Awesome: Hearing the lockdown siren go off right at the beginning of my worst-behaved class and immediately going into action mode. Herding all kids to the front of the room, closing the door, turning off the lights, getting them seated and keeping them SILENT.
Less awesome: Realizing ten minutes later that oh, wait, that's not the lockdown siren, it's the new fire alarm, and we've spent the last ten minutes barricaded in our classroom rather than evacuating.
Sigh.
Four more days.
Showing posts with label awkwardness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label awkwardness. Show all posts
Not everyone does, but I do.
"Do you like your job, Ms. Teachin'?"I looked at the student who'd just asked that. "I do. I love it. Why?"
"It just seems like some teachers really don't like kids. They're always mad and always yelling. And I just don't get why they're teachers. This seems like a really bad job if you don't like kids."
He's right, of course. Teaching is a terrible job if you don't like kids. Why would you want to work so many hours for in such a relatively low paid job with such high stress if you don't like the people with whom you spend 80% of your time?
And he's right that some teachers clearly just don't like kids. Some teachers clearly find their existence annoying, or even just inconsequential. And not all kids - I'd venture a guess that those teachers would say they do like kids, some kids, the kids who do their work or don't cause problems or are always respectful. But if you don't like all kids....why do it?
"Do I seem like I don't like kids?"
"No, you seem like you actually like us. I just don't get why some people are doing it. Do you?"
I paused for a moment. But I wasn't willing to lie and claim that all teachers like all kids, nor was I willing to tell the hard truths about why some teachers teach despite not liking kids. "No, I don't."
He nodded and walked to his next class. I watched him go and told my next class how great they are and how much I enjoy being their teacher.
(Image credit to suchitra prints)
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.)
How not to behave during parent/teacher conferences.
Mildly awkward: when a parent gets mad at their kid during parent/teacher conferences and starts lecturing the kid in front of you on the possible lifelong repercussions of their choices.
Ridiculously awkward and completely inappropriate: same situation, but SOMEONE ELSE'S KID. Complete with pulling up the pants leg to show bullet hole scars and saying that he'd smack his own kid's face if he ever talked like that.
Boy, Thursday night was fun.
(Photo credit to spaceamoeba.)
KWR.
I blame Katie Wood Ray.
My husband plays on a kickball team, and I went to watch his game this afternoon. Not a lot of people come out to spectate so I figured I wouldn’t really have anyone to talk to. Plus it's not really my scene - full of hipsters who talk loudly and wear wacky clothes while smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap beer. So I brought Study Driven with me to continue planning for the year – I figured I could read bits and pieces in between watching plays.
I’m finding the book pretty engrossing as I try to imagine how this will look in my own classroom. I read and underline, annotate and think, reread, reread, think some more. It’s a process.
But I also wanted to pay attention to the game at least to a point, so I was half listening to the commotion on the field. When something sounded important, I’d look up and pay attention for a minute, then back down to the book. I’m quiet when I watch sports by myself, not a lot of yelling or cheering, so I just watched and listened. A steady cycle and it was working pretty well.
Turned out I wasn’t the only spectator today. A handful of people from another team were maybe 15 feet away from me, also watching the game. I didn’t know any of them and I’d gotten there first, so I was aware of their presence but that was it. At one point, though, I realized that maybe I was being rude.
A friend of theirs was umping, and he called out to them and asked why they weren’t mingling. They called back that there was only one person to mingle with and she was busy studying. I kept reading.
A minute later it sunk in – I was the person to whom they were referring. I wasn’t mingling. I was studying. Oh.
And then it felt too late to explain the whole teacher-on the verge of a new year and trying to avoid a nervous breakdown by being as prepared as possible thing. And then I felt rude for not talking to them and for not really cheering. And then I couldn’t think of a way to break the ice that I had apparently frozen myself (I’m actually kind of shy if I don’t feel comfortable in a situation). And then they wandered off. And then I kept on reading.
When I left, I gave my husband the rundown of what had happened in case he knew them or in case his team thought I’d been rude too; he didn’t, and didn’t think his team was upset, but still. I feel kinda bad.
Katie Wood Ray. Who knew she could cause so many problems?
My husband plays on a kickball team, and I went to watch his game this afternoon. Not a lot of people come out to spectate so I figured I wouldn’t really have anyone to talk to. Plus it's not really my scene - full of hipsters who talk loudly and wear wacky clothes while smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap beer. So I brought Study Driven with me to continue planning for the year – I figured I could read bits and pieces in between watching plays.
I’m finding the book pretty engrossing as I try to imagine how this will look in my own classroom. I read and underline, annotate and think, reread, reread, think some more. It’s a process.
But I also wanted to pay attention to the game at least to a point, so I was half listening to the commotion on the field. When something sounded important, I’d look up and pay attention for a minute, then back down to the book. I’m quiet when I watch sports by myself, not a lot of yelling or cheering, so I just watched and listened. A steady cycle and it was working pretty well.
Turned out I wasn’t the only spectator today. A handful of people from another team were maybe 15 feet away from me, also watching the game. I didn’t know any of them and I’d gotten there first, so I was aware of their presence but that was it. At one point, though, I realized that maybe I was being rude.
A friend of theirs was umping, and he called out to them and asked why they weren’t mingling. They called back that there was only one person to mingle with and she was busy studying. I kept reading.
A minute later it sunk in – I was the person to whom they were referring. I wasn’t mingling. I was studying. Oh.
And then it felt too late to explain the whole teacher-on the verge of a new year and trying to avoid a nervous breakdown by being as prepared as possible thing. And then I felt rude for not talking to them and for not really cheering. And then I couldn’t think of a way to break the ice that I had apparently frozen myself (I’m actually kind of shy if I don’t feel comfortable in a situation). And then they wandered off. And then I kept on reading.
When I left, I gave my husband the rundown of what had happened in case he knew them or in case his team thought I’d been rude too; he didn’t, and didn’t think his team was upset, but still. I feel kinda bad.
Katie Wood Ray. Who knew she could cause so many problems?
"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/)
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!
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!
A Delicate Balance.
I got myself into a potentially awkward situation on Friday. DC was in my room after school working on a narrative he was behind on. He wasn’t happy about being there – it was Friday, after all, and he just wanted to leave – but he’d agreed to do it and I wasn’t going to let him out of it. He yanked his binder off the shelf, tossed it on the desk, and flopped onto the seat, throwing the kind of attitude that only a teenager can really do effectively.
I ignored him.
His best friend came in to also catch up on some work and sat down at a different table group. DC leaned his head on his hand and sighed loudly. He rolled his pencil back and forth across the desk.
I ignored him and sat down with his friend, Oh Yes (so named because he says that remarkably frequently in a remarkably sweet way), to go over what he needed to do.
Another student came in to say that Ms. Reading had donuts, so I went over to see if she had any left. She had two, and I asked if she’d mind giving them to DC and Oh Yes, because my room was chock full of sulkiness and I thought the donuts might help dissipate some of it. She was down, so we went back to my room.
“Hey, guys, I have these two donuts left and I thought you might want them.” When she offered them the treats, Oh Yes was all over it. DC shook his head. Ms. Reading and I exchanged looks – I shrugged. “Here, DC, I’m going to leave it anyway. I sure don’t need it so maybe you’ll do me a favor and take it.” Not a word. “Are you okay?” He nodded, and that’s when I saw a tear drip off the end of his nose.
Ms. Reading left, and I asked Oh Yes to go get a drink of water for a minute. He understood and scurried out of there.
This was the fourth time I’d seen DC cry. First time had been right at the beginning of the year; I’d had all kids who hadn’t done their homework two days in a row call home to tell their parents. They’d been warned it was coming and I wanted to start the year off with the message that homework matters and if I assign it, you damn well better do it. He’d been maybe the third one in his class without it, so I started dialing numbers. Finally his dad answered. When DC told him why he was calling, his dad started yelling so loudly that kids across the room dropped their pencils in fright. I grabbed the phone from DC, sent him out of the room, told dad it wasn’t a huge deal but next time he needed to get it done, and sent DC to the counselor after he washed his face and collected himself. It was awful.
The second time was after he and I talked to another teacher about his grades one day. She was clearly irritated at how little work he’d turned in, which I understand, and he was clearly completely intimidated by the situation. I tried to defuse it a bit, but his eyes were awfully full and the tears spilled over as soon as we walked out of the room. That time I reminded him he was a good kid and gave him a few minutes to get it back together. He seemed okay pretty quickly.
The third time was a day that I’d snapped at him, maybe two months ago. Honestly, now I don’t even remember what I said; I was tired and frustrated with the day and with him, and I didn’t think about HOW I was saying WHAT I was saying, and it hurt him. I apologized right away, but it didn’t do any good, and I spent the night feeling terrible. The next day I apologized again – this time I explained where I was coming from, I talked about how I’d misinterpreted the situation, I told him how sad I was that I’d hurt him and how bad I felt about that, and I said that it was important to apologize to people we care about when we hurt them, so that’s what I was doing. He didn’t say much at the time, just listened and nodded and said we were cool when I asked, but that day he stood with me and joked around while I was doing hall duty, and I knew it was okay.
This time, I remembered how upset he was the time before and so I approached him carefully. I figured he was mad that I wouldn’t let him leave – I didn’t think I’d handled it cruelly or thoughtlessly, but it didn’t matter what I thought, it mattered what he thought.
“Can we talk for a sec?”
He nodded.
“You seem really upset. What’s going on?”
Nothing.
“Something I did?”
Shook his head no.
That surprised me, but okay, great. “So….then what is it?”
Nothing.
“DC, you seem really upset and I’d like to help if I can. Honestly, you’re kind of freaking me out right now. What’s going on? Is it something to do with school?”
Nod.
“My class? Reading? Social studies? Science?”
I got a quick shake no on everything till science, then he nodded. DC doesn’t do well at science. He doesn’t like it, he’s in a class that gets in trouble a lot, he doesn’t do his work…it’s not a great scene. He’s passing right now, albeit barely.
“Science. Did you get in trouble today?”
Head shake no.
“Did you get yelled at? Are you missing more work? Are you failing again?”
Nos on all.
“Honey, I want to help you, but you have to talk to me. What’s going on with science?”
He took a deep shuddery breath and wiped some tears away. “When Ms. Science yells at me, she makes me feel so bad about myself. I feel like she thinks I’m worthless. She acts like I’m dumb and useless.” His voice was low and flat.
“Oh, DC. I’m so sorry. That’s a crappy way to feel.”
He nodded and blew his nose.
“Why are you thinking about this now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know...I just started thinking about it.”
I handed him some more tissues and thought for a second. How could I help him? “Okay. The way I see it, you have two options. The first choice is to just ignore it. You have a month left of school. Get through the next four weeks and then you never have to worry about it again. The other choice is to talk to her about it. It’d probably be kind of hard to do, but that way you stood up for yourself. That’s what I’d probably do, but it’s up to you.”
All was quiet except for sniffling.
“What do you think? Do you want to talk to her? I can help you if you want.”
He whispered, “I don’t want to be there.”
Oh. “You want me to talk to her.”
He nodded.
Um. “DC…I don’t think I can do that. First of all, teachers respect it more when a kid is part of the conversation. I know I do. But also, as much as I care about you and as much as I want to help you with stuff, I’m not your parent. I’m your teacher. There are things that I just can’t do. So I can do it WITH you, but I can’t do it on my own. I’m sorry.”
He said he’d think about what he wanted to do, and then he got to work on his essay. A few more used tissues filled the trash, but he was fine by the time he left, and we left it at that.
He wasn’t at school today, so I don’t know what he decided. If we do end up having the conversation, it might be uncomfortable – I like and respect Ms. Science very much, but my heart broke a little bit seeing how distraught DC was over the situation, and if he does decide to talk to her, I don’t see the conversation going well. Because remember time two of tears? That was Ms. Science. They just don’t connect. And I will feel caught between advocating for my student and not upsetting my colleague.
I’ll touch base with him tomorrow and we’ll see where we are at that point. Hopefully I can manage the balancing act that will be required should he decide to go forward. If not, well, only a month left, right?
I ignored him.
His best friend came in to also catch up on some work and sat down at a different table group. DC leaned his head on his hand and sighed loudly. He rolled his pencil back and forth across the desk.
I ignored him and sat down with his friend, Oh Yes (so named because he says that remarkably frequently in a remarkably sweet way), to go over what he needed to do.
Another student came in to say that Ms. Reading had donuts, so I went over to see if she had any left. She had two, and I asked if she’d mind giving them to DC and Oh Yes, because my room was chock full of sulkiness and I thought the donuts might help dissipate some of it. She was down, so we went back to my room.
“Hey, guys, I have these two donuts left and I thought you might want them.” When she offered them the treats, Oh Yes was all over it. DC shook his head. Ms. Reading and I exchanged looks – I shrugged. “Here, DC, I’m going to leave it anyway. I sure don’t need it so maybe you’ll do me a favor and take it.” Not a word. “Are you okay?” He nodded, and that’s when I saw a tear drip off the end of his nose.
Ms. Reading left, and I asked Oh Yes to go get a drink of water for a minute. He understood and scurried out of there.
This was the fourth time I’d seen DC cry. First time had been right at the beginning of the year; I’d had all kids who hadn’t done their homework two days in a row call home to tell their parents. They’d been warned it was coming and I wanted to start the year off with the message that homework matters and if I assign it, you damn well better do it. He’d been maybe the third one in his class without it, so I started dialing numbers. Finally his dad answered. When DC told him why he was calling, his dad started yelling so loudly that kids across the room dropped their pencils in fright. I grabbed the phone from DC, sent him out of the room, told dad it wasn’t a huge deal but next time he needed to get it done, and sent DC to the counselor after he washed his face and collected himself. It was awful.
The second time was after he and I talked to another teacher about his grades one day. She was clearly irritated at how little work he’d turned in, which I understand, and he was clearly completely intimidated by the situation. I tried to defuse it a bit, but his eyes were awfully full and the tears spilled over as soon as we walked out of the room. That time I reminded him he was a good kid and gave him a few minutes to get it back together. He seemed okay pretty quickly.
The third time was a day that I’d snapped at him, maybe two months ago. Honestly, now I don’t even remember what I said; I was tired and frustrated with the day and with him, and I didn’t think about HOW I was saying WHAT I was saying, and it hurt him. I apologized right away, but it didn’t do any good, and I spent the night feeling terrible. The next day I apologized again – this time I explained where I was coming from, I talked about how I’d misinterpreted the situation, I told him how sad I was that I’d hurt him and how bad I felt about that, and I said that it was important to apologize to people we care about when we hurt them, so that’s what I was doing. He didn’t say much at the time, just listened and nodded and said we were cool when I asked, but that day he stood with me and joked around while I was doing hall duty, and I knew it was okay.
This time, I remembered how upset he was the time before and so I approached him carefully. I figured he was mad that I wouldn’t let him leave – I didn’t think I’d handled it cruelly or thoughtlessly, but it didn’t matter what I thought, it mattered what he thought.
“Can we talk for a sec?”
He nodded.
“You seem really upset. What’s going on?”
Nothing.
“Something I did?”
Shook his head no.
That surprised me, but okay, great. “So….then what is it?”
Nothing.
“DC, you seem really upset and I’d like to help if I can. Honestly, you’re kind of freaking me out right now. What’s going on? Is it something to do with school?”
Nod.
“My class? Reading? Social studies? Science?”
I got a quick shake no on everything till science, then he nodded. DC doesn’t do well at science. He doesn’t like it, he’s in a class that gets in trouble a lot, he doesn’t do his work…it’s not a great scene. He’s passing right now, albeit barely.
“Science. Did you get in trouble today?”
Head shake no.
“Did you get yelled at? Are you missing more work? Are you failing again?”
Nos on all.
“Honey, I want to help you, but you have to talk to me. What’s going on with science?”
He took a deep shuddery breath and wiped some tears away. “When Ms. Science yells at me, she makes me feel so bad about myself. I feel like she thinks I’m worthless. She acts like I’m dumb and useless.” His voice was low and flat.
“Oh, DC. I’m so sorry. That’s a crappy way to feel.”
He nodded and blew his nose.
“Why are you thinking about this now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know...I just started thinking about it.”
I handed him some more tissues and thought for a second. How could I help him? “Okay. The way I see it, you have two options. The first choice is to just ignore it. You have a month left of school. Get through the next four weeks and then you never have to worry about it again. The other choice is to talk to her about it. It’d probably be kind of hard to do, but that way you stood up for yourself. That’s what I’d probably do, but it’s up to you.”
All was quiet except for sniffling.
“What do you think? Do you want to talk to her? I can help you if you want.”
He whispered, “I don’t want to be there.”
Oh. “You want me to talk to her.”
He nodded.
Um. “DC…I don’t think I can do that. First of all, teachers respect it more when a kid is part of the conversation. I know I do. But also, as much as I care about you and as much as I want to help you with stuff, I’m not your parent. I’m your teacher. There are things that I just can’t do. So I can do it WITH you, but I can’t do it on my own. I’m sorry.”
He said he’d think about what he wanted to do, and then he got to work on his essay. A few more used tissues filled the trash, but he was fine by the time he left, and we left it at that.
He wasn’t at school today, so I don’t know what he decided. If we do end up having the conversation, it might be uncomfortable – I like and respect Ms. Science very much, but my heart broke a little bit seeing how distraught DC was over the situation, and if he does decide to talk to her, I don’t see the conversation going well. Because remember time two of tears? That was Ms. Science. They just don’t connect. And I will feel caught between advocating for my student and not upsetting my colleague.
I’ll touch base with him tomorrow and we’ll see where we are at that point. Hopefully I can manage the balancing act that will be required should he decide to go forward. If not, well, only a month left, right?
