Skip to main content

Brown Tommy


As I'm looking through all these old emails (I decided it was silly to have six different email accounts so I'm going to get rid of the hotmail one; cleaning it out), I keep finding great stories from previous years at school. This is one of my favorites.

There was this kid, "Tommy ." He was in my class in my first year, when I taught first grade, and also in my third grade class two years later. Although having a really really hard life which included an alcoholic mother, no father, an extremely abusive stepfather, and eventually getting taken away from his mother and stepfather because of this, he somehow retained some innocence. He would tell jokes like this:

Tommy: "How many space boots did the cow have?"

Me: "I don't know, how many space boots?"

Tommy : (laughing hysterically) "Five: one for each foot and one for its tail!"

Me: "Tommy, did you make that one up yourself?"

Tommy : (proudly) "How did you guess?"

Anyway, when it came time for standardized testing, I told the kids that they were going to look at their test books and make sure that they had the correct book. I also said that their names would be written in a different format: Last Name, First Name. Tommy - who is a very intelligent boy - was apparently not listening because when he got his test, he yelled, "Teacher, how they knew my color?!?"

Tommy is black. Actually, a sort of medium light brown. His last name also happened to be Brown. (Not too worried about putting that on the blog because his first name is changed and there are plenty of Browns out there). His test said: "Brown, Tommy" and Tommy thought it was the adjective describing him. He was surprised that the other kids didn't have things like "Light Skinded Lily" and "Dark Brown Frankie."

He was one of my favorites. He'd be about 13 by now and I really hope he's OK.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Volunteers

I had some of the most overqualified volunteers ever in my third grade class.  This may have had something to do with the fact that I shamelessly begged my friends to help in any way possible.  I think there were a few friends who I asked to come as soon as I met them, before I was entirely sure of their names.  Some of my volunteers included: -Someone with an MFA helping kids read -a PhD candidate in chemical engineering from Stanford helping with math -a PhD candidate in civil engineering from Cal helping with math -several PhD candidates in engineering from Cal teaching about construction (several years in a row) and helping with a field trip -my extremely talented brother bringing his drums several times -a friend from Pixar who got us tours three different years, once when they were no longer giving tours - and came to the class to sign the kids' toys from Cars . -a physical therapist (who I think has a masters') who helped the kids with reading -many athlet...

The Difference a School Makes

Update:   9/28/26: If you are reading this, the spoiler alert is that things got much harder for Jorge after this, and we kept in touch over the decades, even as he’s been incarcerated. He’s getting out of prison in early 2027 and I’m raising money to help him start his life fresh because everyone deserves second chances. Please take a look! Wow. I've talked before about the two kids that a friend and I mentor in a way. I'll call them Jorge (the older one) and Luis (the younger). I had Jorge in my class in third grade and he has had it rough. He's the oldest of six children and was born when his mother was 14. His mom is frequently in rehab or jail, although she seems to have been out for the last couple of years. If she's clean or not is anyone's guess. Jorge helped his grandmother raise Luis. He's always been super over-responsible, stressed out, and had way too many adult responsibilities. About a year ago, Jorge started to crack. He was 13, which isn't f...

Cinderella, retold (and much better)

A seventh-grade student rewrote Cinderella and I think it’s much better! The Dressmakers Once there was a girl named Cinderella whose mother died. Then her father married again, a woman who did not care for Cinderella. She only cared for her own daughters and her husband's fortune. Cinderella’s father made sure they were always fair to Cinderella but two years later,  her father died. Cinderella was left alone with her  stepmother and stepsisters. Cinderella was treated like a house maid but got no money for her work. She had to make the meals, iron the clothes and more. But on some things, like cleaning the windows and floor, Cinderella had to clean them five times per day or according to her stepmother, they will not shine as much as they should.    Cinderella would often cry by a tree by her parents' graves. In that tree lived a little bird who Cinderella would talk with. She would talk to the bird about her stepmother’s many chores and little love for her, a...