Anthony, by Jane Schmidt, July 2002

Having over twenty years of stories to relate I could go on for pages, but if I had to select one enduring moment to describe it would have to be the story of Anthony.

One morning (last year) I was standing in the front of the classroom, writing on my overhead and surrounded by three sixth grade students. In came Anthony...you know him, the student who melts into the woodwork, who quietly sits and you wonder if anything is being absorbed. The kind of student other students tend to shun because of his ragged hair and used clothing. A student bounced between too many schools and districts to count. Anthony. He was wearing a long coat with deep pockets. I said good morning to him, and he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a statue of a dog, broken and chipped, and plunked it on my overhead.

"Oh, a dog! Did you bring this to share, Anthony?" He nodded his head. Then as I looked closer I saw that both the dog's legs were broken off. "Oh, Anthony, that's too bad. His legs are broken."

Without a word, Anthony dug in his pocket and produced the broken legs. I told Anthony I would put the dog on my shelf so others could see it. I told him we could glue the legs back on and paint the dog, so it would look like new. He nodded and with a smile left the room.

That afternoon as we met in our team with the guidance counselor; of course, the topic of Anthony came up. I told about the dog and how unusual it was for a sixth grader to bring something to share, especially something broken. The guidance counselor went to the home later that day to discuss concerns about Anthony's school progress. She eventually brought up the topic of the dog at which point the mother became angry. Her comments included: "It's too bad that gift my son brought her wasn't good enough for that teacher. We don't have much money, and he searched all over this house to find something to give her.

He really admires her. Too bad it wasn't good enough for her!"

After hearing the story, I went to Anthony and asked if he had meant it for a gift, and he said yes. I thanked him warmly.

Shortly after the dog came to school, Anthony was gone, moved in the middle of the night as bills came due. I keep the dog on my shelf for all to see, chipped and broken, as a symbol of the broken and chipped children that pass through our classrooms. We cannot repair them, but we can give them a place of honor within the walls of our classroom. We can provide them with an environment of warmth and caring where being chipped and broken might not be quite so bad.

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