From “Dropout to Doctorate: Breaking the Chains of Educational Injustice” By Terrence Lester, PhD
One day, my mother and I were asked to have a serious conversation at the high school about the trouble I had gotten into and to talk about the slim chance I had of any academic success. This meeting was with the assistant principal Mr Hughes, who was responsible for monitoring the progress of the class I was supposed to graduate with. I walked into that office, bracing myself to hear the worst about myself and my grim future.
Sitting across from Mr. Hughes, I will never forget the first words that came out of his mouth to my mother: “I don’t have such good news about your son. We have to have an honest conversation about Terence’s ability to excel.” And then the next few words felt like all the years of the systemic failure and poverty I was a part of collided and came down on me all at once.
“I don’t think you will be able to finish school here, Terence. You have fallen too far behind.”
Hearing those words that I would not be able to finish and graduate on time added more crushing weight to what I had already carried throughout my childhood. By that time, I believed I had endured enough punishment as opposed to having teachers and educators provide me with the type of support I needed to self-regulate and understand my pain so I could flourish as a student. I was now becoming a 1990s statistic. School was supposed to be a place where my psychological safety and support were top priorities, but I could not ever recall feeling that type of support as I listened to the words coming from this assistant principal. Sitting there, I had this moment where I silently wondered, Does anyone actually care about my pain? Up until then, it felt like I was only ever punished for my trauma and pain and never really supported through it. I can count on one hand the number of people in that school who made me feel seen.