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| Shelbi Wilson (center) does push-ups alongside students Geraldine Solis and Sandra Govea. |
The Rose that Grew From Concrete” is a poem by rapper Tupac Shakur about something beautiful that grows where others least expect it, “proving nature’s law is wrong.”
The poem might also describe the way Shelbi Wilson views her students at Lincoln Continuation High School in Riverside, as they discuss the meaning of the poem in English class.
“I see my students as diamonds,” says Wilson, who runs the school’s teen parenting program and coaches the volleyball team. “I consider myself a master jeweler, and someone who can turn what other people believe are rocks into diamonds. They shine brightly. I sometimes see the brilliance before my students even do.”
Some, including her students, may consider continuation school to be a “dead end,” says Wilson, a member of the Riverside City Teachers Association. “They think they’re failures because they have to go to a continuation school. But like the rose that burst through the concrete, they can defy nature and learn how to thrive.”
Wendy Garcia, 18, says she used to care little about doing well in school, but now is trying her best, thanks to Wilson. “She pushes us harder. She tells us that as parents, we need to be more responsible, so that we can be an example to our own child.”
Wilson’s strong belief that her students can succeed — along with her tireless determination to help them achieve their goals — earned her the honor of being one of five Teachers of the Year in California in 2006.
“I get these kids to believe that they can learn and do whatever they want,” says Wilson. “Everybody thrives in a supportive, encouraging environment. Sometimes I tell them, ‘I can make you fly.’ They are called at-risk students, but they are really students in at-risk conditions. When you remove these conditions they can be wonderful students.”
The alternative education teacher has assisted students who were homeless and on the verge of dropping out of school. She has taught students who have been hospitalized. She is often the first person that students — or former students — call when they give birth or when they are in the midst of a crisis, such as a student who married the father of her child, got a job and finally saved up enough money for her own apartment, only to lose everything when it was burglarized.
“They call me all the time,” says Wilson. “Some of my students come from group homes or homes with problems. When they walk in the door at 8 o’clock, they may be in tears. It’s amazing what kids go through.”
One student even shot his father to stop him from beating his mother.
“Some days my kids are so distraught, I tell them to come in and write about it. One student wrote about the first time she saw her dad go to jail. She wrote, ‘If you look up the words “daddy’s girl,” you would see my face. My dad has been in and out of jail all his life for drug addiction.’”
Sometimes, says Wilson, she has to stop students at the door and ask them what’s going on. “They can tell me anything; my face never changes and I don’t go into shock. I might say, ‘That’s pretty serious, let’s address the issue.’”
While she might empathize with her students, she doesn’t feel so sorry for them that she lowers her expectations for what she wants them to accomplish.
“I try to make their learning real. I don’t dumb down the curriculum,” she says. “It’s not just meeting the standards; it’s exceeding them. We have to set the bar high because failure is not an option. They have to pass the California High School Exit Exam to graduate.”
“Some people think it’s the end when a teenager becomes a parent,” says Jessica Sanchez, 17. “But she pushes us to keep going. We can still go to high school and we can go to college after high school. We can still live a life.”
