Devonne Brown

Shawn will always be one of my kids, even though he’s been a grown-assed man for at least thirty years now.

I remember certain students for random reasons. Shawn was a twin, a brilliant one. Blonde, nice looking, a sweeter young man with manners you’d never meet.

He was a creative writer, but he’d never own up to it. He was from Sissonville, where those things aren’t usually celebrated by young men. Shooting targets, hunting, fishing, those kinds are things are more to the liking of the locals. But for teachers, there are few schools that are more fun with finer kids to teach. Shawn was one of those kids.

Quiet, unassuming, give him an assignment, and he’d bust his ass to get it done on time.

I assigned a haiku when he was in the 9th grade. I got something like this:

Cold hands and wet feet,

The deer are running with grace,

I go home alone.

I gave him an A.