Hard

I'm not gonna lie.  The last few years have been hard.  Heart-achingly, faith-shakingly, my-God-my-God-why-are-you-forsaking-me hard. But we did it.

Let me back up.  When my daughter was 3 or 4 she took a dance class.  At the Christmas recital we watched in darkened auditorium while she took center stage and danced like no one was watching, holding high a shiny star while dancing to "Do You Her What I Hear?" In the spring she realized she was not alone in the room. When she saw that people were watching her, she didn't move a step.  Not one step. People could see her.

Our school in suburban Houston was not racially mixed.  (There was, I believe, one other black girl in class with her the whole 6 years she was there).  I noticed.  She didn't.  All she noticed was that everyone else had long, straight, blond hair and she didn't.  She didn't like her hair and wanted to fit in with her friends. Recently, my daughter told me, "I didn't know I was black until we moved to Arizona." As she was becoming a "tween" her skin color suddenly became a feature.  However,  except finding a place to straighten her hair, it didn't seem to matter.

Four years ago we moved to Missouri, and she was suddenly entering her teens and seeking her identity, as teens do.  And color matters, as much to those around her as to her.  And South St. Louis county is not a very colorful place. When she entered high school in Jefferson County, she enrolled in a school system that was 97% white.  That leaves just 3% for all minorities.  And the girl who didn't want to be seen on stage at age 4 suddenly, at least in her own mind, was the center of everyone's attention.  She stuck out.  She was seen.

She made the varsity volleyball team as a freshman.  And now (at least in her own eyes) she was even more visible.  One of only 2 freshmen on the team, and the only black girl. While I think she should have been honored that they saw her talent and skill, to her it seemed visible was miserable.

Add to that the fact that in middle school we "discovered" that she had ADHD.  Learning in the traditional way was/is difficult for her.  When she had the opportunity to go to a separate room for extra help and to take tests, she wanted no part of it, since kids were bound to notice that she was leaving or returning.  They'd notice her.

So, back to High School.  She was having difficulty in academics, and she felt like she didn't fit in (Imagine 50 or so children of color, any color, in a school of 1700).  She began to try to disappear.  She hated school.  I dislike using the word "hate" because it's such a strong emotion...but I really can think of no better word.

Her sophomore year was a mess.  She wasn't doing well academically, and had only a handful of friends at school.  Attendance was slipping and the situation was becoming dire.  Frequently she asked to go to another school, but since other schools in our county shared the same racial make-up, I knew that wouldn't help.  My husband and I began to discuss moving to the city.  We could downsize a bit as the kids were about to get their own wings (Our son was about to graduate and could leave any time), and we could find a school where she fit in. We put the house on the market.

When school was about to start and we were still looking to buy and to sell, we began to panic.  She refused to go back to her high school until we moved.  Panic turned in to prayer and we found a great charter school that would fudge the residency requirement until we moved.  They saw our desires for her to succeed.  Every morning we drove the 30 minutes into the city.  But by now her aversion to school was firmly entrenched.  She couldn't play sports (not eligible), and didn't have friends.  We saw this school as a great opportunity, but she did not. She wanted to go to the public school, but that wasn't possible until we were residents.

Finally, in mid-October, 8 weeks into the academic year, we moved.  As soon as we moved she wanted to go public, so again we transferred schools.  But in a case of the grass being greener, this school wasn't what she wanted either.  My daily attempts at getting her up for school frequently met with failure.  She was miserable and so was I.  And she was so far behind academically I didn't see how we could ever climb out of the deep hole she had dug.

By January, the beginning of the second semester, the situation was critical.  My daughter was on her way to becoming a statistic, a high school drop-out.  As a former high school teacher who loved going to school, I was crushed.

I can't go into detail (why not, you ask, you've already written an epic novel)...but at the end of January we met Joan Love.  (I love her name.)  Joan was able to pull a few strings and get Bri into "Innovation Concepts Academy."  Affiliated with STL public schools, ICA is for kids who don't succeed in a traditional classroom.  My daughter wasn't technically eligible, since she needed to be 17 by April 1.  Her Birthday is April 25.  Again strings were pulled and rules were overlooked.  Thanks to her admissions counselor, Ms. Hall, who said, "let's just get her in and we'll see what we can do."  And so she began.

ICA was half days and all work was done on computers and one on one with a tutor.  Students studied individual subjects not with the goal of getting enough "credits" to graduate high school, but to master the basics in reading, writing, math, science and social studies.  By the end of the year students would graduate if they passed tests in these 5 areas, administered at a local college.  (The same tests are given to Missouri's home-schooled students to see if they've mastered these areas.)

Has my girl read all the classics in American and British Lit that I loved to teach?  Can she do Calculus?  Is she proficient in Geometry?  Has she fully studied World War I or WW II?  Does she know about the Crimean War (do you?) Has she written a research paper?  No to all of the above.  And although your child's education may be broader and deeper, my girl still has a high school diploma.  It was hard-fought, and it was won! She earned it (We earned it!)

She can go on to college if she wants to.  I don't think she wants to, but the opportunity is there.  And not all success in life requires a college degree.  But my girl has told me, "Mom, I'm gonna do something with my life!"  And I believe her.