Case Studies

She looks like a woman, no matter the year she was born. She's curvy, with breasts and hips most grown women would kill for. She stands out next to all the skinny girls who haven't developed quite as quickly as she has, but she tries to fit in, despite her physical differences. Today it was skinny jeans and a hoodie two sizes too big for her frame. Yesterday it was a layered purple and black tutu* over black leggings.

She turns in excellent work unless it is work we do in-class. During class, she's popping her gum, respectfully ignoring me while writing notes to her friends and covertly reading 1984 for her lit class under the table. She's bright, she's bored, and she wants nothing to do with any of the extra activities I have made available for her. She only wants to get her credit and get out of my class.

She can't dress to flatter her body, can't stand up for herself against the peer pressure of her friends to appear less intelligent than she truly is, and can't put on makeup without looking like the rose garden in full July bloom, but she has the future in the palm of her hand. Looking at her every day, I smile, knowing that she is happy with her life right now because it will pave the way for her future life and success.

*Tutus are worn frequently with no irony at the school where I teach. Don't ask me. I'm not 15.

************************************

His mom gave him a ridiculous name. She also gave him a sense of entitlement, a tendency to use a full volume voice in everyday conversation, and a fear of walking in the door to his house at night. He's alternately loud, obnoxious, poorly behaved (including biting and hitting other students), and completely disruptive to the learning environment of his peers and sweet, inquisitive, and touching (he laid his head on my shoulder and thanked me for teaching him).

I called his mother after another day of constant monitoring and disruptions. My principal and I sat with this student in the principal's office, all gathered around while we talked to his mother on speakerphone. I began with the student's good qualities - when he's on task, he asks bright questions, he participates, he's helpful. She interrupted me.

"What's he done then?"

As I began to list his transgressions, explaining that the bad days are now outweighing the good, she let loose with a barrage of insults at this poor child. She swore, she called him a word I can not in good conscience repeat, and she ordered us to paddle him. My principal and I exchanged looks. This was not a good idea. Then she switches tactics. She starts screaming at us, telling us that if we can't handle spirited children, we are in the wrong business.

The student was now crying, silent tears that broke my heart in two.

It was my fault, once again. I have, once again, been impatient and not understanding enough. I have eighty seven minutes every weekday with this child, for that's what he is. He's a child. I have eight seven minutes to teach him good manners, good study skills, and good behavior. When I lose my patience, what am I teaching him? When I call home and his mom yells at him and threatens him with violence, what is she teaching him? What are we teaching him?

As I walk out the door, I put my hand on his shoulder and give him a squeeze. "I'm sorry."

He looks at me, eyes still wet, "I am sorry, too." I don't know if he's sorry that he's a pain in the ass in class, I don't know if he's sorry that I called his mom, I don't know if he's sorry that I heard what his mother said to him, I don't know if he's sorry that his mom went off on me. I don't know. Because maybe it's all of it and I don't really want to know and I didn't ask.

I am sorry, my student. I will try to do better tomorrow.