Winston's Way | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Winston's Way | Previous Challenge Entry
By Yvonne Blake
02/18/20
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Winston had a way of making me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. He came to our multi-grade class when he was almost nine, but he was actually at a first-grade level. We decided to put him in second grade and hoped that extra tutoring would help.

Born to a drug-addicted girl, Winston had been immediately put in the child welfare system, where he bounced from home to home. At five, he was put in a boys’ group home. I met him when he was welcomed into a family at our church. He didn’t fit in, and he knew it. He had plenty of practice of being the newcomer and survived by making others laugh.

It began the first day. Winston pulled his hat all the way over his face and deliberately walked into the door frame. Hearing his reward of laughter, he yanked off the hat, making his shaggy hair stand on end. Seeing the impish sparkle in his eyes, I knew this one would make our days interesting.

Winston thrived on laughter. He’d make noises and comments at appropriate (or inappropriate) times, depending on whose point of view you took. He would make my heart stop with his Charlie Chaplin falls. He’d draw funny cartoons on the chalkboard. It was very hard to scold him once I’d already chuckled at his antics.

Once in a while, his past took away his humor. During a quiet reading time, Winston raised his hand. “What’s St. Jo’s doing in this book?” (referring to our local Saint Joseph Hospital)

He was reading a westward movement book, so I was puzzled. “Can you spell it for me?”

“S -A -N -J -O -S E, St. Jo’s.”

“Oh, San Jose! That’s a Spanish word for a city in the West. Actually, it does mean Saint Joseph, so you were right. It was a mission there when the area was first settled.”

Winston’s eyes widened, and he slapped the word to his desk. “How can you expect me to read Spanish? I can’t even read English yet!”

It was true. He was trying so hard to catch up to his age level. He stayed after school. He practiced at home. By spring, he had conquered second grade. Beaming over his latest report card of mostly B’s, he asked, “Can catch up with the ones in fourth grade?”

I could hardly look him in the eye. Yes, sometimes it's possible for a student to work hard enough to skip one grade, but not two - especially third grade, when they are taught so many new concepts. It would be nearly impossible.

I sighed. “Sorry, Winston. You worked really hard, I know, and you’ve learned so much this year, but you would have had to do twice that much work to catch up.”

His smile disappeared, and he closed his eyes for a second. Then a torrent of pent-up emotions tumbled from his lips. “It’s not fair! If I was born in a family like all these kids, with a good mother and father, I’d be in fourth grade right now. I could read all the books in this room. I might even be getting A’s on my report card. It’s not fair!”

My heart broke as he stomped out of the room, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. It was true. It really didn’t seem fair. I prayed that he’d eventually see, that despite his hard beginning, God had given him a good home and a whole school full of people that loved him.

Winston didn’t come to class for the next few days, and I was concerned about him. I shouldn’t have worried.

On Monday morning, he was back and full of sparkle again. When the class went to their hall lockers for a snack, he turned backwards in the doorway and slapped a yogurt pouch over his head. The sticky goo burst from the seams and splattered the whole room. Pink dots were everywhere! They were on the ceiling, the chalkboard, the windows, all the desks, the books - everywhere!

I gasped and began passing out paper towels. The kids made a game of wiping their desks and chairs. I told Winston that he had to stay in recess and help me clean up the rest, as best that we could. He nodded, but I saw that familiar twinkle as he whispered, “But it was funny, wasn’t it?”

(non-fiction)

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