Ready...Set...React

I have no impulse control.  In myself, I have decided to call it a "timer-dial"...and any situation that elicits a reaction causes it to turn.  Sometimes it turns halfway (a normal reaction)...sometimes, maybe only a quarter turn (not quite reactive...but not passive).  But God help those on the other end of the dreaded full-turn...because that timer-dial can go from "non-reactive" to "impulsive" in the time it takes you to blink your eyes.  Unfortunately for me, as time passes and it works it's way back to "normal" I think about how I should have handled it and the adrenaline that made me react impulsively is gone.  Then, as it returns to "non-reactive" it generally leaves me feeling terrible.

Sigh...

Today, I gave a test.  I said the same thing I always say as I am passing it out..."if I catch you looking on someone else's paper, not only will you get a zero, but so will the person you are cheating off of...so keep your papers covered, and keep your eyes on your own."  Simple...right?

Not so much. 

45 minutes into the test, I look in the back of the room, and I see ________________ (insert student name here) raised up off of his bottom and craning his neck. 

A:  "________________, what are you looking at?" 

Student:  "my paper..."

A:  "Is your paper in front of ___________________ (insert a different student name here)"

Student:  "....................nn...nn.....no"

He knew he was caught.  I got up, walked to the back of the room, realized they weren't even on the same page (and no shuffling took place on my way back there), and whispered to him that he just received a get out of jail free card.

He worked some more, I kept a little bit better of an eye on him.  Then, as students started finishing, I began to walk around, collect their papers and staple them. 

I got to the back of the room, and I'll be damned if _____________isn't talking to another student.  I was so angry.  Actually, that's not even the correct word.  I was infuriated. 

My timer-dial moved to "impulsive" and what I did next was out of nothing more than pure lack of impulse control.  I put my stack of papers and the stapler down...I picked his up.  He said..."but I'm not done"...and I ripped the paper in half...then in half again...then in half again.  I walked over to the trash, and threw it away.  The look in his eyes made that timer-dial return to "normal" in half the time it normally does...so, by the time I got back to the front of the room, I felt as badly as he did.  What made it worse was when he said (with a shaky voice)..."I was just asking what time it was."

My timer-dial was back to "non-reactive" and I knew instantly I should have just taken it and figured out what to do with it after the students were out of the class.  I couldn't not react.  But, did I have to be so impulsive about it?

I thought about it for the remaining 25 minutes of class.  I thought about it on the way home.  It's 8:00 at night...and not only am I still thinking about it...I spent the last 45 minutes fixing it.  One of the things I always try to do is treat my students the way I wished my teachers would have treated me...and the way I would want my son's teachers to treat him. 

 It's not necessarily the fact that we react impulsively...whether out of anger, hurt, excitement, or whatever emotion may be driving that timer-dial...it's how we feel about ourselves when that timer-dial reaches "non-reactive" and what we do to fix it. 

WTF...

...comes after Monday and Tuesday.  And that's the kind of week it's been.


When I became a teacher, I wanted to be like Lou Ann Johnson from Dangerous Minds.  Erin Gruwell from Freedom Writers.  That's who I was going to be.  I was going to make a difference.


My first year, I had students who walked all over me.  But I let them.  I didn't come in strict enough.  I wanted to be their friend.  I thought they would respect me.  Wrong...  Although, I do still speak with one student from my first year.  She sends me text messages at least twice a week.  I made a difference to her.


My second year was completely different.  It was...easy.  I miss those kids every day.  I wasn't nice.  As a matter of fact, on the first day, I was standing outside of my classroom as the kids were walking in, and one girl looked at me and asked "are you nice?"...I just looked at her.  I actually threw a student out of class that first day, and called her mom that night.  But that year, I developed the kinds of relationships I wish my teachers would have developed with me.  I had a student confess trying drugs for the first time...I was the only person (besides his mother) who knew.  He still comes into my classroom when I'm not around and leaves me notes...he's in 10th grade.  Some still send me emails and ask for math help.  Last week, I had a note in my mailbox from another student who told me I was still her favorite, even though she's been through two more years since having me.  I miss those kids.


My third year was...challenging.  I wasn't nice in the beginning.  I had high expectations...and eventually, they rose to meet them.  They fought me...I didn't budge.  They complained to their parents about me...the parents took their side...I didn't budge.  They rose to my expectations.  Do I miss them?  Yes.  But not for the reasons I miss my kids from my second year.  Some of them I miss because when I taught them, at least I knew where they were from 7:45 until 2:40...they were safe.  I had to make my first DSS call to report child abuse.  I built a relationship, based on trust, with that student, and then thought I trashed it when I made that call.  He asked me if I "told"...and at first, I lied.  But...I'm not a liar...and later that afternoon, I told him that it was me that called.  I told him that I would rather he be mad at me for calling social services than for him to be mad at me for not calling.  That, I couldn't live with.  And you know what?  He has come to visit a couple of times this year.  I had a student who growled at me...regularly...or huffed and puffed through his nose like a bull getting ready to charge.  My third year was challenging...and I miss knowing those kids are safe. 


My fourth year is downright hard.  I am being tested in ways I never thought I wouldn't be able to handle.  And, I don't mean by behaviors.  Well...I guess in a way, it is about behaviors.   I wasn't nice in the beginning.  Hell...quite honestly...I'm still not able to be "nice."  They can't handle it.  I tried.  It's complete and total chaos.  I guess they respond better when you're a bitch?  This year, I built a relationship with a student because of a sticky note.  She has blond hair, freckles across her nose, and wears very heavy eye makeup.  I had to kick her out of class on the second day of school.  She threw the papers I gave her on the floor and told me she wasn't doing it.  She said school was pointless when all she wanted to do was drop out when she was 16.  When she walked out of class, I followed her, she called me stupid and told her I was going to have to call home.  She said "I don't care...no one's there."  And I said, "really?  There are no adults in your house?"  And she said "yea...but they're always drunk."  And she started to cry.  I walked closer to her and she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and sobbed.  I rubbed the back of her head and whispered "shhhhhh" into her hair.  I sent her to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face and wipe the mascara streaks off of her cheeks.  She wasn't in school for the rest of the week...and the first two days of the following week.  I asked the other students where she was, and all they would tell me was "___________ (insert name)?  She's never in school."  When she came back, she walked in late, with dyed hot pink hair, freckles across her nose, and very heavy eye makeup.  She sat down and just looked at me.  I was already in the middle of teaching, so I continued what I was saying and nonchalantly wrote on a sticky note "__________________ (insert name), I'm so glad you're back...I missed you" and put a smiley face on it.  I walked over to her and stuck it to her binder.  At the end of class, she walked up to me and gave me a piece of paper that said "i missd u to...ill explane l8er" and walked out.  She came to school once or twice a week...still refused to work...but wasn't really rude about it.  As the weeks progressed, she found out they were being evicted but didn't want to leave the school so she moved in with a friend...supposedly, her mother was going to rehab.  She has been at school every day since then, hot pink...or purple...hair, freckles across her nose, very dark eye makeup.  Until last week... 


______________(insert name) got in two teachers' faces, mine included.  She didn't threaten me, she just called me a fucking bitch...well...after she said "that's why I hate you fucking teachers," then I had to send her to the office (and write her up)...she called me a fucking bitch while I was walking her to the office.  Unfortunately, she threatened the other teacher.  I was so angry when I was writing that referral...I pressed the pen to the paper so hard my hand cramped.  I didn't even look at her as I walked out of the office.  I just said "see ya."  Now...she's gone.  She was placed in foster care yesterday.  Her mother has a warrant out for her arrest for child abandonment.  She knew this when she got herself into trouble last week.  She knew she was leaving....and she didn't tell me.  She just called me a fucking bitch.  And now...she's gone.


I wonder what color her hair is today?  Is her eye makeup still very dark?  The one thing I do know...she has freckles across her nose...her name is _____________________and I miss that kid.   

Everything Happens For a Reason

February 4th comes and goes every year without fail.  I never paid attention to this particular day until it came in 1995.  Sixteen years ago.  Sixteen years old today.  Every February 3rd, I go to bed begging for a dream to let me know he is okay...to catch a glimpse...and always wake up crying.  February 4th, 1995 is my biggest dent...a gouge...a jagged-edged, rusty gouge of a dent.  My darkest hour.  An hour so dark, I seriously contemplated suicide.  This year, I decided it was going to be different.  Actually, last year I decided it was going to be different.  When this time of year comes around, I spend so much time focusing on what I lost, and I forget about what I gained.  So, I have tried to spend the last year being thankful for what I have at the expense of what I lost...I have to admit, there were some really difficult moments, but the very short 45 minutes I had with him today made me realize that dent is not so rusty and jagged anymore...it's present...but...I'm...okay.  I'm more than okay.  I'm almost ashamed to say...I'm thankful.  Today is the first time I felt the sting of the tears, but they didn't fall.  The first time in 16 years.

Today, I took my almost 15-year old to get new glasses.  From the moment I picked him up, until we got to the doctor we laughed...and we talked...I mean really talked.  He talked to me about his day, he was excited about something a teacher said.  I talked to him about my day...today...and yesterday.  He listened, he talked.  We got to the doctor and I waited outside the room.  He picked out his glasses, we joked around some more.  I asked him if he knew how much I loved him...because it's important he knows.

Today was the first day I realized that had that darkness not surrounded me 16 years ago...I would not have my boy.  I used to think..."well...maybe I would"...but it's impossible.  If he hadn't come to me exactly when he did...he wouldn't be who he is. 

For the first time in 16 years, I am okay. 

I am...thankful. 

Everything happens for a reason.