I was teaching sophomore English in a low-income school. For some reason, I have a tendency to attract the kids who’ve gone through trauma. I don’t know what it is about me, but kids tell me things, things that hurt my heart and make me go home and cry for them because I can’t help them.

This particular student, Jackson (name changed for privacy), was in my sophomore English class and my advisory, so we chatted often. One day, he made a comment about how he didn’t have wireless Internet at home, and I replied, “No?” Simple question that yielded a lot more information than I anticipated.

Side note: The school was 1-to-1, where each student was issued a Chromebook to take home. Unfortunately, Chromebooks don’t work all that well without wireless Internet. So, regardless of the fact that students had their own devices, I still did not assign homework because of the story Jackson told me…

He replied, “Ms. Gondringer. I’m lucky to have a roof over my head.” I must have made a surprised face because he continued with roughly the following story:

Between his 4^th and 8^th grade school years, he considered himself “homeless” with his older sister. They lost their mother when Jackson was really young (I think a year or two old) and Dad was left to raise the kids. I’m not clear on what happened between the time his mom died and when he became homeless in 4^th grade. Jackson we wasn’t legally homeless because he and his sister still lived with their dad. But…

Dad didn’t trust the kids with a key to the house. Dad was also an alcoholic. Dad spent pretty much all his time at the bar. He’d go to work and then walk uptown to the local bar. He’d stay there until who knows when. He’d stumble home, sometimes not even making it to his home, and pass out in a ditch somewhere. All the while, the kids were sleeping in the truck in the yard, because remember, Dad didn’t trust them with a key to the house. Jackson talked about stashing blankets under the truck seats or in their school lockers so when the dead of winter hit, he and his sister could snuggle in close and share body heat under the blankets they had. Sometimes they’d get lucky and head into the house in the middle of the night, after Dad got home. He usually didn’t relock the door. They could go in, grab food, clothes, take a shower, and head off to school the next day. This went on for four years.

Eventually, and again, details are fuzzy here, but eventually, Jackson’s aunt found out what was happening and rescued the two kids. That was when Jackson was an 8^th grader. He was still living with his aunt when he was a sophomore and in my class.

Two years later, Jackson graduated high school with honors. He was part of the National Honor Society and was one of the highest-ranking individuals in his graduating class. This picture is of Jackson from his graduation day, visiting his mother’s grave. (All personal details have been blocked out to protect privacy.) In the picture, you can see his NHS collar as well has the red cord, the school’s symbol for honors.

He’s also now dating the Valedictorian from the class that graduated two years behind him. He’s done really well for himself, despite his rocky upbringing. He’s proof that people can and do get out of terrible situations!

This story still hurts just as bad as the day Jackson told me about it. The fact that a parent can be that reckless and neglect their children like that sickens me. Something has to be done about people like this. There’s no reason for abuse like this to happen.

Thank you so much for reading! Stories like this need to be told.