On the second Friday afternoon of the school year, after teaching a high school freshman English class of 35 students, I noticed a crumpled note left in the center of my desk. Upon opening it, I read: Today I was treated like dirt . . . I tore up my journal and wished I had a knife or a handgun or a rifle or maybe anything with the ability to maim people . . . I would slowly turn every kid in the class into hamburger. But I guess it doesn’t matter because If I ever come again, you teachers should all wear bulletproof vests and carry guns. Damn. I saw the name scribbled on the bottom. Ian. The scrawny 4’ 11” boy was only 14 and that mad at the world. Up to this point, the biggest problem that I had had with him was asking him not to read fantasy books in class. His response was to run his hands through his long greasy blond hair and say “Yea” with a faint smile. I kept telling him at the end of the month, we would read The Hobbit. I would have my chance to connect with him. Up until today, he seemed all right in here.
In the classroom, I am a stickler for the rules. Rules and policies exist to insure a safe and productive environment. I don’t always agree with each one but I implement them. There are appropriate channels to make changes, if necessary. I’ve found students like consistency, fairness. A safe environment allows students to take risks. Safe environments don’t have to be boring or humorless. Safe environments need to be physically, emotionally, and intellectually safe.
In regard to student misbehavior, everyone has choices in life. By attending a school, a student makes a choice; therefore, he or she is subject to the school’s rules. If a student then chooses inappropriate behaviors, that student needs to be consistently dealt with according to policy, make restitution for his or her actions, and receive appropriate support. Ian made a choice. Now, he needs to be accountable. Implementing a policy is so much easier in the hypothetical rather than reality.
With Ian, I must have missed something. I didn’t think so. I tried to look out for him. He seemed an easy target. He didn’t appear to fit in well with his peers. He was short, shy, and distant. He inhaled Terry Brooks’s novels. I saw him with a new one every few days. Ian always had a pervasive sadness about him. Living in a fantasy world probably seemed better than the real world. I imagined in time, I’d get a glimpse into what was bothering him through his writing or comments. Maybe it was a small problem and Ian might just be quiet to begin with. In terms of work, he did the minimal assignments, ducked any oral participation, and had to be nudged into any group work. Maybe, he hated English; maybe he hated me. Maybe, I had misjudged him. Maybe, he was picked on in another class. Hell, after two weeks, how well did I know him? I’ve always tried to treat my pupils as people first and then students. Connecting with 35 students in 2 weeks, I didn’t have a shot.
Following school procedure, I reported the incident and after making a copy turned the note over to the principal. Then, I exited the building.
His note didn’t shock me. That bothered me. I felt a bit dulled to it. I had taught in a psyche ward and in an alternative school for behaviorally challenged students; at these places, things had occasionally gotten out of hand; this note seemed more typical of these institutions. In my institutional and alternative school experience, I had seen a student enter the school with a baseball bat smashing away at people and things, Exacto knives thrown at human dart boards, students duel with cigarette butts burning each other’s bodies, and others threatening and attempting to destroy the world and anything else in-between. I remember in a class, one minute making a literary point while the next minute, I was on the floor wrestling and restraining a schizophrenic student who was in an altercation with an invisible fiend. Some mornings, I’d wake up half expecting the world to be on fire with my students holding the torches. I was mad and sad about Ian and his note. At least the other students in the class and myself would be safe and Ian would get some help. A school should be safe. Students should be safe. I should be safe.
The following Monday, Ian was back in school and, after one hour of counseling in guidance was back in classes. School administrators bypassed all policies. Ian had been saved, instantly held accountable. Rehabilitated, cured. I was pissed but not surprised. The problem is no one wants to be the “bad guy” and have to implement the real policy. At this place, many teachers and administrators let things “slide” or will not become involved in a situation until something forces it. Violence thrives here because of the threat of a law suit, even if the suit isn’t justified, reporting violence in the school earns negative press, some important parents reputations will be diminished if their son/daughter gets in trouble, and the student in question is perceived as a “good kid” and making that student responsible for his/her actions might tarnish that image. The largest factors inhibiting involvement are money and time. If an acting out student is dealt with according to school policies in place, time is devoured: the student’s time, the parent’s time, the teacher’s time, the administrator’s time, the school board’s time. In addition, the possibility arises that the student may need to be counseled or tested at a high expense or out-placed from the district. From my experience, administrators and staff often gamble on whether something else will happen. Sometimes, it does.
According to the school’s discipline policy, Ian should have been suspended, brought before the school board, and attended a meeting with his parents and school administrators before reentering school. At least, someone should give the kid help. I wonder if this bypassing of procedure would have occurred if the parents of the other students in the class were notified of the threat. I couldn’t focus on this all day. I had 128 students to teach. I would deal with the office later. I was determined to hold Ian to something and help him some way. I had him last block. Ian, and I would speak before he reentered the classroom. Last block came and went. I guess so had Ian before my class. The other students said he had left school; quit school, never ever coming back quit. I wasn’t sure. At the end of the day, I tried calling his house. I got nowhere. It was rumored that his father drank and beat the family. It was allegedly so bad that there was a shed outside the house where he was locked in at the first opportunity. Obviously, the note was not the only intense thing happening in Ian’s life.
Ian never returned.
I wondered what had happened and tried to find out. Like so many dropouts or fade-outs, there was little information, just rumor: in jail, dead, doing great at a private school. He had vanished. This type of end happened to a few students every year. It leaves me empty. What went wrong? Why did this happen? Could I have done something to prevent it?
Most often, there are no answers. A year later, at Border’s bookstore in the fantasy/science fiction aisle, I searched for The Wizard of Earthsea. I could never remember the author’s last name. As I skimmed the books, Ian walked right up to me. “Sorry, about that note.”
I looked at him. He looked the same. I figured that he was long gone from the area and trapped in violence somewhere else. I was surprised; Ian remembered the note, and he cared enough to say something. Maybe, he would end up all right. “Okay, Ian. Accepted. I imagine you had a lot going on at the time. No one was physically hurt.”
“Yea.” “Doing okay now?” He looked down. “Yea.” “Still reading fantasy books?” “Yea.” I looked at him. He turned. “Gotta go.” “Nice seeing you.” I turned to the shelves. “Yea.” I paused. I looked at the books. I wanted to say more, do more. I turned around. Ian was gone again.