08/26/07 "ICH" -- -The first day that I substitute taught
for the "T" * school district, it was in
a special education school during the
winter. I was elated to have been called
up the day after I completed my
paperwork for the position! So, I could
barely wait to meet my class of eight
and nine year olds, who had
severe dyslexia compounded by other
problems (such as legal blindness, ADD
and other afflictions).
All was going fairly well except during
rest hour before which I had placed the
children on the floor around my chair.
Suddenly, after settling them down, one
of the boys abruptly arose from his
blanket and stomped on the head of a
smaller boy whose glasses, then,
shattered while his face got all
bloodied from the glass and the blows.
After checking the hurt boy, I told the
children to keep lying still, grabbed
the aggressive boy with one hand and
the victim with the other while moving
quickly to the intercom button where I
asked for immediate medical assistance
from the nurse. (At the end of the
school day while I was filling out the
accident report, the principal
kindly told me that I handled everything
perfectly and that this sort of incident
frequently happens. Therefore, I
shouldn't view it as an inadequacy on my
part.)
At the same time, he invited me back to
his school the next day to substitute
for five days in a classroom for
emotionally disturbed teenagers. I
replied that I would be glad to do
so and returned the next day to find
that the room's educational supplies and
attendance book had been locked in a
closet. Meanwhile as I was checking the
storeroom's locked door, a thirteen year
old, who had been raped during which
time one of her parents was killed, was
trying to climb through the second story
window to commit suicide (an action
which she frequently tried, I was later
told) while two boys, larger than I am,
were trying to stab each other's eyes
out with pencils. What should I do under
the circumstances?
I grabbed the girl with one hand and,
with her in tow, I physically placed my
body between the boys while commanding
them, in the most officious tone of
voice, that I forbid such behavior and
they WILL sit down immediately at their
desks so that we can sort out their
argument.
Other than a few further
potentially perilous incidents, the week
went fairly smoothly as I managed,
despite the lack of unavailable
educational materials, to engage the
students in a project involving writing
instructional booklets about various
subjects that they were learning for
which they took out books from the
school's library. Then I let them take
turns teaching each other about
these topics that they'd
been studying during the week before my
arrival. It all was slated as a review
of sorts.
In addition, I had, on the first day,
brought my own educational supplies and
lesson plans, which I also used with the
students. Indeed, my class time went so
well that the principal told me that he
hated to see me go, but had to tell the
school district scheduler that I was one
of the best teachers who he'd ever seen
and I, therefore, should be given a
permanent assignment.
The next morning at six AM, I was
offered a long-term post to teach a
combined fifth and sixth grade class in
X school. The building, itself, was
modern and, to save money in its
construction, it was an "open space "
institution, meaning that there were no
walls between classrooms. Moreover, all
of these were located on the second
floor except for mine, that was on the
first and had, originally, been slated
to serve as an art center.
Initially, I wondered about this
arrangement of having a separated class
and the assistant principal staying in
the room most of the first day that I
taught. However, I figured that the
school had run out of classroom space
and he was just being overly
conscientious. Besides, he spent
increasingly less time in my company as
the week wore on. By then, though, I'd
pretty much figured out (supplemented by
information from other teachers) about
the overall arrangements concerning this
particular group of youngsters.
They went like this:
All of the fifth and sixth students who
were deemed unmanageable were put in
the isolated room. This was in lieu of
sending them to a special education
division in that the city managers had
run out of funding for special education
and were even sending some children out
of the city to other public and private
special education schools due to lack of
sufficient accommodations in "T." In
addition, the backlog for evaluating
students in dire need was two years + as
there were only two psychologists for
the whole district evaluating a student
body comprised of over 20,000 students.
At the same time, all of the teachers
preceding me had abruptly quit the class
(so that the youth had had no steady
teacher for the whole school year
except, occasionally, the assistant
principal), Meanwhile, the last two
had walked out due to quite unfortunate
circumstances.
The first, when the whole class had run
out of the building, decided to chase
them and she got buried in a snowbank.
(Luckily she was uncovered before there
was a need for an ambulance crew). The
second was duct taped to a chair which
was dragged to a broom closet where a
janitor found him well after the school
had closed for the day. Deeply ashamed
of the whole affair, he helped the
custodian clean up his urine puddle
before leaving the school for good.
My own defining moment, during which I
decided that I would not continue with
this class, occurred after I got a
contact "high" upon leaving the bathroom
attached to the "art room" at the end of
the day. I had gone in it to make sure
that the facets were turned off and that
the stalls were not trashed.
Afterwards, I floated down to the
principal to tell her that I was sure
that I knew about which boy had smoked
in the bathroom and explained my
evidence. I also asked whether I could
wait on school grounds until I felt
normal as I didn't want to drive under
the influence. Likewise, I asked whether
I should call or visit the boy's parents
to discuss his bringing marijuana to
school.
In reply, she stated that she'd once met
the boy's mother and, in an
uncontrollable rage over a
non-confrontational comment by the
principal, the mother swore and threw a
chair at the her. In addition, the boy's
older brother had thrown Molotov
cocktails out of the apartment that he
shared with the boy and his mother. This
had occurred during a raid two
weeks previously due to a prostitution
and drug dealing ring operating out of
the household coming to the attention of
the police department.
Molotov cocktails aside, the officers,
eventually, broke down the apartment's
door and overwhelmed the brother by
force. (He was currently in jail
awaiting trial.). So now the boy only
lived with his mother. Therefore, all
looked pretty good, the principal
alleged, if the boy were only using
marijuana. Besides, it would be
dangerous to tangle with his mother.
Therefore, I should just let the
incident go.
Besides, she continued, I couldn't
definitely prove that it was him,
anyway, and she could positively
guarantee that I did not want to get on
the mother's bad side since she could
hunt me down using the telephone
directory. Then my life would be in
utter havoc. Therefore, she
emphatically repeated, I should just let
the whole affair go.
Indeed, I did. I let it All go because
the class was just too tough to
manage on top of which I didn't need any
possible altercations with
violent parents.
I gave a two day resignation and, after
my final day of teaching, I bid farewell
to the whole class, which had
been so hard to teach that I had a
stomachache each day while driving to
work. I also wished the two pregnant
girls good luck and sent two
other children to the nurse due to
evidence of ringworm and head lice (both
of which are highly contagious). Then
I, literally, washed my hands of the
whole matter.
The day after leaving, I was again
called by a "T" dept of
education official and asked to become a
long term substitute in, I was assured,
a far easier class. The assignment had
come up, she added, due to a teacher's
death.
So, this new position was for a forth
grade at a different setting and
I decided to try out the next offering
as the staff member was so adamant about
the new group of children being a breeze
to handle.
After arriving at the new school, I
found out that my class had thirty-two
students. Two thirds of them had
remedial classes outside of my classroom
at various points during the day, which
made it hard for me to teach a lesson to
the whole group. However, I was assured,
by the other fourth grade teacher at the
school, that this was the bright fourth
grade class, amongst two in existence at
the school.
As she alleged to me concerning their
intelligence... They may seem smarter
than my children and they are. All the
same, they are really quite stupid and
cannot learn. Therefore, don't bother to
teach much. It's a waste of your and
their time. Instead, simply let them
play most of the day and then you'll
have only few disciplinary problems in
your class.
Therefore, my recommendation is that you
just write up your lesson plans
as stating that the value of some
games are that they teach problem
solving, strategy in competition and so
on. Then you will have a soft time in
the classroom and you can easily stick
it out, as I am, until you retire and
get a pension.
Another teacher, a sixth grade teacher,
had a different plan about his own
future in lieu of hers. Indeed, he told
me that he had had too much of "T"
teaching and was totally burned out. On
account, he was planning to
leave instruction forever at the end of
the current school year despite that he
had been an educator for almost fifteen
year. At the same time, he hadn't a clue
about whatever he would do for work
instead.
Then he went on to related his reasons
for choosing to leave. They are as
follows:
He was tired of constantly having to
keep his eyes on the students at the
back windows. Since they didn't have
screens and these pupils always stole
scissors from the supply closet, there
was a constant problem involving their
shooting the implements like arrows out
of the window when anyone was going
into the school building. (His room's
windows were directly above the entrance
door, although several stories above.)
Likewise, he felt terrible that he had
an a seventeen year old in his class, a
slow minded boy who'd been retained for
many years in grade after grade.
Although papers had been filed for four
years to track him toward special
education, the boy was rejected for
special education provision. So he
remained in "regular" classes despite
that he didn't, in terms of his
emotional and physical maturity, fit in
with eleven and twelve year olds. All in
mind, the teacher suspected that the
boy was not removed from regular
education as he was mild mannered.
Lastly, he felt that he really couldn't
make a difference in the lives of his
students given the lack of teaching
materials, the difficulty of controlling
aversive behavior and other factors.
Demoralized and anxious much of the
time, he simply was waiting it out until
the end of the year when he could be
done of this madness, as he called
it, once and for all. Enough was simply
enough, he concluded.
He certainly did make some valid points,
I thought, while surveying my classroom.
Let's see -- my twelve history books,
the ones I was supposed to use to teach
that subject, were from 1953, were not
age appropriate (i.e., were made four
high school students), were missing
pages and parts of pages, were written
upon and were supposed to be sufficient
for a class of thirty-two students, all
of whom read below grade level except
for two children.
These books existed on broken down
shelving with a few other
well-worn books ranging in reading level
from preschool (i.e., the inexpensive
types that one sees in supermarkets and
buys for toddlers) to college level,
including an esoteric text on a botany
topic written in the 1930's. The
information in it was technically
written and way out of date.
At the same time, these books were
supplemented by a few others
-- teacher's texts and a supply of
overly used ditto masters -- that were
kept in the supply closet with scissors,
paper, busted crayons, chalk and glue.
In addition to these, I had one stapler
and two erasers, forms for accidents and
other needs, as well as a bunch of
pencils in a cup on my desk.
The pencils were ones that I bought for
the class, myself, and collected at the
end of each day as I quickly learned
that the writing tools, a seemingly
treasured item, would disappear homeward
never to return if I didn't gather them
before the children left the school
grounds.
At the same time, there was no school
library. That fit in with the fact that
there was no gymnasium either as the
building only consisted of a cafetorium
(a combination of cafeteria and
auditorium space with folding lunch
tables and no stage), an administrative
office, one bathroom per floor, a small
teacher's lounge, classrooms and a small
play yard covered in asphalt and
divisional metal fences.
The latter location is where Physical
Education classes took place after lunch
-- during recess period at which time I
tried to involve any willing
participants in games. (This seemed
necessary since the State had on the law
books that the only class necessary to
be taught in the State was PE. I'll add
that this State was in the Northeastern
US.) Consequently, I earnestly tried to
teach PE and felt bad that the only
teachers supplemental to the regular
classroom ones were the remedial aides
to whom I sent children in batches each
day. In other words, there were no music
teachers (nor instruments), no art
teacher (nor art supplies besides the
notorious scissors, paper, crayons and
glue), no class trips except to picnic
spots within walking distance, and no
special all-school programs for
enlightenment and a change of pace.
Meanwhile, the students, themselves,
were varied and problematic. For
example, there was John, the twelve year
old. Held back two consecutive grades in
a row, he was small for his age as he
had lacked adequate nutrition at an
earlier point in childhood. In addition,
he had lived in five foster homes
(including two group homes) and had been
in five different school districts
during the past two years.
Separated from his mother and siblings
(the latter of whom were also in various
homes), he'd only learned of his
father's identity two months previously.
In addition, he was legally blind and
had to have his nasal passages cleaned
out from cancer at a children's hospital
in another state every two months. This
history was imparted to me by his social
worker, who also asked that I "cut him
some slack" on account of his dire
hardships.
Unfortunately John couldn't make it in
my classroom and often spent the day at
the principal's office as he would race
around the room screaming or sit in the
supply closet methodically rocking and
sucking his thumb all of which I
documented for the school records and
his social worker, whose case load was
far too large to pay adequate attention
to the boy.
Eventually, though, he was removed from
my classroom by three husky policemen.
It took all three as he was so wild and
strong during the moment that he was
trying to bust his head open on the
corner of a desk during which time blood
was splattering everywhere, including on
my clothes as I tried to single handedly
stop him prior to the police arrival...
One can only imagine the mayhem that
resulted for the rest of the children
during this incident for which, I was
told the next day, John blamed me in his
police report, saying that I was
pounding his head into the desk. I was
relieved to learn that no one believed
him and, therefore, I would not be
charged and brought to court.
Then there was Ronald. Ronald was an
obese boy who liked to deeply daydream
and draw doodles all day. So, I had to
remember, throughout the day, to loudly
say "Ronald" every five minutes to get
his attention and bring him mentally
back into class. In addition, he
occasionally smelled of liquor and I was
not surprised when his father stumbled
into the class one day while rip-roaring
drunk during which time he declared in
thunderous, slurred yells, "I love my
son, Ronald" and "that's my boy" over
and over.
Of course, Ronald was all huffed up with
pride with these public declarations!
How important he felt in front of his
peers to whom he kept repeating over and
over, "That's my dad! He loves me!"
In addition, there was Anna. She seemed
to be afflicted with some sort of
pronounced autistic problem. As such,
she barely spoke except to mimic others
in a singsong voice while copying their
behaviors. She also would spend the day
making spitballs and eating them, as
well as chewing up pencils for which I
constantly tried to stop her. I, also,
had to protect her from the other
children as they detested her and
mercilessly tormented her.
Furthermore, there was Reg. Reg liked to
lift up the skirts and dresses of some
girls and grab their chests. Therefore,
I had to be sure, when I had them in
line to go to the cafetorium for lunch,
that he was not near Mary, Sue or Lynn
as these three liked his touching their
bodies and would wiggle their hips
provocatively when he did.
Then there was Dave, who'd seemed like
one of the more responsible boys, until
the time that his mother brought him to
me during recess while relating that he
had run home a few minutes before and
had been in a psychological evaluation
process prior to, recently, moving
to his current school from another
one in different township.
I apologized to her for his leaving the
grounds, but mentioned that, while
counted all of the thirty-two children
frequently, it was hard to keep track of
them dashing about amongst
the (approximately) two hundred and
fifty other children also milling about
the playground. This was compounded,
I included, as I was also trying to run
a PE class for anyone interested in it.
In response, she indicated that she
certainly understood my dilemma and told
me that it was an impossible task to
keep track of them all during every
single minute. I appreciated her
understanding.
However, not all the parents were so
supportive. Reg's mother certainly
wasn't as I soon discovered.
I found out because, one day, I'd ask
Reg to get back to his seat during a
math lesson that I was teaching using
the chalkboard. He, meanwhile, was
trying to sneak up behind Lynn's desk
to, I presume, try to raise her dress
yet another time.
Yet, instead of doing as he was
requested, he flipped over three desks
and started erasing the entire
chalkboard. As a result, I sent him to
the principal with Ronald escorting him,
along with a note stating the actions
that Reg had done. In addition, I wrote
a note to Reg's parents for him to take
home in which I, again, stated about
his behavior in the classroom and my
wish that they would talk to him
about expected classroom standards.
All considered, I was elated the next
day when his mother showed up shortly
before the children. I thought that she
must really care about her son and
wanted to share with me about what she
told him regarding his misbehavior.
However, she simply said this, "I don't
want you ever sending my son to the
principal again. I don't want the mark
on his school record about him having to
visit the principal. It is your job, not
the principal's, to make him behave.
Therefore, if you ever send him again to
the office, I am coming into this
classroom and see that second story
window over there? I am going to shove
you butt first through it. And I really
will! I mean it."
The next day, four girls refused to
leave the classroom at the end of class,
went to the supply cabinet, for which
there was no key, took all of the
scissors and started out the door. I
said for them to put the scissors back
and one of them said, "Make me" and made
a very threatening gesture with one of
the pairs when I blocked the room's
one exit door. The other girls
surrounded me and did the same, but
eventually put the scissors back.
Meanwhile, I was trembling.
I always felt, though, fairly safe for
the most part as I thought that the
principal, a towering man, would always
help me in the end if I ever got in an
impossibly bad moment. That is... I
thought so until the day that, during
recess, I saw him being chased by
running adults of which some were
smoking something while screaming,
"We're going to get you, you bas%#&*!"
They were, at the same time, swinging
chains, bats and plumbing pipes.
As my students hadn't noticed the scene,
I immediately asked Lynn, the child
closest to me, to do me a favor and go
to the principal's office and tell his
secretary that I said for her to look
out the window. Then I quickly assembled
all of the children while yelling after
Lynn to meet us all back in the
classroom..
Then I told my class to hurry up as I
had a big surprise back in the room and,
consequently, I wanted to cut recess
short.
The replies were predictable: "Please,
we want to stay outside." "Aw, do we
have to?" "You're mean!" "Boy, the
surprise had better be really good."
Meanwhile, I was racking my brain so as
to try to figure out some surprise that
I could give them for obeying me in
lining up so I could get them out of any
harm's way.
I learned later that the incident was
all about the principal facing
retaliation for shoving a twelve year
old up against the wall by her neck
while yelling at her that he would kick
his black shoe up her black assh*%# if
she ever misbehaved again. Apparently,
her parents and their friends didn't
take too kindly to his blatant threat.
(For him to act so extremely, the
girl must have done something really
awful -- whatever it was. Maybe she was
the student who'd clogged every toilet
on all the floors except for one in the
building. I didn't know. It was not my
business to inquire about her details.
However, the day that he was chased and
due to which his secretary, yet another
time, called the police, I no longer
felt safe at all. All the same, I
managed to make it to the end of the
school year.)
At its close, I had forms that I could
fill out to recommend children for
psychological evaluation. I really
wanted to fill out the papers for around
twenty of my thirty-two, but was told
that I'd have a better chance of
having any evaluated (within two or more
year's time that is) if I only picked
one or two children. So I elected Anna
as she had gotten more dissociative as
the school year had worn on and a boy
who'd acted very sadistic -- so much so
that he scared everyone in class -- even
the tough bully-boys. All the same, it
was hard to choose amongst the many
children who needed and
deserved psychological assessment as I
felt that I let down every single one
who I didn't select.
In review, my experiences while teaching
in the "T" schools weren't a total
disaster. Indeed, I had a few very fine
moment, such as the time that the mother
of one of my students, a lunchroom aide,
had meekly asked if she could see me
during my lunch break for which she
would get someone to cover her in the
lunch room.
I'd replied in the affirmative and she,
upon meeting with me, asked me to
explain multiplication and division to
her on account of my having sent a note
home asking that parents help their
children with memorizing the tables.
She, though, had no idea as to what this
meant even thought she was a US public
high school graduate. All of this in
mind, she told me, she wanted very much
to help her daughter learn what I'd
requested, but had no idea about where
to start.
So I lined up pencils from the pencil
cup in sets and showed her graphically.
Well, the amazed and joyous look on her
face when she the whole matter dawned on
her for single digit by single digit
multiplication and division was
something to behold. It was all quite
new to her and I was deeply pleased over
her happiness and sense of success!
While this outcome and some
others brought me much
satisfaction, they also made me
upset. Why have I come across an adult,
educated in the US, who didn't know of
simple math processes? Why have I, at
other times, come across classroom aides
who can neither read, nor write except
for a few simple words? Likewise, why
have I come across parents, who don't
know that the Civil War and the
Revolutionary War are not one and the
same? Further, why have I met others who
think that London is in the country of
Paris and suppose all sorts of other
wildly erroneous notions?
In the end, I gave up my "dream" of
helping disadvantaged youth in a school
setting. Instead, I decided to apply to
a private school. I thought that I'd
likely be a better match for its
students. I simply no longer wanted to
face the types of troubles that the
special ed students, the children in the
art room, the fourth graders and their
parents could bring my way. I, also,
felt helpless to fix an educational
program that had gone terribly wrong.
All the same, I could still "make a
difference" in the lives of children.
Yet, I, like the sixth grade
teacher, had simply had enough of
dysfunctional schools for now, I firmly
decided. I felt ineffectual and
overwhelmed by the day in and out
of them. After all, I cannot be
responsible for everyone everywhere
despite that, in many locations, the
need for dedicated teachers is critical,
especially in settings such as I just
described.
Yes, across the American landscape,
there are countless villages, towns and
cities with dreadful schools. These are
not places where much learning can occur
unless one considers learning new models
of deviant behavior as
instructional. That many of the children
feel like running away from the school's
grounds, inflict harm on themselves to
avoid attendance, prefer to daydream in
lieu of paying attention (passively
running away in their minds) and haven't
the bare minimum of adequate curriculum
supplies is indicative that, even if
they were to want to learn in school, it
is impossible to do so for many children
in the US.
In addition, many of these schools are
breeding ground from criminal activities
(such as drug use, promiscuous behavior,
and vicious activities such as scissor
tossing). On top, other children and
adults teach that the children are not
worthwhile, such as the other fourth
grade teacher, surely, exemplified.
They, also, teach that violence is an
acceptable way to deal with rule
breaking (such as the principal at the
last school did).
In the final reckoning, these tragic
schools teach that it is perfectly
acceptable to have a two-tiered
educational system -- one for the
wealthy and another for the poor. That
this, largely, takes place along racial
lines is equally lamentable and all but
ensures that the lower class will
maintain its placement generation after
generation and, thus, be retained as a
source for cheap, manual labor.
As stated by management at
Mindfully.org.:
"We see the
actions and policies of everyone from the
President on down to Endicott [of the US
Department of Education], and further down
to the individual citizen who allows the
actions and policies to pass without
challenge as the enemies of the state. For
the purposes of this comment — the state is
any and all people who are citizens, and for
simplification, excluding noncitizens.
"All people are due equal education
and everything else that goes along with
maintaining a healthy society. All
must have equal health-care, food, water and
environments to live in.
"In short, nothing less than a paradigm
shift is required to facilitate the
well-being of society in the USA. All must
be free or none will be free.
"This may not agree with the reader's
opinion, but as we see it, the inequality
that exists presently must end if this
country is to survive.
"It really does come down to that — if the
rich continue to hoard wealth and abuse the
other 95% of society, then they continually
make themselves superfluous. By doing so,
they receive the same treatment that they
dole out to the less fortunate. This effect
is clearly seen throughout the US presently,
as life as we know it is disintegrating
before our eyes and chaos increasingly
rules.
"Those to blame are everyone from the
President on down to individual citizens who
allow these actions and policies to pass
without challenge [1.]"
"You're either part of the solution or
you're part of the problem." — Eldridge
Cleaver, Speech in San Francisco, 1968
While educational standards worldwide
are deplorable (i.e., approximately 70 %
of humanity cannot read and write) [2],
one would expect, from the wealthiest
country in the world, that there
would exist a high universal interest in
preparing future citizens to be well
equipped to benefit our country and reap
rewards from having citizenship. One
would think that this happening would be
of paramount concern.
That it clearly is not is outrageous and
alarming. The loss, on both the personal
and the national level, is thoroughly
appalling and unconscionable. As
Jonathan Kozol puts it, this is truly
"the shame of the nation."
Moreover, in that our society and
government not only allows this to
occur, but purposefully ratifies such an
unjust, pernicious educational system as
exists is unbelievable.The damage to
individuals, the lack of development in
human potential and the injury to
society at large is tremendous. That so
many impaired lives (and,
ultimately, impairment to whole
communities) occur is unacceptable while
the harm, itself, is simply
incalculable. All considered, all of the
pathetic and poorly run educational
programs across the US must immediately
be radically revamped! There is
absolutely no other choice than this!
* "T" is a capital of one of our US
States. I did not want to single it out
as being especially bad as I am certain
that conditions in other capitals are
just as bad as or worse than the ones
that will, subsequently, be depicted.
So, "T" should not be given any sort of
notorious prominence. All in all, this
is the reason that it, specifically, was
not named.As such, it should be
considered as just a capital city -- any
capital city across our country.
Emily Spence resides in
Massachusetts and deeply
cares about the future
of our world.
Part 1 Here
