Last night, I wrote about how valuable it is to work with our kids on goals and how important it is for our kids…well, all of us to think about our dreams.  And not the kind of dreams when we sleep.  The type that connects us with that hope for a better tomorrow or reasons to press on in times of adversity.  I don’t know about you, but sometimes my body is in one place, yet my mind is in another.  In a way, it is like taking a mini vacation when we think about potential realities – and what we hope will be the sum of all our life’s efforts. 

Then, while I was driving to work today without the radio on…processing stuff, I thought about a student I had in my first year of teaching.  For the sake of this post, I will call him Myles.  Myles was tall and slender, an inner-city kid with an inner-city vibe.  I worked in a therapeutic day school – and most of our students were moved out of the Buffalo Public Schools to be in an environment that focused on safety, working with kids who sometimes had ineffective, inappropriate, and even dangerous responses to real-world situations.  He wore baggy jeans and untied high-tops, and when not wearing his doo-rag, his dark hair hung over his eyes.  For the most part, he was calm – yet it didn’t take anyone long to realize that he had the respect of the other kids.  He sat in the back right corner of my room. 

Sitting in the back was almost a requirement for him.  When he couldn’t see everything around him, he got antsy.  He had one characteristic that always made me a little nervous.  When the kids were in the hallway, walking from class to class – we adults were required to be in the hall.  Constant eyes on kids were a thing at that school.  When I’d stand by my classroom door, against the wall, and he’d walk by – after he got about 15 feet past me, he’d always turn to look at me, then turn back and continue walking.  Not all kids do this, you see.  This is typical behavior of a student checking to see if he is being watched – and sometimes, it is because something else is going on – you know, the inner voice. 

Everyone does this kind of stuff.  There are tiny things that people do that, if you are paying close attention, tell you things.  I had a good relationship with Myles, either way.  And he, too, seemed to like me.  I don’t recall a time in which he dissed me like he did some of my colleagues.  And I can tell you that on the rare occasion that he got mad…he got really mad.  And there were times at Falk when the teenagers could get so dysregulated that it called upon adults – a whole bunch of them to intervene…physically. 

So, when I first met Myles – on the first day of school and my first day as a Departmentalized High School Special Education Teacher, I had all of my classes planned out.  The first order of business was this big index card on which the students were asked to write all the important stuff about themselves.  I had to know stuff about nicknames, preferred activities, who they stayed with, and on which nights.  Contact information for any of these adults and all the favorites: food, music, color, television show, and flavor of ice cream.  The big questions that had to be answered were on the back…What’s the plan after high school? What do you hope to become?  What do you want to do in the future? 

Wearing khaki pants, a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and dry-erase marker on my hands, I sat at my desk at the end of my inaugural day as a teacher to read these cards.  I flipped Myles’ card over and read, “None of these questions matter because I won’t live to be 21.”  I was shocked.  They had all gone home – and now what?  What do I do with this?  I sprung up and high-tailed it to my Principal’s Office – my man Charlie Galluzzo.  I didn’t think it was a suicide note, but my responsibility in this situation is to let him know – just in case.  In these situations, it is always better to be safe than sorry. 

The next day, I conversed with Myles about his writing – just the two of us.  I explained why I brought it to our principal and why the school needed to check on him.  I was like, "Hey, man, that’s what happens when people care about you, you know? " This kid looked at me and said, " I’m east side.  You know my neighborhood, and by the time they 21, I’ll be dead” (as he pointed into the classroom).  I remember processing what he said, I was like…shit.  Now, what do I say?  You see, responses to statements like that aren’t in the teacher handbook, nor were they taught to us in our educator prep programs. 

And truth be told, the East Side of Buffalo is a hella dangerous spot.  I just looked up crime stats for Buffalo, and in 2020, the murder rate was 24 per 100,000 people.  The national homicide rate was 6.5 per hundred people.  And most of the murders took place on the East Side – and there were more murders in the 90s than in the 2020s.  So he was right; he likely had a 500% or better chance of being killed there statistically than in most other places a kid could live. 

Building positive relationships with young people like Myles is crucial. It's not just about teaching or providing care; it's about connecting on a human level. These connections help youth feel seen and understood. Investing time in understanding their backgrounds, interests, and fears opens doors to meaningful dialogues. This understanding is a powerful tool in guiding them toward envisioning and working toward a brighter future. It's about showing them that someone believes in their potential, even when they might not see it themselves. Such relationships can be transformative, offering stability and trust in an often chaotic world.

Setting attainable goals is equally important. Introducing the concept of realistic, achievable goals can be life-changing for someone like Myles, who might feel that his environment has predetermined his fate. It's about breaking down the big, overwhelming picture into smaller, manageable steps that seem doable. These goals serve as stepping stones, building confidence and a sense of accomplishment with each milestone reached. By focusing on these attainable goals, we not only redirect their path from adverse outcomes but also empower them to dream and strive for a future they might have thought was out of reach. This approach isn't just about setting targets; it's about instilling hope and the belief that their dreams, no matter how small, are worth pursuing.