This is getting to be too much.

As Dad dozed and Elinor ate kale with cottage cheese, I opened the paper. One of my students was shot in a drive-by shooting Monday — De’Quan. I started crying at the table, Elinor curious as she paused in her eating.

I don’t even know what to say. He was a good kid with a good family and a high-strung temperament. He would ask me to bring in a book like _The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles_ one day, and then storm out of the classroom another day. The only time I probably¬† should have been actually scared for my physical welfare while teaching was one day when De’Quan was frustrated with the world and tried to storm out of class, yet again. I blocked the door and he hit the door to the side of me, kind of blinded by rage. Yet I knew he didn’t want to hurt me; we had a good relationship. He was a deep thinker, that kid, and hypocrisy pissed him off, as it should piss off all 14-year-olds. He was sensitive, too, which is difficult for boys at that age.

He had such a good smile. He was so kind, so often.

The reality of what life is going to look like for my students hits home when things like this happen. I would have thought that De’Quan would calm down, mature, and do well — and it sounds like he had, obtaining his GED and transferring schools by choice. But an apparently random shooting from a green Honda as it drove past him ended all of that.

I am so pissed and so sad. It makes me cry.

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