Don't you give me "Merit Pay!"

Poor communities are filled with multiple families living in single apartments, whereas those living in lower middle class communities and above live one family to a home. Those living in poor communities are far more transient than their wealthier counterparts. It’s not uncommon for a teacher to begin and end the year with thirty students, yet one third of their initial students have left and been replaced by others. Some kids are gone to Mexico. Some leave to live with an uncle in Alabama. Or maybe it’s grandma for two months in Riverside, an aunt for four months in Sacramento, and finally, after mom’s gotten out of the joint, a couple of months together back in Bakersfield, in a Single Room Occupancy hotel.
There are those whose lives are not as transient, yet their schooling is infinitely more fragmented.
There are those who live like Michael.
Michael was a student of mine several years ago, when I taught fifth grade. He was extremely bright and incredibly street smart for a kid of his age. However, as the year progressed he slowly slid from the top writer in the class to the middle and below. Actually, ‘slid’ is not the right word. His descent was shaped more along the lines of a gradual staircase. That’s because Michael would come to school for a few weeks and then disappear, sometimes for weeks on end, in order to panhandle for his mother. This cycle persisted until his mother up and left with the kids without a moment's notice.
Students would show for class, “we just saw Michael begging at the 99cents store.”
At some point teachers raised a bit of money to give to Michael’s mom. I’ll never forget hearing the story of her coming in to complain about her younger son’s poor grades, wearing a brand spankin' new $150 jacket. Michael didn’t come to watch his ungrateful mother scream and shout about those devilish teachers. He wasn’t in school that day.
Rosa, one of my star pupils was absent a lot that year, as well. Her brother, a year older, but also in the fifth grade, hardly ever missed a day. It’s not that Rosa was often sick. It’s that her mother was. Whenever Rosa’s mother fell ill, it was her responsibility to care for the young ones. Whenever her mother had an appointment, it was Rosa who would stay home to play mommy. After Rosa missed an entire week I asked if maybe her brother could pull a day of daddy duty. “No,” she informed me. “It’s the woman’s job.”