Roxbury Prep boys grow with books

At Roxbury Preparatory Charter School, eight boys meet every Thursday afternoon around a large table in a small, book-filled room. They laugh a lot, but they read about serious stuff: racism, male identity, violence, family, and love. And they talk, as teacher Dinah Shepherd listens and guides them.

Anything goes in this after-school group -- frank discussions over doughnuts and pizza can veer from grades and girls to who got how many'demerits that week and whose attitude needs adjusting.

''Healthy young men conversation, that's what I call it," said Michael Richardson, 14.

Davaughn Howard, 14, agreed. ''It helps us stay out of trouble and talk about life."

Schools need more groups like this, where boys can talk freely to someone who cares, educators say. Middle school boys, especially boys of color, are in danger of slipping away. The best weapon to keep them from dropping out intellectually or emotionally is an astute educator who asks questions and can spot the signs of trouble.

The boys in the Roxbury reading group are black and Latino, like all of the 185 students in their coeducational charter middle school, a publicly funded but independently run institution. The boys in the group aren't perfect; they get suspended and sometimes are kicked out of the group for bad behavior. Some read slowly, some proficiently. Some may spend their summer in school; others are in danger of repeating a grade. The teacher created the group three years ago with four boys. Now, every year, eighth-graders choose new members from the seventh grade.

Boys deserve special attention, says William Pollack, a Harvard psychiatry professor, psychologist, and author of ''Real Boys: Rescuing Our Sons From the Myths of Boyhood." Girls' self-esteem and math and science performance have rightly become hot topics, he said, but boys are more often in serious trouble at school.

Boys are far more likely to be suspended or expelled, Pollack said. They are three times more likely to be diagnosed with a learning disability, according to 2002 US Department of Education statistics. And 70 percent of all special-education seats go to boys.

Boys generally learn to read more slowly; sometimes these difficulties persist into middle school, making reading embarrassing, Pollack said.

At Roxbury Prep, two-thirds of all students entering the sixth grade are one or two grade levels behind in reading, codirector Joshua Phillips said. So the school requires 25 minutes of silent reading and two English classes every day, and offers after-school reading groups for both sexes.

The boys say the extra help makes a difference.

Dino Fernandes, a small 12-year-old with a head full of fuzzy curls, said he used to only pretend to read during silent reading time every morning. Now, he's engrossed in ''Scorpions," by popular boys author Walter Dean Myers.

In the reading group, he struggles but pushes through the pages, reading carefully aloud or mouthing words silently as others read.

''You sound awesome, Dino," Shepherd said.

He sometimes goes awry, reading ''onion" instead of ''union," but the boys help each other with such missteps. Last week, Dino read ''genetic interbreeding" without pause.

''If my reading ain't good, I won't be able to get into a good high school," he said. ''That influenced me to succeed."

Shepherd said her female students seem to read more easily and identify with a wider range of characters. The boys really want to see themselves. ''It's prissy to read. If you're reading, it better be a tough book," she said.

This school year, the group is immersed in ''Down These Mean Streets," a memoir by Piri Thomas about growing up in Spanish Harlem and ending up in prison at age 22 for shooting a police officer.

First published in 1967, the book still resonates with the boys in Shepherd's after-school group. Thomas's struggle with his identity as a Puerto Rican boy who looks black prompts the boys to talk about their own ethnicity.

Marquis Rodriguez, 12, tells the group he's half black and half Puerto Rican.

''People call me Spanish," Dino said, with a shrug. He's Cape Verdean.

Shepherd said the readings inspire discussions that might not surface otherwise.

Pollack confirms that boys often talk more easily during an activity.

''Often by simply doing something with the boy . . . we forge a connection that then enables him to open up," he writes, in ''Real Boys."

Shepherd works to make the meetings safe territory for any discussion. She starts each session with ''check in" -- the time to confess bad behavior, give and get advice, share struggles, and set goals. It's when the boys promise to get fewer demerits, the school's disciplinary mark, in hopes of group dinner out with ''Miss Shepherd." They are encouraged to work together on solutions for behavior and academic problems.

''It's the one space where, regardless of how their day has gone, they don't really get in trouble," she said.

When they're reading, she allows antics within reason, like when the boys fall off their chairs in hysterics or crack up after one accuses another of chewing ''like a dog." The silliness gives them the breaks they need to keep reading.

But she does set limits. She won't tolerate meanness. And sometimes, the boys just make her crazy. One week, she threw them all out early.

''Beat down and build up," she joked. ''They get that if you're hard on them, you're expecting them to go somewhere."

The boys see the discipline as tough love.

''I don't like it when people ease up on me," Marquis said. ''I know when it's my fault and I need to step up and change my game."

When she started the group three years ago, Shepherd expected the boys' behavior would vastly improve. It did not, she said. But it's better, and she has witnessed small victories.

Dino's reading gets smoother every week.

Davaughn's vocabulary is growing: words like ''despondent" and ''skeptical" are common now.

Michael no longer blames others for his mistakes.

He walks in late to a recent meeting, and the boys yell, ''Check in," urging him to give his weekly report.

Things were bad, says the 14-year-old, shaking his tightly braided head. He was getting in trouble, his grades needed work, he was stressed.

''I've been letting people get me angry lately," he said. ''But I'm trying to stay focused. I need to get myself together. . . ."

''MATURITY," Shepherd scrawls in her notebook, and beams.

She waves the page at Michael, as recognition of his progress. He smiles back shyly.