Javi

(This is a true story, but the names, except for mine, have been changed.)


We all remember a special teacher we had growing up, but teachers are the lucky ones. We have these incredible kids, ones who put indelible marks on our souls- kids from whom we learn much more than we can ever teach them. Javi was one of those boys.


Though he’d be about 35 years old by now, Javi will always be stuck in time for me- a 13 year old dark haired, deeply intense eyed boy, sitting in my portable classroom before school each day of his eighth grade year- or at least for most of it. He was the second of the Vargas children with an older sister, Mari, who was also in my class that year and a sixth grade brother named Oscar.


He came to my room in the morning to have a quiet place where he could get his homework done for the day, and there’d always be some time for us to just talk. Throughout the year, I learned Javi wanted to play basketball, but his father wouldn’t allow it. You see, his mom was in prison for drug abuse; his dad had remarried a much younger woman, who had added three more children in quick succession to their family. Javi was needed at home to help. I learned from other kids that there often wasn’t enough food in the house, that the stepmother would feed her children first, leaving Javi, Mari and Oscar hungry. CPS was involved, but I’m not sure they ever made any impact- of course- until it was too late, but I digress.

Javi was one of those boys, well-loved by all, except for by the people who should have loved him the most. I never saw him angry, and he accepted his life as though it were completely normal. When he could, he’d sneak out and knock on neighbors’ doors, asking if they had any work he could do- yard work, kitchen work- it didn’t matter. With the little money he earned, he’d buy candy at the corner store, bring it to school and sell it for a small profit. Kids weren’t allowed to do this, but most of us looked the other way because we knew he used the money to buy food for his brother and sister. They received free lunch at school, but nights are long when you’re a growing teenager, and Javi did what he could to take care of his family.

At the end of each grading period, our principal held a drawing for all of the kids with perfect attendance. Javi won a stereo system-the top prize, and I’d never seen him so excited. The school secretary called his stepmother to come up to school to take it home--most of the kids, like Javi, walked. The mom didn’t have any transportation, so Javi asked if maybe he could leave the system in my classroom. I offered to take him and the stereo home instead, and he was beside himself with gratitude and joy. When we got to his house, he leaned over, kissing me on the cheek, “I wish you were my mom,” he said. I told him I’d be honored to be his mom. He laughed, grabbed Oscar who was just walking up to the house, and together, the two of them hauled the stereo to the front door- turned, and waved goodbye.

The next day was one of only two times I could tell Javi had been crying. When he got to my room, his eyes were swollen. It seems his father, upon seeing his brand new stereo, packed it up and took it out to sell. Javi told me it was okay- they needed the money more than they needed an “ole music box anyway.” My heart broke in two for this sweet young man.
It must have been the next week or very soon thereafter that Javi, Oscar, nor Mari came to school. The counselor, knowing of my close relationship with Javi came to speak to me.

“I have really bad news about the Vargases,” she said. “Their father was arrested for killing a cop. Yesterday, the kids got home to find their house empty. “ She spoke just like that- in short clipped sentences, and it seemed to take forever for her to get the entire story out.

Their stepmother had packed up the younger kids, whatever they had in the house, and left. CPS showed up later to find Javi, Mari, and Oscar huddled in the backyard- the house was locked. Javi and Oscar would be going to live with an aunt in Houston, and Mari to another aunt in San Antonio.

The next day, the kids came to school to turn in their books and clear out their lockers. About half way through the day, when I happened to be on my conference period, the attendance clerk called my room to tell me Javi and Oscar were getting ready to leave with their aunt who had just shown up, and Javi was asking to see me. I got there, and I told the aunt what great kids they were –that I was so sorry to see them go.

She said, “You want them- you can have them- I’ve got enough problems without adding two more.”

I was shocked, and it’s here that I wish I had done something differently. I said that I would take them in a heartbeat if I could, and I meant that, but I didn’t know how to make it happen. I wish I had said, “You know-let’s figure that out, and I will.” I wish I had known whom to call or what to do.

Javi came up to me then and wrapped his arms around my neck. He squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe. He whispered in my ear, “I don’t want to go, Mrs. K. I love you so much.”

I told him I’d keep in touch- that I loved him too- and I’d always be here if he needed me.

That was the last time I saw Javi. I sent him letters and stamps, I bought him a yearbook that year and had all of the kids sign it, but I never heard from him.

It’s been over 20 years ago, and I still get teary thinking about this beautiful boy with so much potential and love in his heart despite his circumstances. I wonder, “Did he make it? Is he out there somewhere doing good in the world?”

God, I hope so.