A Tale of Two Kids, a guest blog by Tim O'Mara

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JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I first came across Tim O'Mara's work when I bought his debut, SACRIFICE FLY, for my husband, a special ed teacher.  Tim's protagonist, like Tim himself, is a teacher specializing in hard-to-reach, at-risk kids, and I knew Ross would find it interesting. He did; so much so that he thrust it into my hands and said, "You're going to want to read this." Tim has just released the second Raymond Donne mystery, CROOKED NUMBERS; readers, consider that I've thrust it into your hands. You're going to want to read this.

 R’s had a tough life. He came to our school last year as a sixth grader, and during our very first discussion about the rules in my Math class, he gave “the look.” The look that pretty much says: You are not going to tell me what to do.

I gave him one back, I’m sure he had no idea had to interpret. This was a look I had not given a student in almost a decade. My look said, You are going to Camp.

“Camp” is where I got my start as an educator. I was kinda directionless the summer

before graduating from SUNY–New Paltz, and my girlfriend was heading off to work with special-needs kids at Camp. Having nothing much on my calendar and eager to earn a few hundred dollars for four weeks of fourteen-hour days, I followed. I eventually lost the girlfriend, but found a new love: working with kids.

I’m still involved with Ramapo For Children Camp—our seventh graders go there every year for their spring trip—and I try to incorporate what I learned from my five summers there into my job as a Special Education/Math teacher at NYC’s The Computer School. R is just the kind of kid I learned from. And after knowing him for all of half an hour, I knew he needed Camp.

I spoke with his foster mom—the kind of woman who makes you feel optimistic about basic human kindness—and she told me R had previously been thrown out of two camps due to behavioral issues. I told her I knew one camp he would not get thrown out of and after months of confusing paperwork and games of phone‐tag, R went off to Camp. At the end of the session, I went to pick him up—foster mom was expecting a baby any hour—and found that he’d been a superstar for the past three weeks.

“He’s read more books than any other kid here,” his bunk counselor told me.

I didn’t know he was that into reading. When we got back to school in September, he told me that his foster mother wanted to read my book, Sacrifice Fly, whose hero, Raymond Donne, is a special education teacher who used to be a cop. The next day, I brought in a signed copy for her celebrating the birth of her son. R held it in his hands, turned it over like it was an undiscovered treasure, and I knew he’d be reading it before mom. Cool.

That was a Friday. On the following Monday, he came in and informed me he had read the entire book over the weekend.

“What’d you think?” I asked.

He got a strange look on his face and shrugged.

“What? You didn’t like it?” I didn’t even try to hide my feelings. This book was nominated for a Barry Award, and this kid was going to criticize it?

He gave me a rare humble look, squinted, and said, “I wanted more.”

The heck with the Barry nomination. R can blurb my next book and any that follow. And he’s going back to Camp next summer. We’re gonna start the paperwork earlier this year.

T is another tough kid.

Hard to reach, hard to teach, with a wall around him that would make the Chinese envious. He was in another of my math classes last year, and butting heads with him became an almost daily exercise. There were the occasional days where he let me glimpse over that wall, and what I saw was a kid who wanted to be brilliant but didn’t want the pressure that came with it. Another kid I could learn from.

Two weeks ago, T earned a one-day suspension for creative use of a belt. He spent an entire Thursday in the principal’s office. At the end of the day, the principal approached me and said that T was thinking of going to my Crooked Numbers book signing at the local Barnes & Noble. Having never said a word to me about my writing, it turned out he was perfectly comfortable telling my principal he was impressed.

“Maybe you can use that,” my boss suggested.

Maybe.

The next day, I worked with T and had a very positive—wait for the intended Math pun—session with him on adding and subtracting integers. Afterwards, I took him into the hallway and presented him with a signed copy of my book referencing a brief talk we had had the day he was suspended.

To T,
This book has a lot to do with the choices people make — including the author’s.

He looked at the book and held it in a slightly different manner as R. Almost like he was afraid to break it. He didn’t say thank you—that’s not who he is. He put it in his book bag, and we both went off to lunch.

That was a week ago. He has not said a word to me about the book since. My fantasy is that T reads it, understands the hero’s motivations and wants, and becomes a more positive, confident student. I want him to show up at tonight’s reading and sit there in the audience with a look on his face that says, “That’s my teacher, man!” I want that wall to start coming down.

In reality, I’ll settle for a small crack. 

Do you have a teacher who made a difference in your life, dear readers? Let us know, and one lucky commentor will win a copy of CROOKED NUMBERS!

Tim O'Mara teaches math and special education in the New York City public schools. His debut mystery, SACRIFICE FLY was a Barry Award nominee. The novel introduces Raymond Donne, a former cop turned Brooklyn public schoolteacher. His second book, CROOKED NUMBERS, was just published. You can find out more about Tim and his books at his website, friend him on Facebook, and follow him on Twitter as @TimOMaraAuthor.

 

Teaching the Detective, a guest blog by Tim O'Mara

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: Most people might balk at the idea of a cop-turned special ed teacher, but since my husband is a trail attorney-turned special ed teacher, I perked up my ears when I first heard about Tim O'Mara's Sacrifice Fly. In this debut mystery, a former cop, bounced from the force when his knees blow out, has become a teacher in Brooklyn. He thinks his investigative days are over, until one of his eighth graders stops showing up for class...

Tim was inspired by his own time doing home visits as a Brooklyn teacher, and by his dealings with NYPD Youth Officers as a middle school dean. Today, he proves that detecting isn't just something the law does.

There’s something not quite right with the guy sitting across the table from me.

He knows it. I know it. But he’s not talking.

That’s why they called me. I have a rep for being good at getting guys like this to talk. To open up. If they go silent, it’s my job to pick up on the physical clues. Body language, subtle gestures, something in their eyes.

Right about now, I’m starting to think maybe they called the wrong man. This guy’s as smart as they told me he was. Probably smarter.

I decide to give him a test. A task. Something to do requiring a set of skills unique to the situation: some observable, others less so.
 

He begins easily enough. This guy may be quiet and hard to figure out, but he’s willing to please me. Most of them are. That’s what I count on. The quicker they give me what I want, the quicker they’re rid of me. That’s what they think, anyway.

I watch him for a while. I ease up out of my seat and walk to the back of the room. There’s usually not much to see from back here, but I give it a shot. I notice his back’s nice and straight. The head goes up and down more than it should, but that could just be a physical tick.

I move around to the side. Not in front of him, just enough to give me an angle to observe as he continues to work on what I’ve assigned. The head is still going up and down every three to five seconds. Too much. I look at his hands, his shoulders, his face.

And there it is. In the eyes. Poker players call it a “tell.” I call it squinting.

“You wear glasses?” I ask.

“No,” he says, careful to avoid my gaze, still plodding through the job.

“When’s the last time you had your eyes checked?”

He shrugs, and mumbles to the paper. “I don’t know. A few years ago?”

That’s too long, I think. Especially for a seventh grader.

I take a seat across the table from his parents. They’re nervous: part of them wants to hear what I have to say. The other part does not. That’s the way it is in my business. I teach special ed.

“It’s a vision thing,” I say and watch as they both let out a sigh of relief. I slide a piece of paper across the table. “Call these guys. They’re good at what they do.”

A few days pass and I get a phone call. Turns out I was right. The kid’s vision is twenty/twenty. The problem is visual tracking. It’s been a problem for a while, but the kid stayed shut, afraid he’d need glasses. He doesn’t. His eyes wander too much when he’s reading, either from the board or a book. The good news? It’s treatable with therapy. His mother tells me he’ll start next week and thanks me for my efforts.

“You’re welcome,” I say and then apologize for cutting the call short. I’ve got another kid waiting outside my room.

Did you have a teacher that inspired you? Brought out the best in you? Did you have a teacher that you swore was telepathic and had eyes in the back of her head? Tell us your about your most memorable educator, and two lucky commentors will win a copy of Sacrifice Fly.

Tim O'Mara has been teaching math and special education in the New York City public schools since 1987. He has written several short stories and is currently writing his second novel, Chin Music, another Raymond Donne mystery acquired by St. Martin's Press. For the past twelve years, he has hosted and produced a bi-weekly reading series of poetry and prose in New York's East Village. You can find out more about Tim and Sacrifice Fly at his website and on his Facebook page.