Illustration: Gale

By Wayne Au

I was rummaging through a desk drawer the other day and came across an old Polaroid picture from two former students. The handwritten caption on it read, "Unsuspected picture to Wayne. Remember us. Beto n' Vangie."

The shot is of Beto, clad in a white t-shirt, backwards black baseball cap, and sagging jeans, and Vangie with teased-up bangs sporting a black-and-silver L.A. Kings jacket. They are hugging each other in front of the dorms at Evergreen State College in Olympia, Wash.

This picture makes me happy because it reminds me of why I became a teacher to begin with—to work with students like Beto and Vangie. Their note also strikes an especially emotional chord with me because of the seriousness of their demand: Remember us.

I remember Beto vividly. He was one of those kids who walked that perilously fine line: always on the fringes of gang and drug activities, but also culturally centered and part of a vibrant Northwest Native-American community. Beto was sharp, quick-witted, intelligent, and street savvy. In one moment he could be a fire-eyed fighter, and in the next moment he could be a warm-hearted goof. I loved him even if he periodically drove me crazy with his hardheadedness.

Beto and I first crossed paths through the Upward Bound program at Evergreen. He grew up on a Native-American reservation outside of Tacoma, Wash., and I was working with Upward Bound as a tutor/counselor. To me, Beto was Upward Bound. A working-class kid who would be the first generation in his family to attend college, he represented what the program was about: giving kids like Beto a shot at a better life. That's why I loved working in the program and did so for eight years.