Danger In The Schools

At my current school we work with at-risk kids who are unpredictable from time to time. They have their outbursts. We deal with those. That's what we've trained for, what our experience has prepared us to handle. We recognize and defuse most situations before kids explode. We are aware of the kids in our classrooms.

One kid I'll call Frank is crazy. Really. He's not right in his mind, needs serious help, and is predictably unpredictable. It's a matter of time before he hurts someone. We've said since he started with us that Frank is beyond our abilities and a danger in the school.

We've let people know. There's a strictly enforced chain of command. We tell our immediate supervisor and then wait. We don't expect much to happen. We know the kid is dangerous, but no one seems to much care.

Today Frank went off. I was down the hall when I heard furniture tumble. The desks here are heavy. When one goes flying, it resounds through the building. When two or three fly, I get down the hall fast to see if I can help.

I met Frank on his way out of the room. Behind him I heard shouting and maybe crying. He began to make his way up the hall, but I turned him around suggesting he'd be better outside where he can't do any real harm to anyone but maybe himself. He kicked the doors open hard enough I thought one broke, then punched the mailbox outside the door. I stood so he was encouraged to walk to the right away from school. Our parking lot is to the left and I wanted him far from our cars. I drove Dad's '72 Chevy pickup to work. No way is Frank messing with that.

Frank walked away. I let him. The last thing we want is him back in the building. I wasn't worried about him out in the tame village in which our school resides. He could walk and blow off steam. If he wandered too far, the police, who work well with our kids, would help him find his way.

Watching him walk, I wondered if Frank would be back in class tomorrow. Probably not. I figured he'd get a day or two suspension. But he won't be removed from our program. I couldn't have said that for sure then because I can't see into the future, but I can damn sure see into the past, rememberoing how this has gone almost every other time.

The teacher in that room is a tiny woman long past retirement age. In that class of ten kids there are four different grade levels, at least four different subjects, and ten different sets of challenges and baggage. It's more than any teacher can manage and still effect real learning. We do the best we can. We work hard. But we're up against it. Then add in an unstable, dangerous kid. I mean, come on.

Frank is a symptom of a systemic problem in the organization's culture. I got Frank out the door and we worked to restore order and calm. We talked with the kids. We closed the blinds so Frank wouldn't put on a show from outside. There's little we can do for or about Frank. There's even less we can do about the broken system in which we try to work.

There are a lot of reasons I'm leaving this school. Danger is just one of them. It's a big one, but remember, it's just a symptom of the real problem, the one driving a lot of us out of the classroom. It's enough to make us all want to flip the furniture, punch the doors, and go a little crazy. That or just quit.

Brief Thoughts About School Trips

We took students to the Chinese buffet for lunch. Just a few of them because that's all who brought signed permission slips and were willing to go. We invited every kid in the program (a pretty small number, ours being an alternative school for at-risk kids) and were prepared to take all of them.

Shouldn't such a trip be a reward?, you ask.

First, they had to come up with the money. It was too much hassle to have the school pay (though my supervisor tried her best, bless her). If kids have to pay, that's no reward.

More important, rewards are a stupid educational ideas. Here's how to tell: they are done all the time and accepted as a matter of course. Anything at school that is just the way you do it is probably wrong. Also, consider the kid barred from going. It's a punishment and if you're into that, fine, but I'm into teaching and learning. The "bad" kid is taught that she/he sucks and thus learns to be worse in order to reciprocate.

Exasperated, you say, so it's a participation trophy!

If the trip was a reward and we then let every kid go, it's a participation trophy and bad lesson. If instead this is something to which every student is invited because there is a lot to learn from it, then it's just like a class, only tastier. We invited kids, set up a structure for participating, and let them learn from the experience.

Yeah, what did they learn from eating at a Chinese buffet?

• Swearing in public is a mark of bad manners, disrespect, and idiocy.
• Take small portions and go back for more.
• Saying please and thank you makes everything better.
• Try new things and talk about them.
• Not everyone likes the same things.
• We like each other.
• There's more to learning than four core subjects.
• Learning is better when it's not graded.
• Teachers do their best work when they seem like they're doing none at all.
• Eating too much is uncomfortable but unavoidable at a buffet.
• There's always room for sugary coffee drinks.

One kid learned that "bring a signed permission slip or you won't go" means just that. He wanted us to call Mom for permission. I said no and when he asked why I told him tennis is best played with a net.

To recap: school trips are good, rewards suck, and remember your signed permission slip if you want to eat at the buffet. Class dismissed.

Day One In The Schools

I remember my first day at Eagle Hill Middle School, a place I didn’t want to be. A new school was nothing I wanted. No, I wanted to be back in the small parochial school I had attended since kindergarten, but Dad had bought a funeral home and so we moved to the suburbs. I entered Eagle Hill about six weeks into fifth grade and everything about it seemed wrong. It felt especially wrong to be walking through that strange and giant place. I was scared.

When I got to Mrs. Maloff's fifth grade class and suffered being introduced to the class, I put on what I hoped was a brave face. I couldn't let anyone know how terrible I felt. It felt imperative to fit in from the get-go even if I could tell that they all dressed differently and soon learned that most of them had been together since pre-school. When the teacher asked me to sit in a certain chair, I did. As the class got to work, I did the work too. In math class the teacher handed out multiplication practice. I finished that sheet in a minute. These were the choices I made in order to let them know I was serious, someone to notice and appreciate. I wanted to be someone with whom to be reckoned and so I played that role.

Today is Mikael's first day in our school. His dad didn't buy a funeral home or move him to the suburbs. Mikael was sent to us from his home school for various reasons, none of them especially good, and because we are the school version of the Island Of Misfit Toys. When he came to my classroom from social studies I saw a red welt over most of his forehead. I knew a lot about him from just that.

I'm no Sherlock Holmes but have been doing this alternative education thing with at-risk kids long enough to have figured out a few things. It wasn't abuse — those marks are usually hidden and kids cover them well. No, I thought, he's a sleeper. He came in and moved toward a chair without making eye contact. I went toward him slowly and at a slight angle, held out my hand and said, "I'm Brian." He muttered his name, limply shook my hand for a second, then sat at a desk and put his head down on the table. His hood was up and I saw his hands under the desk pull the strings tight and closed, leaving only his forehead exposed and resting on the desk. He folded in on himself and went to sleep or pretended to.

Ever seen a turtle go into its shell?

I don’t know exactly what to expect of Mikael, but kids react a couple different ways to traumatic changes such as coming to a new school. I showed off my abilities. Mikael went into hiding and hibernation. We both announced ourselves on entering the new classroom and both wanted people to think that they should take note of and not trifle with us. We both were scared. I'm fifty years old, so I can admit that. He might need a little while.

What do you do with a kid like this? Well, first you realize that there is no kid like this but there is a kid doing this. It's an action, putting his head down, done by a person I don't know yet. I nodded a lot, gently invited and cajoled him to join us, then let him be. He kept his head down and went to sleep. My goal was to be a ghost in this situation, to give him nothing against which to push back. I will wait and see what he decides to do, how he wants to present himself, and who he might be. For the first day I was content to have him head down, showing me that I can't make him do anything.

It’s not my place to make him do certain things, act in any one way. That’s up to him. I invite but don’t have the power to make his decisions. I'm curious what his decisions will be and how long he'll let that red welt announce how he is.

FU In The Schools

I teach at-risk kids. It’s mostly a good job. The kids are mostly good. Even when they’re bad, they usually aren’t that bad to me. Had I written this in September when I had the worst class I’ve ever taught, I might have sounded different, but that’s why you should never listen to a teacher vent their spleen. It’s April and, as a friend used to say all year round, “it’s almost June!” I’m calmer now, have the classroom running well, and it might now be worth listening to me talk about what happens when a kid loses control in school. That’s what happened today. It didn’t happen to me or in my classroom, but I heard it and got to thinking.

The kid in question is volatile. That’s a nicer description of him than I’d have used in September. I’ve grown to enjoy the kid, whom I’ll call Frank, and we have found ways to work together. Frank says most of whatever is on his mind at any moment and has been taught that it’s endearing to be negative, nasty, and foul-mouthed. I’m not making fun of him or embellishing here. He really does think this is the way to be and he is very confused and upset when it goes poorly for him. An example from this morning’s class with him might help.

Frank came back to school after almost a week of skipping. I was genuinely happy to see him, but rather than squeal or carry on (you’d be surprised how many people do that to a kid already feeling weird about coming back to school and how destructive it is), I said, “hey, Frank, good to see you this morning.” I said it calmly and with only the hint of a smile and a nod of my head. I knew before he spoke how he would reply. Frank said, “well, it fucking sucks to be here.” This is Frank.

This is me. I nodded twice at him, paused, and said, “yeah, but I’m glad to see you and isn’t what I feel all that really matters here?” Frank smiled at that. “You’re a crackhead, Brian,” he said. I shrugged and we went from there. The hour went well. Frank really does believe that he’s being friendly or funny when he says these things. While it can be a bit of a drain, I’ve learned to take his comments and mannerisms as a kind of friendliness or at least an attempt at it. It turns out that calling me a crackhead and letting me get away with my joke about me being the one who matters is Frank showing me respect. It only took me five months to figure that out.

Three hours later I heard Frank telling another teacher to go fuck himself. The exact words were, “fuck you, fuck, you, fuck you; I don’t have to do a fucking thing you fucking tell me to, you fucking asshole piece of shit!” (semicolon mine). This was a whole other thing than mine and Frank’s morning greeting. He was screaming all this loud enough to be heard all the way down the hall. It’s important to remember all that yelling when I get around to thinking about what Frank was trying to do in all this, but before I go there, let’s hear from the teacher who said everything you would expect him to say. It turns out that everything you expect is all wrong.

The teacher said, “You can’t talk to me like that!” Frank kept right on talking how he wanted to. The teacher asked, “What did you say?” after Frank swore at him and so Frank swore at him even louder. The teacher moved on to saying, “Stop talking! Stop Talking! Stop Talking!” and “Stop shouting and calm down! You’re out of control!” It went on like that. I was in my room thinking of the last time someone yelled at me to calm down and remembering how well that went.

Since I’ve said these were the wrong responses, what are the right ones? I’ll get to those after answering a more pressing question which is why I didn’t go help calm the situation. There are two answers to that. One, I’ve tried to help these two before and it hasn’t gone well, for me or for them. They need to find some way through this. And two, I was curious how it would play out. I had my bet as to how it would go and would have put down most of my savings on that bet, but I wanted to see for sure. Would it be awful to admit that I also sometimes enjoy the show?

Back to the right responses. The teacher could have begun with silence. It’s a good start but might be the hardest thing to do. When Frank came at me this morning, I nodded but otherwise held still. I stayed silent for a moment and let his comment be there. I didn’t address it as good or bad. I didn’t react to it because I’ve had enough experience with him to know better. I gave it a moment. I gave him a moment. I gave me a moment. Then I came back with a stupid joke that wasn’t made at his expense. If I make fun of him in that moment, then he should tell me to go fuck off. I would deserve it. But my joke was just a light thing made at my expense in which I claim that I’m the most important (sometimes the most beautiful or talented or whatever) person in the room. It’s mocking me, not him. Everything I did and said was meant to take all the heat out of his comment and move us into a different space. His comments are pushes. The decision that teacher and I have to make is whether or not to push back. It’s hard not to push back, but it’s worth it to become a ghost.

That’s what I call it: becoming a ghost, because it’s really tough to push a ghost around. Mostly when someone tries, they go right through. After a time they give up. Also, ghosts are strong and take care of themselves (except maybe on Scooby Doo). They can haunt someone long enough to have an influence. Kids challenge me pretty regularly and I’m not always able to become a ghost, but each time I do, the conflict ends fast. I don’t win the conflict or lose it. Instead, the conflict loses us.

Being a ghost could go like this: Frank is out in the hall screaming at the teacher: “fuck you, fuck, you, fuck you; I don’t have to do a fucking thing you fucking tell me to, you fucking asshole piece of shit!” This time, the teacher says nothing for a moment. He counts to four. He nods. “Okay,” he says. And here’s where it could get interesting. The teacher could say, quietly, “you know what? You’re right. You don’t have to do anything I tell you.” If I’m that teacher, I wait another moment to set up one of these two jokes:

Aren’t all pieces of shit asshole pieces?

Mom was going to name me Fucking Asshole Piece Of Shit, but couldn’t fit it on the birth certificate.

Though both of those jokes are pure gold, it’s probably best I wasn’t in the hall and just whispered them to my amused self. I’m ever so clever.

If Frank calms down even just a little, the teacher can say, “I’m going to step away for a minute, okay? Because you don’t want to be looking at or listening to me right now, right?” Phrased as questions, these give Frank the power to choose. He’s been after that power all along. That’s why he has been yelling loud enough to hear it up and down the hall. Frank is just a kid. He comes from a tough family, a tough history. He’s used to being ignored until he sets his hair on fire and breaks every window. He wants a modicum of control in this life and giving it to him feels impossible when he’s screaming, but it works almost every time.

I imagine you’re thinking, “but he gets away with all this swearing and screaming without any consequence!” Maybe he does, but maybe getting away with it isn’t an accurate picture of what’s happening. Why not? Because he wasn’t the only one who started the conflict. That takes two. Frank was being Frank, a teenage kid in a school for at-risk students, with whatever problems he brought with him from home (or wherever else he is living) this morning. Getting away with this would mean the teacher has to lose something. I”m suggesting that the teacher take losing entirely out of the situation and become a ghost. When that happens, there’s nothing to get away with, no win (or loss) to be had. The ghost teacher loses nothing and gains some peace, the kid gets to have some control and calms down. and we all move forward with the day a lot easier than after a battle.

It’s that or the teacher has to tell the kid to fuck off. I mean, that’s basically what we’re saying when we engage in conflict. Fuck you, kid, you’re suspended! Fuck you, I’m in charge! Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you until you stop telling me to fuck off!

The Almost-June friend I quoted at the top used to say, “the kid isn’t mad at you, he’s mad near you.” Frank was mad today and something set off the anger he had built up. When a bomb goes off, it doesn’t target certain people. It just blows away anyone in range. Frank does too. Bombs though don’t have to go off. Even if the fuse is lit, it can be snuffed out or deprived of its oxygen. It’s no fun to be told to fuck off. It’s no fun to be yelled at. And when these things happen, the natural reaction is to fight back. I’ve been at this teaching thing for almost twenty five years and I’m just learning to go against that natural inclination. I come out of it a crackhead, but my jokes at least make me laugh. And we go on with our days.