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Ripton, VT: North Branch School

Ripton, VT: North Branch School
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At the same time the poem was about the possibility of freedom. This boy, who’d never left the state of Vermont, who’d never seen the ocean or a big city, this boy was asking for flight, praying for it, worrying what it would cost, still believing that he had wings. Then it occurred to me: The student, not the schoolmaster, had arrived early to light the woodstove. Steve had kindled the classroom with the gift of a poem.
When I stepped over the threshold, our school was already warm. When I began class that morning I told the story, a story that had never been told in our school, never had been told in the world, the story of a boy who hated school, who believed school hated him, who believed school was a place for failing, a boy whose most memorable moment in school–aside from having his head hammered into lockers–was his daily trip to the high school gym where, as he passed the Diesel Mechanics class at the Hannaford Career Center, he could catch a fleeting glimpse of his father working toward his G.E.D. It was the story of a boy who had come to a new school and there resurrected his hope of becoming a student who could spread his wings and fly.

I told them how I had found Steve’s poem on my desk.

“Do y’all realize what this means?” I asked, trying to engender some awestruck wonderment. “Do you see what is happening? Steve has written a poem. This fantastic youngster is a poet. This sorry, pants-sagging teenager has got the juice!”

“Way to go, Steve,” said Annie, in dutiful support.

“Steve wrote a poem?” said Doug, as though we had been presented with a sonnet typed by a chimp.

“Yes, he did indeed.”

“Well, can we hear it already?” asked Mira.

“You guys,” I said, ignoring her. “Steve turned this in without it being an assignment. He’s thinking, his heart is pumping, he’s got a pulse, he’s alive. He’s not just sitting brain-dead in front of a computer playing Diablo II. Well, he was this morning, but at least he wrote a poem before he did it. I’m proud of you, Steve.”

I looked him in the eyes.

Please Note: This article was accurate at the time of publication. When planning a trip, please confirm details by directly contacting any company or establishment you intend to visit.

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