Finding a Way

Finding A Way

In 1990, after taking a leave of absence to spend time with my son, I returned to full-time teaching in a small, self-contained, Junior Learning Disabilities classroom.

My new group of ten students required intensive direction. I was blessed with an excellent, full-time Educational Assistant. Bev’s deep voice and gruff demeanor barely concealed her soft-hearted love and compassion for the kids. She’d worked at the school for years and knew many of the children since their kindergarten days. I appreciated her hard work. Together, we dealt with copious misadventures.

Meghan was a sturdy, blonde, Grade 5 child with an unrelenting desire to break rules. She’d been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder and was driven by impulsive decisions. One day, she signed out to go to the washroom with Tammy, her partner in crime. Too much time elapsed, and I was about to ask Bev to go on a search, when Tammy stormed back into the class. Her face was flushed, and she sported a huge grin. Oh, oh! Tammy thrived on drama.

“Meghan’s stuck in the pop machine!” she squealed. “She tried to get a free drink.”

“Stuck?” I queried. “What do you mean?”

“She can’t get her arm out.”

Bev called the office while I scurried down to the first floor to investigate. A huge crowd gathered in the hall. Meghan had jammed her arm into the dispenser up to her elbow and was wailing like a Siamese cat in heat.

Firemen and paramedics arrived to add to the excitement. As they began to dismantle the machine, I returned to class with a huge sigh. From that day on, soda drinks were no longer an option at the school. The administration officially announced over the P.A. system and in letters to parents that the school board was adopting “healthier choices.”

At the end of October, the students all arrived in costume for a Halloween parade. Tammy, sexually precocious for her age, pranced into my room to model spike heels, black-net stockings, a skin-tight mini-skirt, and a transparent blouse that revealed a skimpy red bra. She’d applied glops of thick, black eyeliner, and sported crimson lipstick on pouty lips. “I’m a hooker!” she announced and stared at me with a defiant grin.

“Put this on,” I responded as calmly as possible, handing her my button-up cardigan.

“Why?” she challenged, posing provocatively with a hand on her hip.

“That costume is inappropriate,” I replied, and continued to hold out the sweater.

“No! F*** you! I’ll wear whatever I want!” she screamed.

Christopher, one of my Grade 6 students, reacted with delight. “What a tart!” he chortled and snapped her bra from behind.

“Don’t touch me!” screamed an indignant Tammy as she held up her middle finger.

Christopher, a hulking six-foot giant, was prone to attacks of rage. Luckily, he didn’t lunge. I immediately phoned the office for back-up and told Tammy she could report to the principal voluntarily or be escorted.

“Fine!” she screeched and waltzed out the door. Bev shadowed her to ensure she reached her destination.

Shortly, I got a call from the Vice-Principal. “Tammy is being sent home on a one-day suspension. Her defiance and swearing are unacceptable. Her mother has been contacted.”

I was relieved to receive the strong support.

When Tammy arrived back at school, her hair was bleached blonde. “My mom took me to the salon,” she announced with a sneer.

“How nice,” I replied. If she was instigating another confrontation, I was choosing not to engage.

The following week, I sat at my desk to take advantage of some quiet preparation time while the class attended Gym. Denise, one of my Grade 5 students, stormed into my room in a rage. Her flushed face was heavily freckled, and her large body shook as she stomped toward me.

“Tommy hit me with the ball!” she bellowed.

“Denise, did you tell your gym teacher?”

“No. She doesn’t care.”

“Come on. Let’s go back and sort this out,” I suggested in as gentle a voice as I could muster. So much for the half hour of quiet time I’d needed to prepare some of the next day’s lessons.

The classroom phone rang.

Hello?”

“Is Denise with you?’ asked the exasperated Gym teacher. “We were playing dodge ball and Tommy threw the ball at her. She shoved him to the floor and took off.”

“Yes, she’s here. Thanks for calling. I’ll keep her with me.”

The news was no surprise. Denise constantly bickered with other children and often stayed in at recess because of repeated squabbles and physical outbursts.

I arranged for Denise to receive some one-on-one time with the school Social Worker, Mr. Reed. His hobby was paragliding. One afternoon, he hauled all his equipment into the expansive grassy playground to demonstrate how the parts worked. Denise was his “special assistant,” and thrived in her new role. Even though there were no actual opportunities for the students to take flight, I fantasized plunking my wayward kiddos into the seated harness and gazing upward with a deep and contented sigh as they sailed off into the horizon.

During this time, I signed up for a weekend intensive workshop called “Assertive Discipline.” The main theme was to “catch students being good,” and provide positive consequences, with a balance of limit-setting boundaries, as well. When I applied the ideas, a shift in the behavior of my students was amazing.

A favorite monthly event was our Reading Auction. When assignments were completed, tickets were awarded. Avoidance behaviors were replaced by eager goal setting. The students donated recyclable toys and books as items to be auctioned off. As the prizes mounted up, the excitement grew. I shopped at Dollarama to add to the heap of treasures.

Another term for this teaching tactic is BRIBERY! It works. My teaching career became way less stressful, and the kids were motivated to achieve.

I retired back in 2005, and currently connect to “kid energy” by tutoring. I still hang out at Dollarama and continue to enjoy the rewards of success, albeit on a less stressful one-to-one basis.

I can’t imagine how teachers today survive. The added supports that were in place back then are long gone, due to government cutbacks. Recalling the high blood pressure, pounding heart, and sleepless nights of the past, I am a very grateful senior citizen. All I need is my CPAP machine to ensure a good night’s sleep.