The Gatekeeper

As a teacher of the only course seniors need to graduate, I proudly refer to myself as the Gatekeeper. I love the idea of holding this power in my hands; plus, it sounds cool (even if it does elicit an occasional "keymaster" joke). Today, however, I found that being the Gatekeeper isn't as great as I like to believe it is.

This year I only have two (of eighty) seniors who have failed for the year. One is Joe, who earned Es for all four quarters and failed the final. He's quite intelligent, but he feels that homework and classwork are optional.

The other senior who failed is Brandi. At the beginning of the year, she showed promise: she proclaimed her passion for helping others and told me about her parallel enrollment at the community college to begin her training to become a registered nurse. Throughout high school she had also been a part of the Allied Health program at the Vocational Tech school that partners with our high school.

At the beginning of second quarter, however, Brandi seemed to be overtaken with a case of senioritis: she missed seven class periods (out of the approximately twenty times our class meets during a quarter with block scheduling). Third quarter, she failed with a low E.

I made it clear to her that she needed to pass fourth quarter to be eligible for graduation, but things only got worse. She did not open Lord of the Flies once during the unit—inside or outside of class—and rarely even brought a backpack to school. When I made some half-joking comment about her consistent unpreparedness, Brandi threw her hands in the air and said, "I don't know where my backpack is!"

This sounds pretty bad, but it's not unusual; many students somehow manage to forget to bring a backpack, binder, writing utensil, etc. on a quasi-regular basis. How students can forget the only thing they need to bring with them is beyond me.

But back to Brandi: not only did she consistently attend class unprepared, but she did very little while she was there. If she was there. (Her poor attendance continued through the fourth quarter.) She didn't submit the last few remaining assignments of the year, sealing her quarter and final grades as an E.

Despite Brandi's abject failure, she amazed me by putting sincere effort into her final exam, on which she earned a C. Although this should mathematically average to a D for the year, the Three Es rule mandates that Brandi earn an E for the year.

Clearly Brandi did not earn a passing grade in my class and therefore cannot graduate.

However.

Today my principal stopped in my room and asked me to swing by his office for a few minutes. He told me he had spoken to Brandi and learned a little backstory. Apparently her father is severely, physically abusive. After beating her for perhaps months, he finally threw Brandi out of the house; she has been rotating through friends' couches for the last several weeks. As for her "lost" backpack, allegedly her mother stole it; the principal suspects it is to sabotage Brandi's chance at graduating, attending college, and breaking free from the lower-class, blue collar life that is all her family knows.

I like to joke with my students (seniors especially) that I do not have a heart; if it's there, it's hollow. Today I wish this were the case. Thrice the principal repeated that he is asking me no favors and that he will back my decision, whatever it may be. On his conference table were Brandi's last two assignments; I agreed to score them and enter them into the gradebook.

Brandi earned an A on both assignments, and her average jumped up significantly—from 34% to 46%. But 46% is still too low.

I brought my principal a fresh copy of Brandi's grade report and a copy of her attendance card that marked her plethora of absences. I then told him that Brandi had not earned a passing grade in my class and has not earned the right to graduate. Really, she didn't.

I have written a number of posts about students who will graduate despite their inability or foolish behavior; condemning Brandi to summer school (or year five or a GED) feels almost as dirty. I realize, of course, that I am not compromising my moral guidelines, just as I expect my superiors to do. Even so, I cannot help but wonder what will become of Brandi as I shut the door, turn the lock, and return the key to my pocket.

See Addendum