Even Students Can Teach a Lesson

Friday, February 28, 2005

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Even Students Can Teach a Lesson

By J’AMY PACHECO

Every now and then, I look at my little girl and wonder what she will be like as a teenager. I wonder if she will remain as slender as she is today, and if she will maintain her quirky sense of humor. Mostly, I wonder if she will turn out okay.

Only rarely do these kinds of thoughts turn to strangers. But they did recently, after I had the experience of spending time on a high school campus.

The event that took me to Pacific High School in San Bernardino was relatively unusual — the Fourth District Court of Appeal, Div. Two, moved proceedings for two of its cases out of the stately Riverside courthouse and into the school’s auditorium.

My first impression of the school led me to believe that a great deal has changed since I attended high school. My school was located in an area so rural that I never learned to parallel park in Driver’s Education because our roads had no curbs. About the worst thing I ever saw a student do was smoke a cigarette, or burst into a classroom to startle a substitute teacher by running through and hurdling a desk before racing out the back door.

You couldn’t do that at Pacific High School — the classroom doors are always locked. Crossing the campus, my thoughts turned to the only frame of reference I had — movies like “Stand and Deliver” and “Dangerous Minds.” I wondered how the court’s seven justices and an army of suit-clad lawyers would fare on this urban campus, located in the shadow of Juvenile Hall.

As the justices and attorneys did their work on the stage, some of the students appeared to listen, spellbound, while others looked disinterested. I suspected some in the audience did not fully grasp the fact that while no defendants appeared in the makeshift courtroom, the cases were real, and their outcomes would have a significant impact on the lives of those involved.

In the auditorium, the students were friendly and pleasant. But when I followed Justice Barton Gaut and attorney Michael Scafiddi to teacher Gerald Portz’s classroom, the sight of three adults in business suits didn’t seem to spark much enthusiasm from the handful of students inside.

One girl focused on perfecting her makeup while Justice Gaut and Attorney Scafiddi spoke, and I felt the students were simply tolerating the intrusion and waiting for it to end.

But when Scafiddi turned to juvenile legal issues and asked how they’d feel about having their backpacks searched on campus, they responded in a way that took me by surprise. They articulated perfectly their thoughts on invasion of personal privacy and unreasonable searches.

Scafiddi acknowledged that these students have to contend with unbelievable hurdles, like drugs and gangs. He asked how many of them planned to go to college, and only a few hands went up.

When he asked how many knew somebody who had been incarcerated next door in Juvenile Hall, every student in the room raised a hand.

As the speakers wrapped up, one boy expressed surprise that the speakers chose to spend time in his classroom, rather than devoting their time to civics or honors classes.

It made me wonder how these teens would fare, and how much of the day’s “You can do and be anything” message was getting through. It made me wonder how to encourage these bright, articulate kids.

As we headed out the door, one of the students asked if I would take a picture of their class. Watching the speakers and our security escort depart, I admit with shame that I said I had to go.

But as soon as the door thunked closed behind me, I knew I’d made a mistake. I stopped, and Scafiddi came back. I asked him if he’d accompany me back inside. He didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes!”

We posed the kids and Mr. Portz, took their pictures, and I promised to send them copies. I walked away wondering what would become of the kids, and realized I’d never know.

I hope they’ll always remember that day as the time somebody cared enough to devote time to their class. I hope they’ll remember — and believe — the message that they can do and be anything. I hope they’ll know that I came back because I realized belatedly that they were more important than anything else I had to do that day.

I hope they’ll remember this as the time they made the papers for something good — and that it will be the first of many times that happens to them.

Because it can — if they’ll just believe.