WINTER SPRINGS, Fla. (AP) - When schools closed this spring and students were sent home to study online, Kai Mercado vanished.
He completed no assignments; he didn’t even log in to see what work he had for his classes at Winter Springs High School. Just a few months shy of graduation, the teenager became a “ghost,” the school principal’s term for students who disappeared once the campus shut down.
“I gave up on everything,” the 18-year-old said. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even look at my grades. My teachers emailed me, and I never responded.”
As a new school year is set to begin, with more than half of Seminole County’s public school students studying from home, Kai Mercado’s story is a reminder that personal connections remain key in education, even when students can’t be on campus.
In the spring, Kai’s mother pleaded, cajoled and prayed for her slim son with a shock of black wavy hair to get started on his work. When that didn’t help, she contacted one of his teachers.
With phone calls, texts, home visits, patience, encouragement and lunch from McDonald’s, educators wooed him back to class, the online version put in place when schools shut down to stop the spread of the coronavirus.
Just before midnight, on the last day of 2019-20 school year, he texted his history teacher - the same one his panicked mother had contacted weeks earlier for help. “FINISHED EVERYTHING!!” he wrote. Kai graduated with the class of 2020 in a ceremony last month.
“We’re going to continue to bridge all those relationships,” said Pete Gaffney, Winter Springs’ principal, as he readied for the new school year. “It’s essential in education right now,” he said. “It made the difference.”
Jessica Mercado started worrying soon after schools closed in mid-March. Kai, a talented artist, seemed deflated, and even his drawings seemed darker.
Admittedly never a great student, and already scrambling to make up credits, Kai said he felt “down and discouraged” once he stopped going to school. He kept sketching and painting, but he had “zero confidence” he could complete his school work, so he did none of it.
“For him to throw his hands up in defeat, that I think was my greatest fear,” his mother said.
Frustrated, she emailed his teacher Schowonda Williams-Johnson for help.
Soon, Kai was on Octavius Clark’s home-visit list.
Clark was the school’s dean of students, and Gaffney had asked him to contact the “ghosts” in person, packing his car with face masks and other PPE and then tracking down teenagers like Kai who weren’t doing any work.
“I turned into a truancy officer,” Clark said.
Many days, he’d drive around Winter Springs and sometimes north to Sanford and south to Casselberry to find the school’s missing.
When he showed up at Kai’s house, Mercado woke up her son and sent him outside to speak with the dean.
Kai listened respectfully as Clark spoke. On campus, he was polite and never a discipline problem, the dean said, so he wasn’t surprised.
But Kai didn’t think he could finish 12th grade having skipped weeks of work. Though ashamed he’d upset his mother, Kai said he didn’t see graduation as a possibility. He’d given up, and didn’t know why Clark had bothered with a home visit.
“He had gone into that dark room and didn’t want to come out,” Clark said. “As an educator, it was my job to get him out of the dark cave.”
Clark, a veteran educator who also served for years in the U.S. Air Force, was insistent, compassionate and practical. A diploma would keep doors open, he told him, and quitting was a terrible example for his younger sisters and for a 9-year-old cousin he adored.
He pushed Kai to get started on his school work that day, and the teen said he would.
He didn’t.
So Clark showed up again the next day, at lunch time with a bag of food from McDonald’s for Kai.
“OK, this guy really wants me to graduate,” Kai thought. “I’m going to at least just try.”
And then, finally, he did.
Williams-Johnson, his history teacher in the credit-recovery program designed for students who were behind, had been trying to contact him. Once his mother reached out, she made sure he knew he could email or text when he needed help.
Kai’s guidance counselor showed him that finishing was still possible, though he had a lot of work to complete. Clark continued to check in, sometimes in person and with food. “I was not going to give up,” he said.
“They stood up, and they were strong for me and my kid,” Mercado said. “I don’t even know how to express my gratitude.”
Despite his sometimes poor grades, Kai is smart and did his work when in class, Williams-Johnson said.
But like plenty of others, once at home, without a schedule and teachers to monitor his progress, he floundered.
“He was motivated once he realized there was a support team, that there was someone that cared,” she said. Without that, she added, “I honestly think he would have been lost.”
Though there were some stops and starts, she could see Kai was making progress. She heard from him often. “Can you help me?” he texted. “Can I call you now?”
On the phone, when she asked him questions, she could tell he’d done the required reading. Still, finishing was a scramble, right until the end.
Classes ended May 27, and it wasn’t until 9:10 p.m. that night that he texted, “Hey, Ms. Williams. I just turned in my last assignment for world history.”
It was nearly three hours later when he completed all his work for the semester, but he made it.
Clark said it was the kind of ending all educators want. “It felt so good. It felt so good,” he said.
His mother, who heard Kai’s joyful shout from his bedroom when he was done, was elated, relieved and thankful.
Her son, once so discouraged, seemed proud of himself. Weeks later, she found him in his bedroom, his art work spread out all over the floor, his mind on his future. He’s now registered at Valencia College, planning to study art and business.
Kai said he realized, almost as soon as he submitted his last high school assignment, that there was wisdom in his mom’s advice not to quit.
“I had a smile on my face,” he said. “I took a shower and went to sleep smiling.”
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