and proud of how much he'd grown as a person, if not as an academic scholar. I wondered where he'd end up when he was older, and hoped that the lessons in reputations would do well by him.

The next couple of years were hard on Abziz, as I watched him rebel against teachers who had heard what he used to be like. He grew angry and sullen, and I frequently saw him sporting bruises and cuts on his face (the kids at this school had seen some rough times, and Abziz was no exception- he'd lived in internment camps in Somalia and told stories of seeing deaths and war). He'd stop by my classroom, begging to help in some small way, in hopes of hearing someone tell him something positive or kind. It broke my heart.

In the next several years, I went on to teach at a homeless school in central Phoenix and a primary school in China. Finally, I returned to the school where I'd once taught Abziz. It was a rough year- you try teaching math to seventh graders in central Phoenix!- and I asked myself regularly whether I really wanted to teach anymore. I'd seen so many sad things in the lives of my students, and so much was completely out of my realm of control or influence. I felt powerless against students who joined gangs, got pregnant, dropped out of school to work for their families... and on and on. On a particularly rough day, the door to my classroom swung wide open and in stepped an impossibly tall and lanky black you man with a giant grin on his face. In about three giant strides, he was at the front of the classroom, sweeping me up into a hug! Surprise evident on my face, I pushed back to look at the boy's face. The sparkle in his eye hinted at me, but I wasn't sure until he turned to the class and said, "You all better earn a good reputation with Ms. G. now!" I couldn't help it- I cried a little. Such joy!

Abziz stuck around for a little while, and while I had a break, he explained that he had gone on to high school, insecure and outwardly violent. But he had wanted to play basketball, and when the head coach talked about the need for his players to have integrity, Abziz was reminded of that old desire to earn the respect of others. He made the team and worked hard to maintain his grades and good behavior in order to play for the varsity roster. He was a junior in high school and looking to graduate in a year!

Gone was the boy who had hung his head in shame at his poor choices; here was a young man who had successfully fashioned a new story for himself. And I couldn't be more proud.