The Inner City: A Blog Series about Life, Poverty, and the People in a Connecticut City

For years, before it ended, I taught in the No Child Left Behind Act in central Connecticut. I worked with underprivileged children in the inner city and went into the homes of every kind of student with every kind of background imaginable. My job, simply put, was to make sure my students passed all their classes. The failure and dropout rates in the city were extremely high.

When I first started working in the program, I was reluctant to go to most of the neighborhoods assigned to me. I was warned about the gangs and violence, and before I even left my house, I was nervous and felt unsafe.

To get to the home of my first two students, who were brother and sister, I drove through streets that looked more like crime scenes in a movie or war zones. I couldn’t believe they were neighborhoods where people lived. They were filled with dilapidated homes with broken windows, and many had squatters living inside. Some roads had cars that were left abandoned, stripped of tires and anything that appeared to have even the smallest of value. It was early March and Daylight Savings time had not yet begun. My students didn’t get home from school until 3:30 p.m., so I scheduled Carlos’ tutoring at 4:00 p.m. and Maria’s at 5:30. They were seven and nine, respectively. Each was to have an hour and a half tutoring session twice a week. It would be dark when I left their home for quite some time.

It was a warm day for early March and when I arrived there were children playing basketball in the street. Several kids were riding their bicycles up and down the sidewalk, and up just the road was a group of girls playing hopscotch. I tried to park my car directly in front of the tenement where my students lived, but it wasn’t possible. I had to park almost a block away. My uneasiness grew.

Looking around, I had never seen abject poverty like this before in my life. But the children didn’t appear to be unhappy. They were playing with complete abandon, and they were laughing as if they were the happiest kids in the world.

When I got out of my car, dressed in my standard teaching attire complete with briefcase, and walked across the street, the children stopped playing and stared at me. Their backs straightened and they were on guard. I walked up to the children and said, “Hello boys. Nice day for a game of basketball. If I was dressed for it, I might like to join you. I’m looking for Carlos and Maria Ramos. I’m their teacher. Do you know where they live?” I didn’t expect their sudden and dramatic change. The boys had visibly relaxed, smiled and talked to me like I was their teacher. Almost immediately I had gained their respect.

This neighborhood and city were about to teach me some important lessons — ones I never expected to learn. My students were not the only ones that were going to receive an education.