The cap and gown arrive Monday.
Kneico Daniels has been writing and revising his speech for weeks. Does he thank his parents and grandparents? Try to impart a bit of wisdom to fellow graduates? Should he tell them the story about the fight in Cleveland that led him here?
There’s no valedictorian at Elizabeth Andrews High School. Each year, a selected student gives the graduation speech. This year, Kneico was given the honor.
His mother’s coming to town from Cleveland, along with his grandmother and great-grandmother. His father’s relatives will make the trip up from St. Petersburg, Fla. It’s a really big deal.
At 25, Kneico’s finally getting his diploma.
A change of mind
The nation’s high-school graduation rate for the 2013-14 school year was 82.3 percent — the highest it’s ever been. Elizabeth Andrews reported a graduation rate of 17.9 percent for the 2014-2015 school year, up from 9.3 percent the previous year.
Most Elizabeth Andrews students failed to graduate within five years of starting high school. Many come from impoverished backgrounds and had to work full-time jobs. Others struggled with homelessness and family instability. Many at the school were not academically successful in a traditional program.
“Whatever any adult is dealing with outside that door in life — where I’m going to sleep, how I’m going to get my next meal, where you live at — that’s what our students are dealing with.” said Elizabeth Andrews’ principal, Merlon Jones.
Kneico, a self-described spoiled brat, said he didn’t take high school seriously the first time because he never saw the usefulness of the diploma.
The school holds up to four graduations per year to accommodate students as they finish coursework. In March, 26 received diplomas. Four of those graduated within four years of their freshman year, 13 within five. Nine others received diplomas that day.
Jones spends several hours a day in the main hallway talking to students and gauging their needs through body language, tone of voice, interactions with others. If a students needs a meal, they get a meal. If a student doesn’t look engaged, he gives them time to get composed and return ready to learn. When they leave for breaks, like Christmas or Thanksgiving, he lets them know he expects them back. That’s when they’re most liable to not return, he says.
“There are many choices you could make when you leave here,” he said. “If you show back up, it shows me you want to do it.”
To Jones, relationships are key. Most of the students already were cast aside, or gave up on themselves. Elizabeth Andrews is their second chance. It could be their last.
A comeback
Kneico’s story is one of triumph over his own version of privilege, he says. He always worked, but not enough to pay all his bills. Still, he had a roof over his head. Anything he wanted for, he could rely on his mother or grandmothers.
Last year, out at a bar with friends, Kneico was involved in a fight resulting in a trip to the hospital. In the ambulance, he realized in a moment of clarify that he needed to make something of his life.
He believed he couldn’t do that in Cleveland, so he made a call to his father, Rolan Daniels, in Doraville.
"Dad, I need you," he said by phone.
"OK, but you ain't comin' down here with no foolishness," dad replied.
Ten years earlier, Kneico’s mom had sent him to live with Rolan, hoping he would have more luck with the teen who had begun acting out. It didn’t last. Rolan was upset when his son brought home all Fs one semester. He sent the boy back to Cleveland after Kneico stole his car.
Rolan admits doing some bad things during his own formative years. He spent years dealing drugs and served a stint in prison. He looked up one day in his late 30s, recognizing many of his friends were in jail and decided he wanted more. At 40 he earned his diploma. Now 47, he’s in Gwinnett College and wants to study law.
Rolan hadn’t been a dad to Kneico until he tried 10 years ago, so the rebellion then was understandable. This time would be different. He knew some of what his son was feeling. The situation is a bit of redemption for both.
Back in the game
After nearly a decade away, the school work wasn’t familiar for Kneico. He also found other students adversarial, unaware of their age difference. His slender, brown face contains only a dusting of hair above his lip and on his chin. Some in those classes had beards rivaling lumberjacks.
Mark Grier came to Elizabeth Andrews this school year as a guidance counselor. He didn’t expect some of the students to be as — mature — as Kneico.
He was immediately impressed by the young man’s sincerity and persistence to make it. He didn’t see any obstacles in Kneico’s way. But trouble came early.
Kneico came to Grier one day frustrated. The other classmates were getting in his face, verbally challenging him. He paced angrily.
The age gap wasn’t obvious, but it was a conflict easily tempered. Grier told Kneico to talk to the students. Let them know he was somewhat older, that he had a goal to reach. He only needed their respect to get there.
“I told him ‘If you follow my lead, I can try to get you through,’” Grier said.
Grier knew too well the risk of losing Kneico’s attention. For several years, he worked as a psychotherapist at the J.C. Larmore Probation Detention Center in Union City, which closed in 2005.
“He doesn’t have a criminal record to my knowledge, but I knew that if he did not get his high school diploma and try to do something with his life, he possibly could,” Grier said. “I needed to do what I could to prevent that.”
In Kneico’s mind, he’s running the length of a football field, dodging defenders in the fourth quarter as the last seconds tick off the clock.
Graduation is his touchdown.
Classes ended a few days ago, so he’s picking up a few more hours at the car dealership where he works as a valet. He’s thinking about a career with the Coast Guard. He wants to be a patrol officer and help catch drug smugglers. Rolan said the focus now is on the Armed Forces Vocational Aptitude Battery, a timed skills test required for entrance into the military.
Statistics suggest further success.
According to the Center for Public Education, the extra work late graduates put into obtaining a diploma makes them more likely to graduate college and be significantly better off when it comes to jobs and benefits.
“I know this opportunity would not come again,” Kneico said. “Nobody’s going to give me anything in life. I’ve got to work hard and get it for myself.”
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