The Talk
It is parent-teacher night and the history teacher has made a decision. He is going to have to give her mother the talk. The talk is incredibly rare. For my entire career, I’ve only given it once. But all of his teacher colleagues agree. He he needs to give her the talk, and he needs to be the one to do it.
He invites Savannah and her mom into his classroom. He peeks outside his door to check if there are any administrators in the hallway. There aren’t. He locks the door.
He turns around and says, “Ma’am, it’s my pleasure to meet you.”
A cheerful black woman with intelligent eyes flashes him a smile. “Likewise Mr. Blackman. I’ve hear a lot about you.”
Blackman flashes a smile back and proceeds to perform his secret handshake with Savannah. The man always did know how to win over parents. He says, “Ma’am, I’ll get right to the point. We have a problem.”
Her eyes narrow at Savannah, “Which is?”
“Your daughter is too smart for this school.”
Her eyes soften, “Oh. Is that so?”
“It is. She needs students that can keep up with her. She needs peers that will challenge her. And it’s in my professional opinion that Savannah would be better served at a more rigorous school. We do what we can around here, but…” he shrugs, “we work with what we’ve got.” It kills him to say this. Savannah brightens his morning every day. Somehow, despite the lack of classroom control, the absence of windows, and the proliferation of fights, the girl lights up every classroom she enters. She dazzles every teacher with her intellect. She does this as a freshman.
To recommend sending this kid away is to dim the hope in this school. She is the kind of kid teachers dream of teaching. And yet, for the good of her future, it needs to be done. Every teacher knows this. But Mom isn’t having it.
Her sharp eyes narrow again as she ponders his recommendation. She says, “There’s something you’re missing here, Mr. Blackman.” He cocks his head in question. “She loves it here. She’s happy. That counts for a lot. Perhaps more than you’re giving credit for.”
He nods his head in agreement and says, “I do see that, but I think she’ll be happy where ever she goes. She’s that kind of kid.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Let’s ask what Savannah thinks about all this.”
Savannah, who’s been listening to the conversation intently, pauses for a moment. She’s only been in the school for a month, but she knows she likes it here despite the wild classroom conditions. Maybe that’s what she likes about it. But she also deeply respects Mr. Blackman’s opinion. He thinks she should go somewhere else, her mom thinks otherwise.
She thinks to herself and makes a decision, “Sorry Mr. Blackman, I know you’re trying to get rid of me but it’s not going to be that easy.”
He smiles, “That wasn’t my intention.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, we’ll see about that. In the meantime you’re stuck with me. Maybe you’re right, but for now I’d like to stay.”
He rolls his eyes, “Ah well. I tried my best… but on a serious note, “ and he looks her in the eye, “I do think you’ll be better served elsewhere.”
“Maybe. But let’s find out.”
And so we did.
Every teacher in that school watched Savannah excel for the next four years. Class president. Volleyball captain. Valedictorian. She organized prom. Changed school policies through student government. If there was a school initiative, then she was a part of it. Hell, she even popped into my after school weight-lifting program from time to time. Despite the chaos of constant in-class fights and an unmotivated student body, Savannah went from freshman with potential to a senior who had surpassed all of our exceedingly high expectations.
She went to college on full scholarship.
Greatness
Whenever a student asks me if I think they have potential, I kindly remind them that potential is a French word that means hasn’t done shit yet. And while I carried the highest hopes for Savannah in college, I really didn’t know how she would respond to real intellectual and social challenge. In high school she was a big fish in a very small pond. What happens when she dives into the college ocean? Can she hang with the sharks? Or is she just a guppy?
I needn’t have worried. Fast forward another four years, and she has graduated college. Our school has asked her to be our keynote speaker for graduation. The girl who stands before me at the 2026 graduation is no longer a girl. She’s a woman. A formidable woman. Elegantly dressed in a black dress with her trademark infectious smile.
Never one to take a situation too seriously, I say, “I see you figured out how to dress properly for the occasion.”
She shoots back, “Says the guy who only works in sweatpants and a t-shirt.”
“Huh. Guess I figured it out too,” as I brush imaginary dust from the shoulder of my tailored suit.
She laughs, and we hug. I’m one of the few teachers she knows who still remains at the school. Mr. Blackman is long gone along with Mr. Dunn, Ms. Malloy, Ms. Lentin, Mr. Rubin, Ms Shah, Mr. Mason, and all the rest. The school washes out most of its teachers on a 4-year cycle, so when we take our seats in the auditorium, she plops down next to me and we immediately start reminiscing about past school tournaments and making fun of the speakers.
The kid I knew four years ago has only become a better version of herself. Sharp and articulate with a wicked sense of humor. It’s a blast catching up with her in between the guest speakers. When she takes the stage and lists her accolades from college, I realize she’s far more than a smart kid.
She’s a force of nature.
She graduated magna cum laude. Became president of her sorority. She was big woman on campus. She took a second rate high school education and didn’t just swim with the sharks, she became a megalodon.
Perhaps more tellingly, her speech puts the auditorium under a spell. I sit there thinking, how is she so composed? How does she give a speech better than adults twice her age? She weaves a tale of trial and triumph. She reminds the graduates in the audience that they too can do it. Somehow, it doesn’t sound corny. The girl can speak, and goddamn, in an age of AI slop the girl can write.
After her speech and the graduates’ final walk across the stage to receive their diplomas, I meet up with Savannah and her mother in the gymnasium for after-graduation snacks and pictures.
I smile when I see Mom again. She goes up to me and thanks me for staying in the school. “I know this place is tough, but it means a lot when teachers stay around. The kids really appreciate it.”
“It mostly reflects my lack of intelligence, ma’am, but with that said, I’ve got no plans on leaving anytime soon.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Switching the subject, I say, “Hey, do you remember the conversation Mr. Blackman had with you and Savannah her freshman year?”
“I do.”
“Well, I just wanted to say I’m glad you trusted your gut. It seems like she’s becoming the best version of herself.”
“It wasn’t all her. A lot of her teachers here had a lot to do with it.” And she flashes me a smile.
“I doubt it, ma’am. My guess is she would have done that anywhere.” But I smile back. Then I turn to Savannah, who’s been standing by Mom’s side, and I say, “Savannah. It’s been an absolute pleasure watching you grow into the woman you’ve become.”
She says, “Schuerch, I need you to start cracking jokes again because if you don’t you’re going to make me cry.” I laugh and we take a picture together.
Then I thank all my lucky stars that I was allowed to teach this one.
*5 years ago, I read Kevin Kelly’s article, “1000 True Fans.” The gist of it goes like this. Create a following of people who become fans of what you do. Be so damn good at what you do that people want to give you money so you continue doing it.
Here’s what I do. I teach, and I write stories about it.
If you’re in the position where you don’t mind becoming a paid subscriber, I hope you consider it… though if your initial reaction to that is, “fuck off, I’m just here to read,” then rock on.
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I needed this, today! So much bad news, this is uplifting. Thanks!
You DID me cry. That was beautiful. That Savannah and her mother felt like your school was where she needed to be and that she did it and no doubt made the school a better place.
I teach at a school where kids have a ridiculous amount of privilege and it is always clear when a student would thrive in no matter what environment they were in.
Thanks for what you do.