The Flower Pot

 

Miguel never participated in my high school Child Development class, and he never turned in an assignment. He missed more classes than he attended. On the rare occasions I saw him in the hall during passing period, he walked alone, his eyes slightly downcast, looking neither to the left nor to the right. Tall and lanky, his thin rounded shoulders seemed to strain under an enormous weight.

Miguel’s background was typical of my rural New Mexico students. Of predominantly Hispanic and Native American origins, the majority lived at some level of poverty. Many lived in what can only be described as utter poverty.

This was not the kind of poverty that merely restricts its victims to boxed macaroni and cheese or ramen for dinner every night. This was the mind-deadening, soul-shriveling poverty that means going home to an apartment or trailer house in which there is nothing to fill a growling, perpetually empty teenage stomach. It is the kind of poverty that means not enough money to pay the water bill, so there is no running water to drink or in which to bathe. The kind of poverty that compels a family to live in a car until Mom gets the first paycheck from her new job.

Unlike the middle-class students I taught in other states, my Los Lunas students rarely had adequate school supplies. Many regularly had to borrow pencils and paper from me or their classmates.

Two girls in one class wore fuzzy pink and blue house slippers of the type I had seen in the local dollar store. They wore them every day – even in frigid winter weather. In several of my classes, I had at least one student required to wear the ankle bracelet that came with being caught up in the juvenile justice system. Each semester at least one or two of my students were pregnant.

In December, I typically taught a unit on positive reinforcement. I set up a token economy wherein students received one play money Buck every day they came to class on time. Extra Bucks were given for completed assignments and for good classroom behavior. The students’ goal was to accumulate as many Bucks as possible by the last day of class before Winter Break, when they would be allowed to spend their savings at my Bazaar – an auction held in my classroom.

A few items to be auctioned, such as candy bars, would have been donated by one or two parents, but I purchased most of them in volume from local dollar stores. Pop tarts, microwave popcorn, and macaroni and cheese were the most popular items, followed by star-shaped sunglasses, stretchy bracelets made of plastic beads, glitter-laden lotions, and assorted party favors.

As usual, tardiness and absenteeism lessened during this unit. But I was surprised and inordinately pleased when Miguel not only began showing up to class but was on time.

Every day for those two weeks Miguel walked through the door just before the tardy bell rang. He would catch my eye, nod once, and then make his way to his desk. There he sat with his head bowed, his clasped hands resting on the desk throughout the forty-five-minute class.

As was my custom, I handed out the day’s attendance Bucks at the beginning of each class. Miguel would take the Buck from my hand, say “Thank you, Miss,” and stuff the play money into the pocket of his too-large jacket.

Before class on the day of the auction, students could view the items I placed on a long table at the front of the classroom. The excitement always ran high. Kids stood around the table chattering with one another about which things caught their fancy. They pointed at the trinkets on which they wanted to bid. Some would playfully threaten anyone who might decide to overbid them. Others would count their Bucks and compare their pretend wealth with that of their friends. I overheard one student proudly tell another that this would be his Christmas shopping for his younger siblings.

As usual, I began the auction by first offering the smaller pieces then moving on to the larger items. I held up each article as students began their frenzied bidding.

A few of the students, especially those who had accumulated thick wads of Bucks, quickly jumped in with high bids. Others waited patiently for a specific item to be offered. Still others hooted and egged the bidders on to get them to spend all their money before the more desirable items were offered.

Miguel sat quietly at his desk. He wore the same faded blue workout pants and hooded jacket he had worn for the past several days, the stretched-out cuffs frayed and stained. His hair hung in greasy ropes around his thin face, and his ragged fingernails were rimed in black.

At some point during the auction, Miguel took his wadded-up Bucks out of his jacket. He carefully straightened the bills on his desk, then sat with his head bent slightly forward and eyes downcast as item after item went up for bid. He did not bid, even though I had seen him looking over the auction table before class.

The final item up for bid was a small terra cotta flowerpot, the packaging of which proclaimed it to contain soil and the seeds of a lavender plant. I mentally prepared myself for the bidding frenzy that always took place when those who had inexplicably held onto their Bucks realized they would soon become worthless squares of colored paper.

“What am I bid for—” I held up the flowerpot.

“Five Bucks,” Miguel said in a soft voice before anyone else could speak.

A couple of students murmured things like, “Go for it, Miguel,” and “All right Miguel.”

Then the rowdy, boisterous chatter fell silent.

“Five Bucks going once,” I said. The wall clock behind my desk ticked off its second-to-second cadence.

“Going twice.” I moved my gaze around the silent room.

“Going three times, and sold to Miguel for five Bucks.”

Pandemonium broke out as Miguel walked to the front of the room to claim his prize. Students hooted their congratulations and support.

I struggled to maintain what my Marine Corps son calls bearing as my chest filled with awe and pride at what these young people had just done.

Tonight, a much-loved mother, sister, aunt, grandma, or maybe even sweetheart, would be the recipient of a very special gift…and after today, Miguel would never again be so completely alone.

 

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