I always feel the loss.

A student I adore sent me this email today:

Hi Ms. Teachin' -

I'm going to be leaving the school to live with my dad. I know it would be better if I just waited to the end of the school year but that probably wont happen. I just wanted to thank you for all of the support you gave me, it means a lot to me. Hopefully I'll be able to see you again but if I don't, Bye.

Apparently she ditched one day last week, and her mom decided she was done; washed her hands of her daughter. Her beautiful, intelligent, hard-working, sweet, amazing daughter, who sometimes makes mistakes since she's, you know, a KID.

Sigh.

Although I think living with her dad will be better for her (she's a lot happier when she interacts with her dad and much more nervous around her mom), I'm so sad that it's happening so close to the end of her last year in the school. It's just one more month - I'm really hoping she'll be able to find transportation back (that's the issue apparently) for such a short time frame.

I emailed her back right away to say how much I'd miss her and how much I hope it works out....she's a fabulous, fabulous, fabulous kid who really will change the world.

This is what's hardest for me about my school, bar none - the mobility. It comes with the poverty, I get that, but it's so heartbreaking to watch kids I love leave....and it happens all the time. The Charmer. DC. BB Bob. The Eyeliner Queen. The Natural Athlete. Slick. The Goofball. Kids I adore, kids I worked so hard to reach, kids who learned and grew and changed and were the better for having been in my class (at least mostly)....and they're all gone. And I'll probably never see most of them again.

I have to believe that at least some of the changes are for the best, and that they'll be okay no matter what (and they will, they will, I know that), and that they did learn something in my class, and that they end up okay. But it's hard to watch them leave and know it might be the last time.

They're good kids. They deserve the best. They deserve to be in good situations and I hope they are, I hope they're in better situations than before, I hope they find some stability and happiness.

But I miss them.

I hope she keeps in touch.

(Image credit to Eisenheim.)

Sure isn't.

"Well, it's never dull." Thus spake Ricochet at the end of a post detailing some class/student turmoil. I read it and thought wistfully, Boy, but wouldn't it be nice if it was? Just for a few days? Just once in a while?

Today I:

made a social services call (first of this year but certainly not the last);

tried to convince some of my colleagues that a new student probably deserves a chance and some assistance to help him fit into our school before we simply throw up our hands, declare he's hopeless, and look to expelling him (yep, he's acting like a little shit, but he's clearly a troubled kid who needs some help, and we can't just throw kids away - we're not a charter school, after all);

learned that the Charmer has moved schools again, though he apparently tried to call me yesterday before he did (I got the contact info for his grandparents, his new guardians, and am working on getting in touch with them);

talked to a student about why it's not his fault that another student got beaten up (which it really truly isn't, but he sure doesn't believe that yet);

talked to another student about why social services came to talk to her (because of a really, really, really horrible thing that happened to her little sister;

persuaded a student with broken ribs to go to the doctor (yay football injuries!);

harangued four kids into staying after school and getting enough work done to move from high Fs to very low Cs (ah, the beauty of completing assessments that you'd started and just hadn't taken to publication...it's like magic!);

and.....huh. Guess that's it for the day. Oh, and did some teaching and grading and stuff.

Never, ever, EVER dull.

(Photo credit to Kapungo) (Okay, can't get it to upload. Will try again later. But theoretically credit is to Kapungo!)

The most ridiculously stressful day EVER. (Knock on wood.)

In addition to all the drama around this potential schedule change, I had two other incredibly disturbing things happen yesterday.

First thing in the morning I had this horribly awkward meeting. I don't feel I can go into what it was about specifically, but basically I had to sit there and explain to someone how they weren't doing their job, and list off all the reasons why, and let them defend themself, and then go over the evidence supporting my position AGAIN. Sososososo awkward. So that was a kickin' way to start the day.

But worse was what happened before third hour. I was doing hall duty when GLA (my grade-level administrator) walked up. "Do you remember the Charmer?" she asked.

Um, obviously I remember him. I looked at her. "Yeah....."

"Well, his new school called. He's missing. He didn't go home last night."

"WHAT???"

"They want to know if any of our kids might know anything, and I thought since kids will talk to you, maybe you can ask around ---" Before she was even finished talking, I'd grabbed the Charmer's two best friends who both happened to be walking by.

One, the Chowhound, already knew; the Charmer's brother had called him the night before when trying to find his missing sibling. But the Chowhound had no idea where the Charmer was. I pulled the kids into the library to talk to them while our teacher-librarian covered the start of my next class. The Charmer's other best friend, Motormouth, had the Charmer's new cell number, so he tried calling it to see if the Charmer would answer. Phone was disconnected. Great.

I asked question after question. Where would he go? Who else might know? Who might he call for help? Who might have seen him recently? We brainstormed names, places, possibilities. The kids texted, called, shared ideas. They were scared - really scared. I emphasized that we didn't know that anything was actually wrong, but that we needed to do everything we could to try to help. More names, more calls.

His counselor called me. I'd called her in September, just to check in on him. She'd left a message back that he was doing fine. Then three weeks ago, she'd called me, but though I called back several times and emailed, I never heard from her. At least she called in the crisis. I shared some info that the kids had told me.

An hour and a half later, they found him. Or I guess he found himself - he went home. Claimed he'd fallen asleep at a friend's house, hadn't woken up till 10:30, didn't know people were worried. Honestly, I don't buy that that's the whole story, but whatever. He's okay.

I'm hoping to get to talk to him at some point. When his counselor called, she said she'd told him that I'd like to talk to him. He was surprised, apparently. She asked if he wanted to talk to me. He said yeah, he guessed so. From him, that's pretty much a hell yes, so hopefully we can make that happen.

Oh, it was a fun twenty-four hours.

(Photo credit to Greg Westfall.)

Black eye.

Not literally (well, I hope not - I did actually somehow manage to smack myself hard in the right eye. A refrigerating closing incident that I still don't understand. I can see out of it again, now that half an hour has passed, and it's only moderately swollen, so hopefully tomorrow it'll be normal). But I'm not having my best day ever.

Perhaps yesterday's hubris (doing well, I said. Hah!) caused today's ruckus, but LORD my 8th period drove me crazy. I didn't yell, but I was pissed, and all lecture-y, and they knew it. Which isn't really any better, though I suppose it's at least easier on the eardrums.

The class changed dramatically today (seven new kids, pulled mostly from other periods but one new totally) to try to better provide services for some kids who need them. And the new dynamics are not ideal. I'll have a new seating chart tomorrow, and fingers crossed that will help, but right now bleah.

Plus I am totally losing with the Charmer. I wrote him a letter after the last incident and dropped it off at his house, but no one was home so I had no way to know if he'd gotten it. I have two of his best friends this year, though, and one, Motormouth, said he'd give the Charmer another copy.

This morning, Motormouth gave the letter back. "He said to tell you he doesn't want it."

I looked at him. "Did he read it?"

"Yeah, he read it, but then he said he doesn't want it."

Sweet. So I took the letter back, because what else was there to do?

The only upside is that I'd included a business card with my contact information, including my cell (he'd had that already, from last year, but I figured it couldn't hurt to throw it in again), and that he kept. I don't think he'll use it ever, he's just not that kind of kid, but at least he has the means with which to do so.

But clearly he just wants me to leave him alone and I don't see that I have any other choice.

So between my two failures of the day, I'm feeling a little down. I'm going to go take my dogs for a walk. Hopefully that will help.

(Photo credit to heyjoewhereyougoingwiththatguninyourhand)

One step forward, seventeen steps back.

So right now I am…..I don’t know what I am right now. Hurt? Bewildered? Angry? Insulted? All? More? I don’t know.

I was supposed to meet with the Charmer today for our second official mentoring meeting. We’d had something scheduled for last week but he canceled because he was out of town. And that was the way he put it – when I was confirming with him and he said he couldn’t do it, he said, “Only because I’m not home this week.” So we rescheduled for this week.

When I got to his apartment, he, his mom, his sister and a friend of his were all in the living room. I said hi to them, and he said hi, then got up and walked out. And that was the last I saw him. He refused to come meet with me. He refused to even speak to me. His mom went to talk to him twice; the second time she came back and said he was literally bawling in his room but that he still wouldn’t come out.

His mom said that he kept saying that I’m a teacher and I tell other teachers stuff, and that it just seemed like he really didn’t trust me. She said she’d thought this would be good because he was getting in trouble but that he was upset about this at a level that she didn’t understand. She said she’d have to talk to him more about this because she didn’t know what was going on. She said he was worried I was going to hate him. She said she’d have him call me to talk to me at some point.

I have no idea what happened.

Last time he and I talked, he seemed to enjoy the conversation. I was the one who finally said I had to go, and maybe I’d overstayed my welcome and he hadn’t known how to tell me, but he seemed surprised that I was leaving. We’d talked about a whole bunch of things, from how he needs to watch what he says to the war in Iraq, and I thought it was fine. Good, even.

Today, sobbing in his room, refusing to speak to me. What?

When I got home, I called his mom to give her some more information that I’d thought of as I drove – the mandated reporter stuff. Because to me, wailing that I’m a teacher and I tell other teachers stuff seems like it might connect to that. And that maybe there’s something going on with him that’s dangerous enough that I’d have to report it.

His mom said she hadn’t thought of that, and that he spends a lot of time with girls so maybe there’s something sexual with him; I said that was a possibility, but that I was more concerned that he might be getting involved in some sort of violence. I didn’t explicitly use the word “gang” but that’s what I tried to imply. Hoping mom could infer what I meant.

Because….it worries me. It worries me with a lot of my kids. And I was hoping that the Charmer was smart enough to avoid it, but maybe he’s not. The friend he was hanging out with in his living room? Had lines shaved in his eyebrows. That’s a gang identifier; around my school, it’s normally for MS-13 and they shave one line in one and three in the other. I only saw one stripe in each but he left pretty quickly and I didn’t get a good look at the right side.

His mom said she’d talk to him more and she appreciated the additional information. I said I would appreciate a phone call from him at some point. She said of course.

I doubt it’ll ever happen.

I doubt I’ll ever see him again.

Maybe that’s for the best.

(This dog's face nicely expresses how I feel right now. Photo credit to C.C.Photo86.)

Being liked

Recently I was hanging out with a friend who's also a teacher. We were talking about a variety of teaching stuff, as we are wont to do, when the conversation turned to teacher popularity. Both of us tend to be pretty well-liked (though I was definitely more popular this year than last year), and we've both had colleagues make disparaging remarks about us for that, saying that it's because our classes are easy.

And you know, I really resent that. My class is not easy – my kids work their butts off for me. I just find ways to make it fun (sometimes, at least), and I talk to them about why we're doing what we're doing, and why it matters for them. I also tell them explicitly that their success matters to me, and that I care about them. I praise them regularly, and I talk to them about their lives. Sometimes I reward them with their choice of candy, pencils, or PBS Bucks (Positive Behavior Support, not the Public Broadcasting System) for them doing well on something, or just because. I greet them in the hallways and I laugh at their jokes. When they're struggling, we talk about why they're having trouble and I ask them to come in after school or at lunch for help. If they don't do it on their own, I go and find them in the lunchroom and bring them with me. I let them come into my room at lunch to play games or talk or use the computers. We have fun together, and they know I love them, and that's why they like me, NOT because my class is easy.

I believe it's okay to be liked by my students. It means they try harder for me. It means they're more comfortable talking to me about their problems, which helps me understand them where they're coming from and how that impacts their schoolwork. It means that I can use our relationship to encourage them to do better or to express my disappointment when they fall apart. It means that I don't have management issues with some kids who tear other classes apart.

Yesterday was my first official mentoring meeting with the Charmer. He and I talked for a while, some about his issues with school, some about the world in general.

My favorite part of the conversation came when we were discussing how one of his teachers believes that I fix problems for him. I was trying to figure out how to explain that a lot of teachers prefer a more formal approach, that they don't feel comfortable giving up their personal time (lunch, or after school, or what have you) and that that's okay, though it's not how I work. So I started with, “You know, some people think I'm overinvolved with my students--”

“You are,” he interrupted.

I looked at him, flummoxed. Because, um, plenty of people would probably consider me mentoring him to be overinvolvement. And perhaps he did too and this was his way of letting me know. I tried to figure out how to respond, as he continued.

“That's not a bad thing, though. You just care about your students more, and you spend time with them, and you get to know them better.”

Clearly my friend here didn't understand the prefix “over”, as the implication in its use (or not even implication, but flat out meaning) was that I was too involved, but rather than start critiquing his use of the English language, I felt it would be more productive to just address what he was talking about and bring it back to my original intent in the conversation. “Right, but it takes a lot of time to do that--”

Interrupted again. “But that's what makes you more dedicated. That's what makes you a better teacher than them.” I smiled at that and thanked him. He continued, “Honestly, I think they're just jealous because kids like you more and like your class more and they don't have that.”

Don't you love it when they suck up like that? And when they totally validate your own feelings on a subject?

When the Charmer, his mom and I all sat down last week, his mom ended the conversation by saying, “You know, I can see how you're the type of teacher that students just love.” I laughed and said something about how there were plenty of kids who wouldn't agree with that statement (I am, after all, a big fat meanie), but I really don't think it's a problem to be liked. It makes my life and their lives easier, and isn't that a good thing in the end?

(Photo credit to dhammza, http://www.flickr.com/photos/dhammza/1381101959/)

Moving forward (I think?)

About twelve minutes after I posted yesterday about how I’d been bailed on by the Charmer’s mom, my phone rang. (Apparently me whining on this blog is like magic; the universe listened. Hey, universe, I am feeling discouraged about painting my living room. I wish someone would show up at my door and do it for me. ….No? Nothing?)

The Charmer’s mom was calling to apologize for missing my call; she’d had a tough night and a tough morning (I don’t know what that means. I asked if everything was okay and she said she thought so, so I didn’t push it). I asked if she wanted to reschedule. She said yes, as soon as possible, so I drove over.

When I got there, I saw the Charmer walking down the stairs. I called a greeting, and he looked over. After a moment, he muttered, “What the hell…..what’re you doing here?”

Ah. “Your mom invited me…she didn’t tell you I called?”

“No. Why’d you call?”

I headed toward his door. “C’mon in. Let’s talk.”

When we got inside, the Charmer disappeared into the back of the apartment. I heard him yell, “Mom? My teacher’s here. WHY is my teacher here?” They came back a moment later, and we all sat down to chat. I explained to him that I was worried about him, that I think he’s smart and funny but that he pushes teachers’ buttons, that he’s at the time of life where he could either choose to succeed or to fall apart.

His mom jumped in to say that I was there because I thought he had a lot of potential and that he should appreciate me seeing that and be grateful that I wanted to help him. He listened, asking the occasional question.

I said I wanted to keep mentoring him, trying to help him, but that it had to be up to him. If he wasn’t down, we wouldn’t do it. He didn’t say anything for a second, then said he wasn’t sure. Fair enough.

We moved on to the specific areas that concerned me most – grades, attitude, mouth. My friend here failed two classes and got Ds in two others in the last trimester. That’s crap. He’s way too smart for that. He was shocked to hear this (apparently he never got a report card mailed home – probably owed the school money and they hold report cards as an incentive to get fines paid) and claimed he had no idea how his grades were so bad. Which is bullshit, but our current grading system can’t be accessed outside of the building or by anyone other than the teacher (we’re switching to an internet-based one that anyone involved can access anywhere), so we couldn’t go far with that.

Then we moved on to attitude, and mouth. Which are linked, but different. The Charmer has a really hard time treating people with respect if he doesn’t feel they’ve earned it, which I get, but….kinda doesn’t matter. I’ve talked to him repeatedly about how it doesn’t hurt a teacher if he gets an attitude with them and gets kicked out of their class, it hurts him – they have a job, they’ll still have it, and they can just get rid of him and not deal with him if he causes problems. Same thing with a future boss – he’ll have bosses who suck, but if he gives them attitude and gets fired, again, he’s the one who gets hurt.

At one point during this conversation, his mom said something that he disagreed with, and he told her so in no uncertain terms. Voice raised, challenging posture, language that wasn’t particularly polite. It was the perfect example. I interrupted his tirade, “Hey. That right there. That’s what I’m talking about. You can talk that way to your mom because you guys have been building a relationship for the past thirteen years [although, seriously, still rude, but that’s his mom’s issue to deal with if she so chooses]. But you talk that way to teachers and administrators and you don’t have the relationships with them to be able to get away with that. That’s exactly the sort of thing that gets you in trouble, and you have to stop.” He shut right up, and I think it actually made him think.

Mouth…ugh. The Charmer is smart. He’s popular. He’s funny. He’s good with language. He’s a thirteen year old boy. He comes up with very clever things to say or do (as I have experienced to my chagrin a few times) that are incredibly inappropriate. I mean, wow. It’s almost impressive how he has absolutely no filter, but not in a good way.

As I explained that, I tried to dance around the specifics as his little sister was in the room, saying that he says things that offend people, that aren’t school appropriate, that go beyond how he should be talking in front of adults, but I could tell his mom wasn’t getting just how inappropriate I meant. She was agreeing with me and telling him he shouldn’t be cursing or calling people gay, which, yeah, also true, but it’s way more than that. Finally I asked her if she minded if I gave two specific examples. She agreed. I asked if she wanted her daughter to leave the room. She said it was fine, so I asked the Charmer if he remembered some of the things he’d said at the year-end kickball game.

He got defensive. “Yeah, but that kid called me Asian so that’s why I called him a --- ”

I cut him off. “Not what I’m talking about [though I will remember that to address another time].”

“Oh, when I said that kid was gay?”

“Also not what I’m talking about. But this is interesting – what else did you do that day?”

Finally he realized that he was screwing himself here and shut up. So I shared the teabagging and the balls in the face stories. His mom was horrified, or at least acted like she was, saying she was offended by that one as a woman.

To that he got defensive. “No, I did not say that. I know exactly what I said. I said—I said ‘Balls in her face!’”

I shot back, “And that’s not any better. She got hit by one kickball – singular. You said balls, plural. You knew exactly what you were implying by adding that ‘s’ to the word. It changed the meaning and you did it on purpose. That’s the kind of crap I’m talking about.” He actually blushed at that.

The conversation lasted for a little over an hour. Toward the end I asked again if he was okay with having me mentor him. He hemmed and hawed for a minute, not saying anything real. I waited. Finally he looked at me and blurted, “You know I’m not going to say no to you.”

I said, “So you’re cool with this.”

He said, “I guess.” I was okay with that as a response, but his mom wasn’t. She made him say that yes, he was cool with it.

We’re meeting Tuesday. I’m not totally sure how this will work; my guess is we’ll hang out, talk, play cards maybe, I’ll bring up stuff that I want him to think about, and periodically, when something’s bothering him, he’ll bring that up. It’s pretty much how our lunches this year went. Not that those were so terribly effective (two Ds! Two Fs! Double-you-tee-eff, seriously), but I’m not sure what would work better. If anyone has any suggestions, I’d love to hear them.

Either way, though, it was nice to get to know his mom (she’s a lot like the Charmer and clearly loves him a lot and wants what’s best for him, even if she’s not as involved in his education as I think she should be; I do think it's interesting that she didn't tell him I was coming over, though....any thoughts on what that's about?), and it’s nice to have a direction to go with this. Now (hint, hint, universe) if I can only get the Eyeliner Queen to call me back…

(Photo credit to y_davechen, http://www.flickr.com/photos/thewrongglass/3001504461/)

Mixed messages

I am feeling rejected.

I STILL have not met with the Eyeliner Queen. I got cancelled on, and when I try to reschedule, I can’t get anyone on the phone.

As previously mentioned, I’m concerned about the Charmer. So I talked to his AP about me trying to mentor him as well, even if he’s not at our school. She agreed, so I started calling. I left two messages before I finally got mom on the phone (she said she hadn’t had a phone; possible, but would she still have had voicemail? I don’t know). I explained my concerns and that I wanted to keep in touch with him; she said she thought it was a great idea; we set up a time for the three of us to sit down and talk. That was today. When I called to go meet them, she wouldn’t answer her phone. I left a message, and another one an hour later.

Here’s the thing. I can handle rejection; I don’t like it, obviously, but I can deal with it. But I really don’t like these mixed messages. If the Charmer or his mom have decided they don’t want me to mentor him, that’s their prerogative and I’ll respect that. But it’s frustrating to be told that this is a great idea, how wonderful, more teachers should do this kind of thing, and then get sent to voicemail. If the Eyeliner Queen’s mom has decided she doesn’t want me to meet her daughter, her choice. Just tell me.

I could just stop calling – take the hint and move on. And maybe I will. But I don’t want these kids to think I’m giving up on them like so many other people have in their lives, so I’m not ready to go there yet.

I just don’t know what to do.

(Photo credit to brothergrimm, http://www.flickr.com/photos/brothergrimm/383193489/)

This won't go anywhere good.

A week and a half before the year ended, the Charmer mentioned the Over Achiever during lunch one day. I have a picture of her on my bulletin board (she gave it to me; I put up pics of any kid who gives one to me) and he’d ragged on it before. That day, I’d added one of him and his friends from a writing workshop they’d done with me a few weeks before. I pointed it out to him.

“Yeah, but you have it right above hers. Which is, like, way closer than I want to get to her.” I ignored him. He went on, “And now she’s acting totally crazy. Like can’t even be in the same class as me because she’s too in love with me or whatever.”

That caught my attention. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, like she’s so in love with me that it hurts too much to be in the same room as me so she’s not coming to math and science anymore.”

I changed the subject, but I was perturbed.

That afternoon was our end-of-year staff party. One of my colleagues, Ms. Librarian, mentioned the Over Achiever and how she was helping out in the library for the rest of the year. “I heard about that,” I said. “So she can’t handle being in the same class as the Charmer? What’s the deal?”

Ms. Librarian shrugged. “I don’t know…I guess she’d been making excuses to leave school every day early, and finally admitted that it was because of what was going on with him.”

“What IS going on with him?”

“Apparently he’s been saying some really inappropriate things to her, telling secrets he learned about her last year like about her dad [her dad has a drug problem and has had major health issues this year; it’s been incredibly hard on the Over Achiever, understandably] and just not being very nice. So her teachers agreed she could spend the end of the year in the library with me.”

Without even getting into what a terrible message I think that’s sending to her, I didn’t like the sound of this. Because it sounded like everyone had decided that the Over Achiever was the innocent tulip who was being viciously destroyed by the cruel Charmer. I didn’t think it was so clear cut as that, but I also didn’t want him to get in trouble for this. We had a week left of school. He just had to get through without doing anything dumb.

The next morning I went to talk to his counselor to see if I could help in any way. I told her what I’d heard and asked if it was okay if I talked to him about this and tried to persuade him to stay away from her for the rest of the year. She said that’d be great, because there was more to the story. The Over Achiever had come to school in pajama pants the day before (against dress code, but she’s the kind of kid who gets away with that stuff). The Charmer had allegedly said to another kid, “Yeah, because she left her pants at my house last night.”

Yes. Because she left her pants at his house last night.

Seriously? In seventh grade, who says stuff like that? With that added to the situation, I knew it was a matter of time before he got suspended, something I wanted to avoid if possible. So I went to pull him from his first hour class (they had a sub and I had permission from the counselor to try). He wasn’t there. Didn’t come to school that day or the next. When he showed again on the second-to-last day of school, he and I talked. He flat out denied having said that; he claimed he’d made a comment about her pants, just something about how they looked dumb, but he asked why he’d say what the Over Achiever had claimed, because that would be a compliment to her, like saying he’d want to have sex with her. And as horrific as that statement was, I could see his point. She’d been pursuing him and he’d been turning her down all year – why would he suddenly start acting like he wanted to be with her again, even in an insulting way? The logic was gross, but valid.

I got him to promise that he’d stay away from her, and that he’d try to stay out of trouble for the last two days. I thought he would, too. Then I heard about the last day of school.

On the last day of school, the Charmer really went above and beyond to be a delight. He walked over to a kid lying on the ground during a kickball game and asked the group at large if he should teabag the kid. During the same game, when a girl missed a pop fly, he said that was weird because she was used to having balls fly at her face. Then, finally, at the end of the game…he left. School. Just left.

My kids fall apart before vacations pretty frequently. School’s a safe place, with rules and consistency and expectations. Home’s not, for some of them. Parents aren’t around, or if they are, they’re not always that stable themselves. Food is sporadic. Kids have nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to talk to. So they start acting out right before they’re going to be on their own for a while. I can only assume that’s what the Charmer was doing. I can only hope that’s what was going on. Because if that’s not it, if there’s more to it than a simple and temporary change in circumstances, then I’m terrified about what’s going on with him. This won’t go anywhere good, and I don’t know how to help.


(Photo credit to Nesster, http://www.flickr.com/photos/nesster/3168425434/)

Falling apart

So, the Charmer. When last we met our hero, he’d agreed to consider maybe applying to possibly choice back in to my school for next year. Full of conditionals, absolutely, but progress, I felt. And then. Oh, and then.

I still don’t really know what happened. Except…he fell apart. Suddenly I started hearing these stories about him and about what a huge asshole he was being. That should’ve been nothing new, but it was. It felt different this time. It felt mean. From him, AND from the people talking about him.

I have to go back, I think, for this to make sense. Backstory matters; sometimes it’s dull, sometimes it’s just the writer who needs to know it, but sometimes the audience needs it too. I think it’s needed here.

There’s this girl. In sixth grade, the two of them were together; as together as sixth graders can be. I don’t THINK it ever came to full on sex, but I don’t know, honestly, and I don’t really want to. Anyway, they were very close emotionally. When the school year started, I asked this girl, the Over Achiever (because she is – I don’t think she’s ever failed at anything in her life), how the Charmer was doing. She shrugged. “We broke up like a week after school got out. We never saw each other, so there just wasn’t any point.” I nodded, said something about how that made sense, moved on.

When the Charmer came back to my school, they…reconnected. Sort of. The Over Achiever came flying into my classroom one day after school, sobbing that she was there to say goodbye to me because she was transferring schools because the Charmer was being sooooooo mean to her. She credits me for one of her main achievements, getting elected to student council, because I’d pushed her to run (no way would she not have won. Most popular kid in school, even as a sixth grader, but it was nice that she appreciated my support), and so she said she didn’t want to leave without thanking me for all I’d done for her.

This was before the Charmer and I got back in touch, and I had no idea what she was talking about. I calmed her down and she spilled. He’d called her a bitch, but that he’d then apologized and they’d started talking again, and flirting, and he’d told all these people how much he liked her, and so she’d scooped up all her courage and asked him out, at which point he’d backpedaled and claimed he needed more time, and then started talking trash about her. I murmured platitudes about what a great kid she was, how she had so much potential, how she couldn’t make decisions based off a few bad days, how maybe it would work out with him and maybe it wouldn’t but she’d be okay no matter what, how she needed to decide if she really wanted to be with someone who would treat her that way…the same stuff I tell all my kids when they’re having trouble with a member of the opposite sex. She sniffled, and listened, and dabbed her eyes with the corners of tissues that she’d crumpled in her hands while talking.

A couple of weeks later, my school held a holiday celebration with a dance room. The Over Achiever and the Charmer were both in there, and clearly dancing to impress the other. I assumed they were working it out and would get back together shortly.

Apparently not, though. Somehow it never happened, though not for lack of trying on the Over Achiever’s part, or so I heard through the seventh grade grapevine. Weird stories; almost creepy. Losing her shit when another girl was going to ask him out and threatening to kick the girl’s ass, any time, any place. Pretending to be at his house and having a friend pretend to be him on the phone with a third person; making that person promise not to text the Charmer for real to verify, and saying that the friendship would be over if she did (the third person rationalized that she hadn’t promised not to call, so dialed the Charmer, only to be met with a horrified, “Oh HELL no she’s not over here.”).

Maybe these are typical seventh-grade-infatuated-with-someone-who-doesn’t-want-you-back stories, but this is not the typical seventh grade girl. This is a kid who is adored by teachers and students alike; a girl who gets awards constantly, receiving them as her due, a girl who is cheered by her peers, a girl who fields offers for boyfriends near daily. This is a girl who is a success by just about anyone’s definition, and a girl who is not used to failure. And she was failing with the Charmer this time around.

She was part of the reason he originally didn’t want to move in to honors classes; she’s in all honors and he told me he didn’t want to deal with her all day long. Which I get – it’s super annoying to be around someone that causes you pain, and when you don’t have to do it, why put yourself through that? And leaving out all the weirdness, she’d also really hurt him the previous summer. He’d cared about this girl deeply, had trusted her when he was going through some really tough stuff, and she abandoned him. Not that she didn’t have valid reasons, but he was still in pain. But he finally agreed to go into math and science honors, and only two classes with her didn’t seem that bad.

I don’t think it was, at first. I think they were fine, except that was when her infatuation escalated. That was when the threats to other girls and the lies about his relationship with her started. He’d complain about it sporadically to me, but he never seemed that worried, and I brushed it off. Maybe I shouldn’t have.

Tomorrow, the end.

(Photo credit to onkel_wart (very busy), http://www.flickr.com/photos/onkel_wart/2883128876/)

Keeping options open.

So, I was really sad about the whole The-Charmer-hates-my-school-and-teachers-in-it-for-generally-good-reason thing. And while I had (sort of) come to terms with him hating the three teachers he’d mentioned, he had two other teachers. When I’d sent him to class after our talk, I’d asked if he and I could have lunch the next day to talk about this further. He agreed. So the next day, I got him from the cafeteria and we got back into it.

“Okay, what about your other teachers? I thought you liked them. I thought you thought they were good teachers.”

Reluctantly… “Yeah, they’re pretty good.”

“So it’s not everyone.” Honestly, I felt better just hearing that he didn’t think EVERYONE sucked.

“I guess not.”

I kind of wasn’t sure where to go from there. I didn’t feel like I could just let this whole thing go, but I also didn’t really know what to say. These were my colleagues he hated, people I talked to regularly, people I joked around with, people I grabbed drinks with, people I considered friends. And he had a right to hate them, based on his perception.

Here’s the thing. Although I think every single one of the teachers and administrators he complained about has many fine qualities, it doesn’t matter. At all. Because my perspective as a teacher is totally different from the perspective of a student in the class. And my opinion does not matter.

I’ve heard teachers complain before about the whole teaching as customer service thing, and I get that. A lot of teachers already have to deal with crazy helicopter parents, obsessing over every little aspect of their child’s education and freaking out if their kid doesn’t get an A. I have a friend who teaches in a very high SES area, very different from my school, and with every.single.assignment he gives, he gets numerous emails asking where the rigor is in that assignment. Emails that he then has to respond to, rather than use his limited time to grade or plan. And, wow. I can’t even imagine how frustrating that is.

But, um, we kind of ARE customer service reps.

If someone works for TicketMaster (which I did, back in the day….ooh, terrible job), they have a job in order to sell tickets to people. Sometimes they can’t sell the tickets because the tickets aren’t available or the person has already purchased too many, but those are the exceptions to the rule. As teachers, we have jobs in order to educate children. Sometimes home lives or other issues get in the way, but if we’re not educating them, WE SHOULDN’T HAVE JOBS.

The Charmer felt he wasn’t being well educated. Based on what he’d told me and what other kids had told me, he wasn’t wrong. Some of his own issues are getting in the way, but that’s not the whole problem.

But there’s more to it than that. This is a kid who doesn’t trust people. Just….doesn’t trust them. He trusts his mom, and two of his friends, and sort of his brother, and sort of me. Not 100%, but sort of, and only because I’ve earned it over the past two years. This is also a kid who is smart, and funny, and talented. He sees through the fronts people put on to the truths inside their souls; that’s not something that goes over well, particularly when the person who has that capacity sometimes uses it to sneer at and judge people. Which he does. I’m not saying he’s not an asshole, because he often is. I just think there’s more to him than that. If he leaves my school, he’ll still be an asshole, he’ll still push people past their breaking points, but then he won’ t have anyone on his side. Am I helping him at all anyway? I don’t know. But at least he has someone who believes in him, who challenges him when he’s being a prick, whom he respects and who treats him with respect. I’m not sure he’ll have that (at least not at school) if he leaves. Maybe (probably) I’m giving myself too much credit here, but I just couldn’t give up yet. So even though I couldn’t argue with his current perception of the school, I had to try something.

Finally, I decided to address the following year. “I get that you’re unhappy with your current teachers, and…I don’t disagree with what you’re saying. I wish I could, but I can't. But I truly believe that the eighth grade has some incredible teachers.”

He shrugged.

“I’m not saying you have to come here. That’s not my choice; you and your mom have to make that decision, and maybe this ISN’T the best place for you. But…” I paused again. “I guess I just think you should keep your options open. I know you’re unhappy right now, but you might feel differently later.”

He shrugged again. “I guess. It doesn’t matter anyway. I already missed it.”

As previously mentioned, the Charmer doesn’t live in my enrollment area and he’d missed the deadline to choice in. “I know. But I told you that I’d let you know if it opens back up again.” Sometimes the district re-opens the opportunity to choice in, if a school isn’t full, and I’d told the Charmer I’d keep track of that for him and let him know if it happened. I’m doing the same thing for two other kids who moved out of our area but still want to come back. “Here’s the deal. If you choice in and you want to come here, you can. If you decide you don’t want to come here, you can always decline and just go to your home school. But if you DON’T choice in, you can’t change your mind. You lose the option. Again, not saying you have to come back. But do you still want me to keep you posted?”

For a minute, he didn’t say anything. Finally, with another shrug, “Yeah. I guess.”

More to come…

(Hopefully we do a better job at working with our students than following the above photo. Credit to Here’s Kate, http://www.flickr.com/photos/thedepartment/85386723/)

"I just don't want to be here!"

A while ago I posted about why I thought the Charmer didn’t want to come back to my school next year. I hypothesized that it was because of money – because he lives a ways from school and didn’t have the money for the bus all the time.

Yeah. Not so much.

A few days later, the Charmer and his friends were in my room again. Towards the end of the period, I asked his friends to leave because I needed to talk the Charmer. I had a whole speech prepared about how the money thing was an issue but not insurmountable, how I could have gotten him to school, how he needed to ask for help when he needed it. Never got to use it. Which is a shame, because it was a totally good speech too.

I started with, “So what happened the other day?”

He shrugged. “I was sick.”

I looked at him skeptically. “It wasn’t because you didn’t have a bus pass?”

“No.”

“You know, this doesn’t work. This isn’t going to fly next year – you have to figure out a way to get to school.”

“Well then it won’t be an issue since I’m not going here and my new school is like 10 feet from my house.”

“But if you want to go here--”

“I don’t want to go here! I keep telling you that!”

“I know, but you won’t tell me WHY. So WHY don’t you want to go here? If it’s the bus pass--” (And this was my opening, I thought. This was when I was going to masterfully turn the conversation so that I could give my helpful little rah-rah-rah we-shall-overcome speech. Shows how much I know.)

“It’s not the stupid bus pass! I don’t want to go here because I hate it here! Because the teachers suck and the administration sucks and I just don’t want to be here!” He was almost yelling.

I sat. I looked at him. I couldn’t believe it. “Oh. Okay.”

He looked down. “I’m sorry. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d be mad.”

“I’m not mad…I’m just sad.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m really not. I’m not mad. I’m sad that you feel that way, because…well, because I teach here and I like it here and I think we have good teachers, and it makes me sad that you don’t feel that way.”

“It’s not you. You don’t suck.”

“I know. But thanks.” We sat in silence for a moment. Finally, I asked, “Why do you think the teachers and administration suck?”

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. These are my colleagues and I respect them and think they are good teachers. But it doesn’t actually matter what I think; it matters what you think. And if you think they’re bad, I want to know why. So why?”

He sighed. Then he told me. Stories of a teacher who doesn’t teach much because she’s burned out and the kids know it; instead of teaching, this teacher tells them stories. Then eventually they have an assessment, and they all get Cs on it because they haven’t done any practice for it. Stories of a teacher who treats different students differently, VERY differently, and again the kids know it. Stories of a teacher who ignores commitments she’s made to students, commitments about grades and work and credit, and instead fails the students that she doesn’t like to teach them a lesson. Stories of administrators who, instead of correcting students for mistakes, humiliate them in front of their peers by making them redo the mistakes repeatedly.

The bell rang before he finished. I sent him to his next class, because there was nothing else to do. But I thought about it a lot.

Everything he told me, I’d seen at points. But I thought…I guess I thought that I’d seen these things as aberrations with these teachers, as minor occasional issues that were surpassed by the strong teaching they do the rest of the time. And maybe for some kids they are, but not for the Charmer. And maybe not for more of them. I started asking other kids what they thought about their teachers and their education; not many, just a few that I knew well and trusted and who trust me, and some of the stories…too many of the stories…were the same. Some weren’t, and that’s good. But.

Once I’d heard his perspective, I couldn’t blame him for wanting to leave, and I couldn’t try to persuade him to stay anymore. Even if the tales he told were exceptions rather than the rule for most kids (which I pray they are), those made up his story at my school. And that’s a story I couldn’t try to keep going.

To be continued.


(I'm trying out adding pictures to make my blog more interesting for visual types. So? You like it? Photo credit to Philippe Leroyer, http://www.flickr.com/photos/philippeleroyer/2070899672/)

A good two years.

I finished moving to my new classroom yesterday. My lovely husband came in and helped me get it done, which was really good – the two of us spent close to three hours working, so had it just been ME, it would have taken me probably at least eight (he is stronger and more efficient than I am; I get distracted by shiny things and student notes and stuff).

I’m a little sad to leave sixth grade. Their exuberance and enthusiasm are so great, and they really want to love their teachers. You just have to give them a chance, and they’re in. Eighth graders…I don’t know. They’re a little more jaded and you have to prove yourself more, as I recall. Which I can totally do, but. It’ll just be different.

Mostly I’m excited. I found out that one of the reading teachers in my building whom I most respect will also be moving to my core with me, so that’s pretty rockin’. She and I are very different in some ways, but we both hold our students to very high standards, we both manage our classrooms in large part through rapport with the kids, we both believe in including ethics in our content lessons…we may butt heads at times as we are both strong-willed, but I think it’ll be awesome.

It’ll be fun to see which of my former kids I get again. The Eyeliner Queen probably won’t be back (long story), and BB Bob and the Charmer probably won’t either (another long story, which I’ll get to). But I know I’ll have some familiar faces, and that’ll be nice.

When I left my old room for the last time, I stopped for just a minute to look back. I’ll be in it again, of course, I’m still in the building and I’m sure I’ll be sharing curriculum with whoever is hired for that position, but it won’t be the same. Yesterday was the last time it was my room, or really ours, because it belonged to my kids as much as me, filled with our energy, our memories, our work and laughter and tears.

It was a good first two years. I can’t wait for the next twenty.

The end.

I didn’t cry at school on Thursday.

I thought I might, but I made it through. Some of my kids wanted me to cry, I think. Tears mean they matter. Tears are a tangible expression of my love for them. But I didn’t. It was such a good day that tears just didn’t come.

When I told them that I would be moving to 8th grade, they were delighted. Countless kids asked if I could arrange it so they were on my core again. I told them I couldn’t, that it’s all done by computers. One particularly enterprising student suggested that I hack the system; I said I’d take it into consideration. Another student, who’d choiced out of my low-rated urban school for a highly rated suburban school for next year, said he’d come back for 8th grade so that he could be in my class again. I told him that was probably not the way to choose a school but that I appreciated his enthusiasm.

I told a few former students, current 7th graders. They screamed so loudly that a custodian came rushing over, sure someone was mortally wounded.

Three of my girls wrote me a letter about how much they were going to miss me. They’d typed it up, decorated it with hearts and flowers and squiggly things, and put it in a red folder. That was the closest I came to tears.

One of my boys hugged me….and hugged me…and hugged me. Finally I told him he had to let me to go to class. He agreed. Kept hugging. I said it again. Yep, he said, he definitely had to stop and he would, but then he didn’t. Finally I pried his hands loose. I know that I’m his favorite teacher because I have more patience for his antics than some of my colleagues, but I also know that sixth graders are short and hormonal and his head is riiiiiiiight at breast level.

DC asked if I was going to cry. I said I wasn’t sure. “Don’t,” he said. “If you cry, I’ll cry.” So he was safe.

I had all my students sign a yearbook; I buy one each year because I think they’re a nice memento of the year. One student wrote that I was her hero. Several, including the Charmer, wrote that I was the best teacher ever. BB Bob thanked me for helping him so much this year. DC drew a self-portrait and wrote simply, “Miss u.” I might have cried if I’d read those at the time, but I waited till Friday.

At the end of each class, I reminded my kids of the part in Freedom Writers when Miep Gies comes to visit and talks about how ordinary everyday people can be heroes, and how we’d talked about that and I believed it too. Then I reminded them that she also said their faces were engraved in her heart. I told them that their faces were engraved in my heart, that it had been my honor to teach them this year, and that I would miss them all and couldn’t wait to see them next year. A few of them got all misty eyed at that, but I timed it so the bell rang right after I finished speaking, so they sniffled it away and moved on.

We finished the day with an awards assembly. I wish more kids could be recognized for their achievements, but we increased the numbers this year and I’ll work on it again for next year. Plus they’d all gotten the notes from me about their strengths, so that’s kind of like a mini-award. At the end of the assembly, I was mobbed. Kids surrounded me, hugging me and asking for pictures and saying how much they were going to miss me. They are so sweet and so loving and so open; that’s one thing I will miss about sixth graders. Eighth graders are more reserved. Too cool for school. I'm looking forward to a lot of it, but that'll be a loss.

It was a fabulous end to a fabulous year. Painful and challenging at times, yes, but what worthwhile things aren’t? I’m looking forward to resting and rejuvenating this summer. But I also have to start planning – I have a whole new curriculum to get ready for.

Be careful making rash promises...

I cannot stand when students use the word gay as an insult. It. Drives. Me. Crazy. My kids learn very quickly that they don’t want to use that word in front of me, because they’re going to get called out on it at a minimum, and if necessary, I will make a great big fucking deal out of it until I get my point across. Few sixth graders want to have anything about their lives made into a great big fucking deal.

Seventh graders, on the other hand…

This is a battle I fight CONSTANTLY with the Charmer. Though he is in many ways a great kid, he’s pretty homophobic. He and I have talked about it, and he says he doesn’t have a problem with gay people, just why do they have to be so flaming?

So I’m working on the general homophobia, but in the meantime, I’m trying on the language. I correct him on it every single damn time he uses it.

A few days ago, I was fed up with it. One of his friends said something, I don’t even remember what, and the Charmer looked at him and sneered, “Dude, you’re gay.”

I stopped the conversation. “Charmer. I’m serious. That word is not okay to use as an insult. You can insult your friends, whatever, I’ve worked through that, use whatever word you want, but you are NOT allowed to call them gay. STOP IT.”

The Charmer looked at me. “I can call them whatever I want?”

Here’s what I assumed he’d go with: Stupid. Idiot. Loser. Something insulting – whatever worked, as long as it wasn't gay. I was wrong, and I walked right into it, and I couldn’t even really complain, because I’d started it. “Whatever you want.”

The Charmer looked at his friend. He took a breath. He rolled the word around in his mouth as he spoke it, savoring each syllable, each letter. “Cocksucker.”

Sweet.

The want of a dollar.

As I mentioned, I had lunch with a group of the Charmer’s friends three days in a row last week. It should have only been two.

Tuesday during lunch, the Charmer mentioned not wanting to come to my school next year. This was a surprise. He’s not in our district and he and I have been working on getting him choiced in for next year, so to hear he suddenly didn’t want to come back was unexpected. I asked him why right at the end of lunch and he gave me a look and said that I knew why.

I had no idea why.

I asked if he and I could have lunch one day to talk about it. He said sure. I asked Wednesday or Thursday. Whatever. Seriously, I asked, Wednesday or Thursday? Choose! He said he didn’t care, either was fine.

Wednesday I went to get him. Not today…he wanted to have lunch with his friends today. Okay, then, tomorrow? Sure. Then his friends asked if they could eat with me. I said they could come but he didn’t have to. He came too. At the end of lunch, I reconfirmed for Thursday. Totally, he said.

Thursday I went to find him. Absent. Instead BB Bob and the Chowhound came, which was fine, but I was perturbed.

The Charmer’s attendance sucked when he first came back to school this year. He would miss about a day every week to week and a half, which is absurd. Once I started mentoring him, it got a lot better – he and I looked at his attendance (I don’t think he realized how bad it was till he saw it on paper) and talked about the issue, and then we managed to get him a bus pass.

For about 6 weeks, he was there every day, then it dropped off again. Not as bad as before, but not good. One day he told me that he hadn’t come because the weather was bad, his jacket was at school and his sweatshirt was at a friend’s house, and he didn’t want to wait for the bus in the snow. That’s all the warm clothes he had – a jacket and a sweatshirt. And I couldn’t argue with him. How am I going to tell a kid to wait outside for the bus in the snow in a t-shirt? So I asked him to call me if he was going to be absent and we’d figure something out. He agreed, and for about three weeks he was there every day. And then he wasn’t. Long story, but he told me something that led to the social services call. That was two and a half weeks ago. He’s missed two more days since then. The first he said he’d had a dentist appointment, mom doesn’t have a car, a friend had to drive them, he couldn’t come…I didn’t push it. The second was Thursday.

It really pissed me off that he wasn’t there on Thursday. Honestly, I thought it might be kind of a fuck you to me – he and I had an agreement to talk, he and I’d had run-ins before about his attendance...this struck me as possibly intentional. I told his friends to tell him that we needed to talk. They agreed, and the Chowhound said he didn’t know why the Charmer was absent all the time, but that he should come to school more. He rambled about that for a minute, till all of a sudden BB Bob blurted out that the Charmer didn’t have a bus pass.

“What?” I said.

“He doesn’t have a bus pass right now. That’s why he’s not here, I think.”

“Why doesn’t he have a bus pass?” I was skeptical, wondering if he’d given it away or something.

BB Bob shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s just what he said.”

Later that day his counselor came to talk to me about something else. I mentioned his absence; she confirmed it and brought up that his bus pass had come that day. Apparently she’d gotten a nasty message from mom about it, but couldn’t really do anything about the situation. He’d get the bus pass when he came back to school, whenever that was.

So it was true. He wasn’t coming to school because he couldn’t come to school. Bus fare is only a dollar, but they didn’t have it, I guess.

I wish he’d called me like he said he would. He lives a few miles from school, but it can’t be more than a ten minute drive – I could have driven to his house and given him the money to get there. And now I’m guessing that’s why he doesn’t want to come back next year. I’m guessing he doesn’t know how he’d get to school, and so he doesn’t want to deal with it. Hopefully he and I will get to talk on Monday, and I can confirm my guess and try to work around it.

The want of a dollar – what a sad reason to miss out on your education.

Updates.

The Eyeliner Queen is back and attempting to stay out of trouble. So far, it's going okay. She and I are going to keep in touch over the summer just so she knows someone is there if she needs support. I get super antsy over vacations if I don't have stuff to do, so this will be good for me too.

DC declined to pursue the issue with Ms. Science. He said he felt better after the weekend and it was just a few more weeks of school, so he could deal. I said okay, and he’s seemed fine since.

I readdressed the issue with the Charmer & Co. the next time they asked to eat with me. Reiterated how I was uncomfortable and why it was inappropriate. They apologized. I said if it happened again, we were done with the lunches. They agreed. It’s been perfectly appropriate since. It better stay that way.

The Natural Athlete filled out a sort of “don’t hurt yourself without talking to someone first” contract. At school, I’m his first contact if he’s feeling majorly upset and Ms. Counselor is his second. At home, it’s Dad and Grandma, I think. He was sent home early on Wednesday – I guess his parents thought it was kind of silly, but Ms. Counselor talked about how they might not agree, but his emotions are his emotions, and we needed to take it seriously. The next day, we touched base. He’s much better but promised to come talk to me if he needs to.

The kid I never imagined.

Today BB Bob and another one of the Charmer’s friends, the Chowhound (the boy never. stops. eating.), asked to have lunch with me. I’d been looking for the Charmer, but he was absent (story for another day…grrr), so I said sure. This is the third day in a row that these boys have had lunch with me – the last two, the Charmer and the fourth in their group, the Talker, had been there too, but the Charmer was absent and the Talker had detention, so then there were two.

I was a little surprised, to be honest. BB Bob was one of my kids from last year, but he and I were never particularly close. We got along fine, just nothing beyond. This year, when the Charmer and his friends started coming in for lunch, I assumed that BB Bob was pretty much just along for the ride – better to be with your friends in a teacher’s room than by yourself in the cafeteria. But they came.

Right after we got to my room, BB Bob asked me oh-so-casually how often I talked to his reading teacher. “Do you guys talk, like, all the time?”

“Not really – I don’t see her that much. We have pretty different schedules.” I wondered why he was asking, then I realized.

The day before, I’d told the Charmer that his reading teacher had complimented him. They don’t get along, AT ALL, but she’d made a point of emailing me about him, so I wanted to pass it along. She’d said that he’d really turned things around, which I’m pretty sure means that he’d started to play the game the way she wanted, but whatever, I thought it might help him to know. He hadn’t seemed to much care, but I guess the others had been listening.

BB Bob is a really good reader. Ms. Reading used to compliment him, and I’d heard his current teacher compliment him too. And he was wondering about that.

“She’s told me a bunch of times what a great reader you are.”

He shook his head. “Naw. I’m not.”

“Yes you are! And Ms. Reading used to tell me too, so I know you are.”

He shook his head a moment more, then a slow smile broke out. “Yeah…maybe.”

The conversation moved on, and after 20 minutes or so, the Chowhound said he was going to go outside for the last ten minutes. I assumed BB Bob would take off too, but no. He stayed another two or three minutes – we chatted some more, about his options for next year and why he might not come back to my school, until he suddenly seemed to realize that he was in a room, with a teacher, by himself, BY CHOICE, and he had no idea how to deal with that.

“Uh…I’m going to go outside too.”

“Okay. See you later.”

“Bye.”

“Have a good day, Bob.”

“Thanks.” Then a split second later, “Uh, you too.”

So funny to learn that you matter to a kid you never imagined would care.

Ick Level Orange

I have a few seventh grade boys who come and eat lunch with me in my classroom once or twice a week – the Charmer and his friends. Because they’re not my students currently and because it’s a non-instructional setting, I’m pretty lenient in the language and behavior I allow. There are some lines that they shouldn’t cross (like when one of the jackasses said he had a BB gun in his locker), but for the most part, I let them get away with a lot.

Today they crossed a line.

I was helping another former student enter a writing contest while the Charmer and BB Bob drew pictures on my white board. They do this periodically, draw or write notes like, “The Charmer wuz here,” and I let them do it and then have them erase it before they leave. The Charmer called me over to see his rabbit and BB Bob’s dog. “Lovely,” I said.

“Here, let me show you how to do it.” BB Bob took the marker and drew two circles, one right next to the other. “Those are his eyes.” He added a long narrow oval coming down off of the circles. “That’s his nose.” He drew a small circle at the base of the oval. “That’s the tip of his nose.” And very quickly, what we had was something that clearly was meant to look like testicles and a penis.

I was stunned. “That’s incredibly inappropriate – you need to stop.”

BB Bob kept drawing, adding other details until it looked like the dog he’d claimed. Then the Charmer jumped on the bandwagon. “Okay, so here’s how to do a rabbit. Start with its feet.” Same two circles. “Add the body.” Same oval, but pointing up. “Now the ---”

And that’s when I was done. “Take a seat.”

“Lemme just finish ---”

“Take a seat RIGHT NOW.”

They sat.

I sent the third boy out of the room, as he hadn’t been involved, then started with BB Bob. I looked at him for a moment. He stared at the desk. “Look at me.” He finally dragged his eyes up. “You and I have had this conversation recently.”

“Not about ---”

“About what’s appropriate to do in front of a teacher, and what’s not. Was this?”

He shook his head, then muttered, “No. Sorry.”

“You can go.” I turned to the Charmer as BB Bob slunk out. He fiddled with his phone, checked his iPod, tapped a pencil on the desk – anything to not look at me. “Can I have your attention please?”

“I’m listening.”

I waited. After a moment he looked up. “I really am listening.”

“I believe you. I just wanted to be sure. Do you understand why that was totally not okay?” He shrugged. “Charmer, that was really, really, really inappropriate. I give you guys a lot of leeway, but that….that crossed a line. That wasn’t okay?”

“We were just messing around, it wasn’t like it was a big deal or anything. We wouldn’t tell anyone or whatever.”

“It was a big deal to me and it’s not about telling. I’m your teacher. That’s not appropriate.”

“Why?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

I paused, trying to figure out how to put this. “Because…well, because you’re a 13 year old boy and I’m your teacher and it’s not appropriate to use sexual stuff around me.”

“That wasn’t even sexual! And we wouldn’t tell anyone anyway!”

“It was close enough, and that’s not the point. The point is it made me personally uncomfortable. Whether or not you would tell, I was uncomfortable with the fact that it happened at all. And it needs to not happen again. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He left after that; lunch was over and I had kids coming in, but bleah. I think I got my point across, but I feel like it’s not a point I should have had to work to get across – it should have been obvious. Am I wrong here?

I told Ms. Reading about it after school, to get her perspective and see if she thought I needed to take any additional steps, like report it to admin or anything. This is the third time I’ve had a kid do something that was to some extent sexually inappropriate – one student, when I told a group of kids that I loved them one day, asked, “Physically?”, and another kid, when my husband came up in conversation one day, said that really I wanted to get with him (that one was in the middle of class. AWESOME.). Both times, I reported it to admin and had conversations with the kids about why it was inappropriate. That way, the situation was dealt with and I covered myself. Both times, the kid in question understood the issue right away, was very apologetic, and has been totally cool and not at all creepy ever since.

Ms. Reading felt it had been addressed sufficiently. She suggested I just not have the boys come in for a few days for lunch. I didn’t want it to look like punishment, so she said I could put it on myself, say that I’m just still feeling uncomfortable with the issue the other day and needed a break for a few days.

I’m still not sure. What do you think? Should I report it? I dealt with it – does it need to go further, not even in a I-want-someone-else-to-get-them-in-trouble sense, but just in a I-want-someone-high-up-to-be-aware-of-what-happened-in-case-it-comes-back-on-me sense. A teacher’s career can be ruined so easily by an accusation of impropriety. I don’t think I did anything specific wrong, but I somehow created an atmosphere in which they felt comfortable doing something like that.

Thoughts? Advice? Personal stories? Anything would be appreciated!

How is it only Wednesday?

It’s been a hell of a week. So far:

Monday:

• I had a student report to me some pretty unpleasant things going on at home. First Social Services call of the week.

• Another student told me he had a BB gun in his locker. Though he immediately said he was kidding, and I believed him, I still reported it, because come on. You don’t say that crap, EVER, but especially not on April 20th. They searched him, his backpack, his locker, his brother’s locker. No gun, but they found gang-connected bandanas. He was suspended for a day for representing colors.

• The Eyeliner Queen was suspended for three days for cussing out another kid. She was given an opportunity to try mediation, but refused.

Tuesday:

• The Charmer told me something that led to my second Social Services call of the week. With his trust issues, he kind of lost it when I told him I had to report what he’d said. He’s feeling angry, hurt, anxious, guilty, and I feel terrible that I’m part of him feeling that way. He’s not speaking to me.

• I started coughing so hard 8th period that I thought I was going to throw up. I told my kids to tell the teacher in the adjoining room that I might be dying, got a teacher from across the hall to come over, and hacked my way down the hall, tears streaming down my cheeks. A kid even came to check on me. Five minutes later I finally stopped.

Today:

• I sent a student to the office for pushing another kid in the hallway, to try to prevent a fight. DC then came to me and said it was his fault because he’d shot the kid with a rubber band, they’d gotten in a pushing match and it eventually degenerated to blows. No adult saw this. His name had not come up. It was out of nowhere. When I asked DC why he’d told me, he said he thought it was better to tell the truth now rather than try to hide it and have it come out later. I guess I appreciate his honesty.

• Another teacher told me that she suspects several of my favorite students of gang involvement. These boys are funny, smart, charming – of course a gang would want them. I want to cry.

If tomorrow’s not better, I’m going home, going to bed, and not getting up till June.