Frankie and Mr. B

by Janet Fleck

The direction in which education starts a man will determine his future life. ~ Plato

At the age of twenty-four, I taught second grade at a small, rural school in Michigan. Seven-year-old Frankie was one of my students. Everything about him conveyed a poor, lost boy: disheveled hair, grungy fingernails, smudged face, stained plaid pajama top worn as a shirt over threadbare pants, and scuffed, worn tennis shoes.

Each day I called small groups of children to sit around a kidney-shaped table and take turns reading out loud. When it was Frankie’s turn, he laid his head on the table, covered it with his arms, and refused to read. I didn’t force him to read the first day, or the second day, or the day after that. Finally I pulled him aside and asked, “Frankie, don’t you want to learn to read?”

In a try-and-make-me tone, Frankie said, “I don’t need to know how to read. My dad don’t know how to read.”

Realizing this was more than a teacher-student issue, I looked for a phone number to call the family. When I could not find one, I made a home visit.

On a Friday after school, I drove down a long, narrow dirt road to a place you wouldn’t expect to find a house. As soon as I turned onto the gravel driveway, I saw the neglected, beat-up residence.

Frankie answered my knock and took me to meet his dad. Mr. B was tall and thin, with a missing front tooth and a short, scruffy beard. He wore a plaid flannel shirt. He stared at me through sad eyes. I felt instant compassion for this man who was only in his mid-twenties and already appeared beaten down by life.

“Mr. B, Frankie tells me he doesn’t need to know how to read because you don’t know how to read. Is that true?”I paused before adding, “If it is true, I’d like to offer you some help.”

He paused to take in the question and evaluate my sincerity. Slowly he answered, “It’s true. I dunno how to read or write, and my mom and dad dunno how either.”

After we talked a while, I got up my courage and extended an invitation. “You are welcome to come to the Adult Basic Education classes that I teach two evenings a week in Brighton.” I assured him, “You won’t be the only adult there who can’t read or write.”

With unexpected humility, Mr. B admitted that he needed to learn to read so he could fill out job applications, land a job, and give Frankie a better life. But Mr. B was skeptical. Since he’d been unable to learn at Frankie’s age, he wondered why he should expect things to be any different now.

As he walked me to the door, I looked him in the eyes and challenged him: “Mr. B, what you choose to do about your own education will determine Frankie’s future.” Then I said goodbye.

Much to my surprise, Mr. B came to the next adult education class and brought his mother, father, and a cousin with him. I quickly discovered that, like Frankie, they could not connect the sound-symbol relationships of the letters in words. They were classic examples of people who needed specific, focused instruction to learn to read.

Over the next few weeks and months, with intense, direct instruction, Mr. B learned to read and write. Every week, as his reading and writing skills improved, so did his confidence. Frankie’s enthusiasm for reading grew stronger each week too. In fact, Frankie became an enthusiastic reader. One day he proudly proclaimed, “My dad helped me with my reading. We read my book together.”

By the end of the year, not only had Mr. B’s confidence improved but he had also reached a personal goal. He was reading at a fifth-grade level—well enough to fill out job applications. Frankie was reading at his grade level too.

On the last night of the adult education class, Mr. B, his mother, father, cousin, and I left the building together. With hope-filled eyes, Mr. B said, “Thank you for teaching us to read and write and for helping me to help my son.”

As Frankie’s family left the parking lot, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction—the kind that comes from knowing you saw a need, took a risk, and reaped a reward. It was a day I loved being a teacher.

But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

Galatians 5:22–23, MSG

For more devotions by Carol Kent and Vicki Caruana, check out their book, Moments of Grace for Teachers, HERE.