Kenny Boo

When I was a first year teacher, I taught sixth and seventh graders for 69 days. (See previous blog) In one of my seventh grade classes, the class clown was a 14 year old boy named Kenny. Kenny was a below average student that I continually tried to change. I struggled very hard to make him interested in my science class, but Kenny was more interested in being social. He was constantly talking during my lessons and could care less about the Life Science that I was teaching. It was very obvious that Kenny was way more interested in making his classmates laugh, than learning about cell division. But, I must admit, Kenny was indeed funny. Even though he was a constant distraction to my teaching, he was also very entertaining. He made me laugh on several occasions and I really liked having Kenny in my class.
Kenny was liked by everyone. Students were constantly calling his name in class to ask him a question or to tell him to do something to entertaining. One day, I noticed that his classmates always referred to him as "Kenny Boo". I thought this friendly nickname was cute, but was curious to find the origin of the "boo" part. So during class one day I asked, "Kenny, why does everybody call you, Kenny Boo?" And with his arms opened wide, and a shrug of his shoulders, Kenny smiled from ear to ear and explained, "'Cause I'm every body's "Boo", Ms. Guidry!!!" Of course he was! What a silly question for me to ask! Like I didn't already know the answer?
I never forgot about Kenny. Out of every student I taught for that brief period, I remember instances and situations, and stories from the different classes, with different students. But, to be honest, I can't remember one name of one student from my sixth and seventh grade class. I remember faces, but every name eludes me. Every name that is, expect for Kenny. Because he was "every body's Boo", he was obviously, very memorable.
Over the next few years, I thought about Kenny every now and again. I wondered what happened to my very first class clown. I wondered if another teacher had succeeded in getting through to Kenny, where I had failed. I wondered if he eventually took his studies as serious as he took his socializing. Then one day I received the answer to all my questions about Kenny Boo.
I was driving around my home town, listening to the local radio station. The hour news report came on and there was a story about a shooting in town, in which a young baby was shot through the hand. The story immediately caught my attention because I thought how sad it was that an innocent 9 month old baby girl was caught in the middle of a gun battle and was hurt by it. When I got home, I told my parents the story about the baby. I was still very saddened about the news, but at the time, it was a story that happened to someone else. At the time, I had no connection to the shooting. It was just another sad news story that I had heard about, and one that could not be prevented.
The next day, I was listening to the radio again when a follow up story on the shooting came on the news. The full story about the baby girl was that she was caught in the middle of a gang shooting. At the time, she was being held by her father, whose was the shooter's intended target. Again, I was saddened by the news for this baby. When I finally got home, I felt compelled to look through the newspaper, (something that was very rare for me as I usually received my daily news from other sources). For some reason on this day, I wanted to find more on this little baby. With the newspaper in hand, something immediately told me to turn to the obituaries. What was I looking for? An article about the baby? Why? The news said nothing about the baby being deceased? When I turned toward the latest deaths, there it was, a picture of the baby's father, with his name in bold print: Kenneth "Kenny Boo" Williams.
At the age of 18, Kenny had been killed, as the radio reported, in a gang related shooting. At the time, he was holding his 9 month old baby girl, (his second child). Kenny was shot four times, with one bullet penetrating the hand of his daughter through and through. Kenny died immediately, and although his daughter would have reconstructed surgery on her hand, she was predicted to make a full recovery.
I read Kenny's obituary several times. At first, I could not fathom that this was the same student that had once been my class clown. I went back and counted the years that it had been, and did the math. I realized that the young student in my class and this shooting victim was one in the same. Besides, how many other young men were known as "Kenny Boo" to his friends and family?
I felt very guilty about Kenny's death. Teachers are suppose to change the lives of their students. To me, I had let Kenny down, again. I didn't change his life. I didn't try hard enough to help him with his academics. I didn't care enough. I didn't stick it out, and because of this, Kenny's life went down the wrong path. His humor was enjoyed by many, but his daughter would never be able to experience it. Now, I realized why I was so saddened when I heard the story. From that day forward, I vowed to always be there for my students. I vowed to be the best teacher that I could be, and always change the lives of my students. I knew there would be no guarantees about the my students' future, but it would not be because I didn't try. And from that day forward, every day of my teaching career, every accomplishment and every achievement would be dedicated to Kenny Boo. Because he was one student who taught me a lot more, than I ever taught him.