A
kid goes off the rails, everybody loses their damn minds, but no one really
knows what to do. I’m relatively new to the profession, but I’ve seen it too
many times. Different schools, different kids, different adults. But it’s the same
no matter what. Everyone’s baggage comes in and drives about 90% of it. No one
wants to get too involved even though everybody’s got a damn strong opinion.
Some
simply want it punished and shamed out of the kid…or punished and shamed out of
the parents. Some want things to change that are too late to change even if we
could. Some don’t care what you do as long as it stays out of their backyard. Some
have a long list of people and systems to blame but absolutely no ideas about
real ways to go forward from here. Some of the people you think are helping you
are helping you right off a cliff – maybe not intentionally, but still, that’s
the effect. And secretly, cynically, everyone agrees that the kid is on the
trajectory he’s on no matter what we
do; that we’re basically human duct tape at best and at worst.
“You
have a good heart,” a mentor tells me. “You have a good heart, but that’s not
what your school is about. You won’t win this. Stay focused on what you can do. Don’t make yourself the target.”
Indeed.
Yesterday
I was the target of nothing but a killer migraine that I’d been holding at bay
all week. Finally overtook me on Friday, the day the kid finally came back to
school only to hide in the bushes, half-heartedly throw a few rocks in the
general direction of another student, hide in a bathroom, and curse loudly in
the classroom of the teacher who particularly hates cursing in her classroom.
Am I suspended now? Can I be suspended now? How about now?
I
held the pain and nausea and disequilibrium in a small closet behind my left
eye, kept my classroom cool and dark and kept my voice low and calm as we
talked through the behavior contract again and he tried not to cry, handed me
his phone without looking at me, agreed to the assistant principal’s terms
before darting off to lunch.
And
then I could finally go, finally go while I was still functional enough to
drive, drive myself home to a mercifully empty house, a long, hot shower, and
hours upon hours of blissfully medicated sleep.
Waking
up many hours later, everything is right where I left it. Q4 progress report
assessments to score. Meetings to prepare for. Emails to answer. Worries and
resentments to put to rest because what the hell is the point of having any
feelings about any of this? It’s not personal. This is our business; managing
and processing children and their educations and their behaviors, free and
appropriate and public, a great post office or DMV of human experience.
What
I’m understanding now is that this IS the job. There is no resolution, ever.
There is only the day-to-day flow of behaviors and interventions and different
behaviors and more interventions and checks or x’s on the chart.
“You’ll
be a teacher they remember,” my mentor said. “You’ll be someone who was kind to
them, someone who tried.” He doesn’t say, but clearly implies “But don’t think you’re
going to change much of anything.”
Can
this be enough? I think, at least for now, that this has to be enough. I’m tired and embarrassed and a bit
disillusioned. But I’m not sorry. And I’m not ready to give up.
