Service Learning and Public Discourse

At the beginning of homeroom period on my first day of seventh grade, the teacher read a list of students and directed them to go to another room to get their class schedules. I could tell from the teacher's tone that this was a list I wanted to be on. I listened attentively for my name to be called, even after he passed my spot in the alphabet. I reasoned hopefully that if my name were not on the list, then perhaps I had misread his tone and it was a bad list rather than a good one. But my stomach stayed in a knot. After the chosen group had left, the teacher gave the rest of us our schedules, and it became clear that those who had left were in the honors track and the rest of us were not. On the way out of homeroom, I asked the teacher to check his list again. I had always been a straight-A student and had never even seen a C on my report card. What did it take to get into the honors class? But, no, my name was not there, and the teacher could do nothing about it. I went off to my classes, all located on the bottom floor of Memorial Junior High. The rooms had high ceilings with small windows at the top of the back wall,just like a basement. The other students looked bored and some, even on the first day, spent the period with their heads on their desks. The teachers all seemed to have the same teaching style: they handed out worksheets that occupied the class for most of the period; then they announced the homework. The worksheets seemed infantile to me; the knot stayed in my stomach. I told my story to each teacher, and received from each no more than a sympathetic smile. During lunch period, I found the assistant principal, who told me that the school got tracking assignments from central administration. She said that the school was simply not allowed to make changes but that she would contact central administration and see what had happened in my case. My mother called after school and got the same answer. In a few days, we learned that my records had not arrived from my elementary school, which was in the next state (my family had moved that summer). My mother spoke to the principal and repeated that I was an A student. The principal replied, "I believe you, but I need official documentation." I