One more step needed to succeed

Iam teaching two summer classes to make extra money, like I do most every year. They started July 3 and go for a month.

At 8 a.m. I have Composition 2, a group of students near the end of their English requirements unless I convert them into English majors. Then at 10:15 I have Business English, the most basic English class at ATU-Ozark Campus, required for a technical certificate in a trade such as welding or automotive repair.

The first day is always spent getting to know students and letting them get to know me. One thing we do is go around and talk about ourselves, our interests, etc.; I ask them to tell about their majors and what they hope to learn in the class.

On the first day in Business English my students, all male, went down the row introducing themselves till we came to one who resembled a smallish grizzly bear. Dark eyes, dark, curly, thinning hair, dark skin. Unassuming voice with a slight accent that suggested English as a second language.

“Uh, I’m Braller,” he said. It sounded a little bit like a question. I smiled at him. And then in my usual way of being not at all politically correct, I blurted out, “Brawler? Like a person who brawls?”

He grinned with all his teeth, turning from grizzly to teddy. “No ma’am.” He spelled his name. I told him that was a relief.

Braller then relayed the story of how he came to be in my summer section of Business English. He graduated with his technical certificate in welding in May, or so he thought. He kept waiting for the certificate to arrive in the mail. His plan was to get a job as a welder. When it never came, he called the school.

That is when he found out that due to some clerical error he did not have all of the classes needed for his certificate. He still needed Business English.

“Do you mean to tell me, Braller, that you thought you were finished with all of your requirements—you are a welder ready to get a job— and you had to come back to this campus this summer and take my Business English class?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Situations like this make me want to cuss, which my mother says I never should do. But sometimes I can’t help myself. Because the truth is most of my students just have it so dang hard. A huge percentage of them qualify for Pell Grants and other financial aid because they desperately need it.

They are the good guys; the ones who don’t abuse the system. They are the cycle breakers— the single parents fighting to give their kids a better life, the fast food and factory workers who come to college between shifts; the ones clawing their way, class by demanding class, out of poverty.

I love my colleagues, and we bust our tails to help people. Braller’s situation could as easily be his mistake as someone’s in the office— probably more likely his, if truth be told—but I hate it for him. A wise person recently told me that sometimes folks just need a little help, and that little bit of help can make all the difference. It is so true.

The inverse can also be true when people are extremely vulnerable. I see this with my students and how sometimes the smallest thing can set someone back, especially if they are barely making it in the first place. This is why I felt so sick when Braller told me his story.

But Braller just shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s okay, ma’am. I will get my certificate after this class.” Matter-of-fact. Braller’s OK. Braller’s got this.

Seized with the Holy Ghost as sometimes happens to me in front of my classroom, I ran over to Braller’s seat and gave him a big bear hug. I told him he was my hero and asked his permission to write about him in my column. And then I told my whole class: This is what we are all going to do. We are going to be Brallers.

Because Braller knows the secret to being successful. He knows the way to win at school and life. Braller got dealt some stinky cards when his certificate never came in the mail. But what did Braller decide to do with those cards? Did he cry? Have a fit? Get mad? Hit something?

He may have done some of those things for a brief moment; I didn’t ask him. But what Braller did on the first day of class was not give up. Braller showed up. And he has shown up and done the work ever since. Braller’s going to make it just fine.

I can’t help but think of the myriad applications of being a Braller in my daily life right now, and in this race to get LEARNS on the ballot. CAPES has deployed Brallers all over this state—people showing up to take signatures, sitting in the hot sun, day in and day out, one by one by one.

I sat at the park in Ozark with a friend the other day for four hours. Ten people came by to sign. I will be on the town square today with other volunteers, as will others in towns all over Arkansas. We are doing the work. What we need is thousands of Brallers to show up and do the work with us—just by signing. This is how we win at school and life.

Be a Braller.