Still Fighting It...

It's Sunday morning, the sun is shining brightly in Philadelphia, and the time is high for a cup of tea and reflection.

I capped off my week on Friday with two encounters that have lasted through this moment. One was rather depressing, and one was rather uplifting. I hope the latter is what is on my mind when I wake up for work tomorrow morning.

1. As seventh period neared a close, I assigned my students independent classwork. I was pleased to see that most of my students were following directions and quietly working. However, Graptolite, who had been moderately well-behaved throughout the period, was not working but instead talking loudly with a friend. I approached Graptlolite and his friend and asked them to return to their work. Graptolite yelled, "Get away from me!" Ummm, okay. Determined not to get into a power struggle, I asked Graptolite once more to do his work, and I walked away. When the bell rang, Graptolite asked me to sign his "daily report," a form for students with a history of problems (truancy, behavior, etc) that teachers must sign each period. I checked off "incomplete" for classwork since, of course, he had not worked on classwork all period as he was supposed to.

Well, Graptolite saw what I had done and chose to flip out. "F*** you, miss!" "You're so f***ing stupid!" "You're such a dummy!" "F*** you, dummy!" He continued to yell those phrases, stuck on repeat, as I first tried to reason with him and then demanded that he leave the room. He did not and continued to yell. Finally, another teacher who had observed the commotion walked over to him, got in his face, and successfully ordered him to leave.

I am sadly accustomed to kids cursing at me, but the barrage of insults and profanity was a little too much to take. I reported the incident to a dean of discipline, who arranged a parent conference for next week and advised me to document the incident on a pink slip. I did as she asked. But I hate writing pink slips. I hate the possibility of getting good kids in trouble. I hate the reality that no steps will actually be taken to solve the problem. And I hate feeling this way on a Friday.

2. From the very beginning, I recognized Rotifer as a great kid who got discouraged very easily. He tended to deal with his discouragement by unleashing a wicked attitude. Needless to say, first marking period became a cycle of bad grades and bad behavior. He ended the marking period with a 35% average in my class.

Over the last three weeks, though, I've noticed a major change. He is participating in class more readily and smiling when he answers questions correctly. He and his best friend used to talk constantly and not seem to care that they were disrupting the class. They would fix me with dark glares as I taught. Now, they are almost always quiet and attentive; when they do talk, they are soft and nearly always trying to help each other out with what we are learning.

I called his parents on Friday night to tell them how proud I am of him. They were very pleased to get a good report from a teacher, something I gather is unusual for them. At the end of our conversation, they asked me if I wanted to speak to Rotifer. I said yes, and Rotifer appeared on the other end of the line.

Our conversation blossomed. I told him not to be discouraged so easily, that mistakes are a necessary part of life. I told him that I understood how hard it is to be a teenager, that I've unfortunately been there, and that should he want to talk about anything with me, I'm always ready to listen. I told him that I care about him, that he is an amazing guy, that I believe he can succeed beyond his own hopes and dreams. I told him I will call his house and say those things to him every night if he wants. At this last part, Rotifer became audibly choked up. "Nobody except my aunt has ever said anything like that to me," he confessed. "It means so much. Thank you...."