Free I'd Like to Apologize to Every Teacher I Ever Had by Tony Danza Page A

my classroom. First one, then two and more. I do have air-conditioning, and that’s a lure. I also give out half sandwiches to anyone who needs one at lunchtime, but they also seem to like hanging with me, and I’m a sucker for that. Soon they’re coming every day, first thing in the morning, during fifth-period lunch, or any time they can finagle a hall pass. I ask, “Where are you supposed to be?” And they all have the same answer, “My teacher knows I’m here with you.”
    Then I have to write a note to the teacher explaining that they’ve been with me and I am sorry for them getting back to class late. This strikes me as funny because when I was in high school I used to practice writing notes and signing my name in preparation for the day when I became a teacher and had to write a hall pass for real. But it’s not really funny. Most of these kids have problems, and some are serious. When a good kid comes to school late and looking like hell, I’ll try to go easy, couch my concern in a compliment, such as “You’re never late, what happened?” But what do you say when the answer is “They turned off the electricity on us last night, and it was too cold to sleep. It was a crazy night.” You offer sympathy and write him the note. You do what you can, which too often is not enough, but you have to be willing to try.
    Phil is sixteen, one of a group of four boys that I call the Wanderers because they’re constantly walking the hallways. They dress in black and have complexions so white and pasty I wonder if they’ve ever even seen the sun. Always together, they come to school every morning, swipe their student IDs to prove they’re on campus, then just roam for the rest of the day. Northeast is so huge and there are so many nooks and crannies to hide in that if a student knows the school well enough and keeps moving, he can avoid going to class all day. These four are masters of avoidance.
    When I first notice the Wanderers, I can’t resist trying to talk theminto going to class and taking school seriously. Other teachers tell me I’m wasting my breath. The Wanderers have a well-established track record for getting in trouble. But I always think that very few kids are really bad and many are just mixed up. When I catch Phil alone one day, I ask what his dad thinks about him skipping classes, and he tells me he has no father. His mother is alone, and his older brothers have all been in trouble. “So what else is new?” he asks. But instead of sounding sullen, Phil seems to be challenging me to answer. I want to try to help. That’s what teachers do, right? That’s what I’m here for.
    The other three Wanderers refuse to see any value in changing or in anything I say. They razz Phil about me, but then he starts coming to my room at lunchtime on his own. I give him half a sandwich, and after we get to know each other a bit, I ask for his roster. I visit each of his teachers. Big surprise: he’s failing all his courses because he never goes to class. One teacher tells me that Philip’s cut class every day since school started. Another says he has over sixty unexcused absences and his teachers have all but given up on him.
    Remembering that each of these teachers has another 149 students to worry about, I ask them to please give me the assignments he needs to make up, and I’ll make sure he completes them. I know it’s extra work for them, but despite their skepticism, they give Phil and me the benefit of the doubt.
    I want to show Phil that his teachers do care what happens to him. I want him to see the importance of changing his behavior. I talk myself hoarse trying to get him to see the error of his ways. But just when I think I’m making some headway, he’s charged with credit card fraud. It seems he and his friends used a stolen Visa card.
    Phil’s arrest really shakes me. I try to tell myself that I just arrived in his life too late, that there’s nothing more I could have done, but the last