I was thinking about my last entry - "Whoopings and buss ass"- and how some children really have little regard for their parents, and even worst, their teachers. However, there are others who are just befuddled about this whole adult-child relationship. And there are children with whom I have had to interact that, honestly, mi wonda 'why botha wid dis one'. But, a Teacha mi name and I will not be able to rest well if I don't bother. At times they drive me up the wall and then turn around and make the day the most pleasant...I really can't keep being upset. The thing is, one never knows how one will impact someone's life in the future; this teaching business is a hell of a thing. Determining how to proceed with things in a classroom is one part logic and training and forty thousand parts instinct and trial and error. I considered quitting many times but there were two instances that really shook me to the core...really made me think.
Once there was a boy; not too bright but boy had heart. Tried and tried and tried some more. He was one to watch, a late bloomer of sorts. A chubby fellow; liked attention and was given to overly feminine behaviours. Boy could chat ya man! Every time you see him, him mout a flap like when fish a batter outa wata. And the worst of it was that he thought he was the brightest bulb in the set. He took it on himself to correct everyone even when he doesn't understand Jack. Now confidence is one thing but conceit, quite another. I cannot abide a quiet child, so I encourage them to share and try everything to pull out the inner diva in every child. But this boy was way too much. And when him fly off the handle for whatever trivial matter or perceived slight and when fi him inner sketel take ova, a det!! Almost nothing can be done to calm him.
One day, his inner sketel was at her best. She completely take over him life and from the morning arrive she start up. Everyting bada har. She rant, she rave and nobody could figure what exactly was going on with him. I called the Guidance Cousellor, who had a little conversation with him. Nothing changed. Lunch time came and I got nothing less than forty complaints from the other children about his conduct. I spoke to him. Nothing! In the afternoon, I had the group in a lovely activity. First, he/she (one of them) came in late and gave me an attitude. Second, he/she refused to participate in the activity. Third, he/she told another child a nasty, dutty wud and almost started a fight. The other child saw reason and sat down. Well, Mrs. Sir decided that class can't kip tiday. So I put him in time out. And the bwoy/gal decided to rave and gwaan same way. I went over to him and tried to reason with him; in my softest, most pleasant, bestest teacherly voice. Nothing! He kept getting louder and louder and louder and more boisterous. The entire class shock. He had never gotten this bad in the past. And the louder he got, the more frustrated I got and the more frustrated I got the more angry I got. Den mi jus see mi hand shot out an connect cross 'im jaw corna. Then silence. I actually heard myself breathe. He looked at me with the strangest emotion. I couldn't quite place it. It was a mixture of shock, relief, pleasure, pain and more shock. I turned around, walked out of class to my VP's office, sent for the Guidance Counsellor and we called his mother.
I said to myself, "Self, look like you need fi look aneda work." When his mother came I told her what happened.
She asked, " Him dida gwaan like gal nuh true?"
So she knew this side of him then!?
She said, " Miss, mi nah blame yuh. A so im tan. Mi talk to 'im. Pasta talk to 'im. Mi no know what else fi do."
I was in a kind of daze. If this is what I resorted to, then, obviously, I was in the wrong line of work. The GC and VP talked to the mother. The mother talked to the boy and at some point I am sure they all talked to me. In the end, the mother said she understood why I slapped him (good for her, 'cause I didn't) and they all decided that all's well that ended well. They went home. Next day (and to this day) that boy was my best friend. Never had to speak to him about another thing for the entire time he was in my form room. When he moved to another Grade, his teacher punished him for spending too much time in my class. A few years ago, I saw him at a function. He was, then, Head Boy, at his high school. He told me that that slap was the best thing I ever did for him. Instinct?
On another occasion, Young Miss was placed in my form class. The likkle pickney bright like morning star. Kept teachers on their toes. But, as she put it herself, she " darker dan b%ttyh#le". Nothing but the choicest pieces of Jamaican fabric escaped her lips, a mile a minute. Yup, she kept teachers on their toes. Everybody knows, Miss P cannot abide that kind of foolishness and so we were always at loggerheads. To make matters worse, dis likkle picnkey fight if breeze blow pass har face. The number of times we called her parents in. Only her mother would show. They suggested counselling at school. Didn't work. The counsellor suggested outside therapy. Didn't help. Other suggestions were made and followed up. Never helped. She simply got worse. It got so bad that they considered taking her to the board. I stepped up for her. I reminded folks how brilliant she was and asked them to consider the fact she might have a difficult time finding a space elsewhere. We simply had to find some other method to reach her. (This is a Sisyphus kind of task since most Jamaican schools don't enjoy the luxurious pleasures of good social work. Our school is kind of downtown and the government always happen to be too broke for that kind of thing. )
Then one fine day, one of my trusty teacher's-pet-wannabe came to give the tidings of the day. (You know there is always that one boy or girl who is willing to risk the ire of the others by making sure the teacher knows exactly what is transpiring or is about to transpire or was being thought about in the class. That one will always tell the teacher who did whatwhenhowwhywhereandwithwhom in class or over dem yaard.) Young Miss was telling everybody and their grannies how much Miss P have how many tattoos and even where the tattoos were. And how Miss have piercing in her nipples and vajayjay. And how Miss P can be witnessed, nightly, in whichanwhich GoGo club in New Kingston da dance pon pole. An how Miss P, when she done dance go out pon di road an sell har wares to any TomDickanJoe dat stop dem cyar at har foot.
You know mi almost drop dung. Can you imagine, everybody a give up pon dis pickney and a me, har one champion, she choose fi attack!!? You know mi bawl an call mi mada and tell har. I thought, "This is it! I definitely chose the wrong career. Time to look aneda work."
Next day, who showed up to school but her father. He said the mother had gone out of town and he saw the child hesitantly leaving the house. When accosted her and she said the school wanted her mother. He thought, since he had something to do with this parenting business, he'd come along. Of course, we wanted to know how come he had never turned up for any other of her numerous parent invitations. He was shocked to hear that there were invitations. Apparently, Mother Dearest had been keeping secrets. He didn't even know about the external counselling sessions she had had. So we pulled out our log book and updated him. Finally, we got to her latest transgression, her escapade into Miss P's life, and I was rewarded with the best response to ever cross a parent's lips.
Daddy Dearest said, "So likkel girl, when me feed you and make sure your home work sort out and tiad and put you to your bed and lidung and drop asleep a wonda how mi ago feed you come next day you wait til me a sleep fi git up outa your bed and sneak outa my house tru my door and gaan a new kingston go a gogo club go watch Miss P a dance? Where you get money from fi pay go inna di gogo club fi go see Miss P a dance pon pole? An as a matta a fact, mi want you tell mi a which club so mi can call police an tell dem seh dat club a tek in 12 yr old gal a nite time. Mi sure dat no lawful at all. Likkle girl, is how you reach dere? A walk you walk or a taxi you tek? Cause mi know every taxi man whe drive from soandso and mi sure one of dem a go jail tiday cause dem no suppose fi a cyarr no 12yr ole gal go nowhere a nite time. So mi need fi know which taxi you tek cause bus tap run 10aclack. Talk to mi chile."
Awesome!! I swear, he said that in one breath. Then he grabbed her and gave her a resounding box and slammed her back into her chair, so hard, she bounced. Now, normally I would have been horrified but to tell you the truth, I felt justly avenged. With that done, he grabbed her and walked out of the school, ranting about how she and his wife had some explaining to do and how all this secrecy was going to be at its end. When I went back to my classroom, I was informed, via my trusty teacher's-pet-wannabe, that nobody in the class believed anything the evil child had said (not even har cayliss fren dem neva believe and that is why they had make me come tell you in the first place). I felt a tad reassured but of course a bit shaken up.
After Young Miss returned to school, we never had another incident with her for the rest of the year. From that point on, all PTAs and parent consultations were attended by Daddy Dearest. I found that not only was she an excellent student but she also had the capacity to not be "darker dan b%ttyh#le". Young Miss and myself shared an arm's length type of relationship, though.
Yup. I did think long and hard about this teaching business after those two incidents. I am still in it, go figure. But I also learned the power of a good box.
Once there was a boy; not too bright but boy had heart. Tried and tried and tried some more. He was one to watch, a late bloomer of sorts. A chubby fellow; liked attention and was given to overly feminine behaviours. Boy could chat ya man! Every time you see him, him mout a flap like when fish a batter outa wata. And the worst of it was that he thought he was the brightest bulb in the set. He took it on himself to correct everyone even when he doesn't understand Jack. Now confidence is one thing but conceit, quite another. I cannot abide a quiet child, so I encourage them to share and try everything to pull out the inner diva in every child. But this boy was way too much. And when him fly off the handle for whatever trivial matter or perceived slight and when fi him inner sketel take ova, a det!! Almost nothing can be done to calm him.
One day, his inner sketel was at her best. She completely take over him life and from the morning arrive she start up. Everyting bada har. She rant, she rave and nobody could figure what exactly was going on with him. I called the Guidance Cousellor, who had a little conversation with him. Nothing changed. Lunch time came and I got nothing less than forty complaints from the other children about his conduct. I spoke to him. Nothing! In the afternoon, I had the group in a lovely activity. First, he/she (one of them) came in late and gave me an attitude. Second, he/she refused to participate in the activity. Third, he/she told another child a nasty, dutty wud and almost started a fight. The other child saw reason and sat down. Well, Mrs. Sir decided that class can't kip tiday. So I put him in time out. And the bwoy/gal decided to rave and gwaan same way. I went over to him and tried to reason with him; in my softest, most pleasant, bestest teacherly voice. Nothing! He kept getting louder and louder and louder and more boisterous. The entire class shock. He had never gotten this bad in the past. And the louder he got, the more frustrated I got and the more frustrated I got the more angry I got. Den mi jus see mi hand shot out an connect cross 'im jaw corna. Then silence. I actually heard myself breathe. He looked at me with the strangest emotion. I couldn't quite place it. It was a mixture of shock, relief, pleasure, pain and more shock. I turned around, walked out of class to my VP's office, sent for the Guidance Counsellor and we called his mother.
I said to myself, "Self, look like you need fi look aneda work." When his mother came I told her what happened.
She asked, " Him dida gwaan like gal nuh true?"
So she knew this side of him then!?
She said, " Miss, mi nah blame yuh. A so im tan. Mi talk to 'im. Pasta talk to 'im. Mi no know what else fi do."
I was in a kind of daze. If this is what I resorted to, then, obviously, I was in the wrong line of work. The GC and VP talked to the mother. The mother talked to the boy and at some point I am sure they all talked to me. In the end, the mother said she understood why I slapped him (good for her, 'cause I didn't) and they all decided that all's well that ended well. They went home. Next day (and to this day) that boy was my best friend. Never had to speak to him about another thing for the entire time he was in my form room. When he moved to another Grade, his teacher punished him for spending too much time in my class. A few years ago, I saw him at a function. He was, then, Head Boy, at his high school. He told me that that slap was the best thing I ever did for him. Instinct?
On another occasion, Young Miss was placed in my form class. The likkle pickney bright like morning star. Kept teachers on their toes. But, as she put it herself, she " darker dan b%ttyh#le". Nothing but the choicest pieces of Jamaican fabric escaped her lips, a mile a minute. Yup, she kept teachers on their toes. Everybody knows, Miss P cannot abide that kind of foolishness and so we were always at loggerheads. To make matters worse, dis likkle picnkey fight if breeze blow pass har face. The number of times we called her parents in. Only her mother would show. They suggested counselling at school. Didn't work. The counsellor suggested outside therapy. Didn't help. Other suggestions were made and followed up. Never helped. She simply got worse. It got so bad that they considered taking her to the board. I stepped up for her. I reminded folks how brilliant she was and asked them to consider the fact she might have a difficult time finding a space elsewhere. We simply had to find some other method to reach her. (This is a Sisyphus kind of task since most Jamaican schools don't enjoy the luxurious pleasures of good social work. Our school is kind of downtown and the government always happen to be too broke for that kind of thing. )
Then one fine day, one of my trusty teacher's-pet-wannabe came to give the tidings of the day. (You know there is always that one boy or girl who is willing to risk the ire of the others by making sure the teacher knows exactly what is transpiring or is about to transpire or was being thought about in the class. That one will always tell the teacher who did whatwhenhowwhywhereandwithwhom in class or over dem yaard.) Young Miss was telling everybody and their grannies how much Miss P have how many tattoos and even where the tattoos were. And how Miss have piercing in her nipples and vajayjay. And how Miss P can be witnessed, nightly, in whichanwhich GoGo club in New Kingston da dance pon pole. An how Miss P, when she done dance go out pon di road an sell har wares to any TomDickanJoe dat stop dem cyar at har foot.
You know mi almost drop dung. Can you imagine, everybody a give up pon dis pickney and a me, har one champion, she choose fi attack!!? You know mi bawl an call mi mada and tell har. I thought, "This is it! I definitely chose the wrong career. Time to look aneda work."
Next day, who showed up to school but her father. He said the mother had gone out of town and he saw the child hesitantly leaving the house. When accosted her and she said the school wanted her mother. He thought, since he had something to do with this parenting business, he'd come along. Of course, we wanted to know how come he had never turned up for any other of her numerous parent invitations. He was shocked to hear that there were invitations. Apparently, Mother Dearest had been keeping secrets. He didn't even know about the external counselling sessions she had had. So we pulled out our log book and updated him. Finally, we got to her latest transgression, her escapade into Miss P's life, and I was rewarded with the best response to ever cross a parent's lips.
Daddy Dearest said, "So likkel girl, when me feed you and make sure your home work sort out and tiad and put you to your bed and lidung and drop asleep a wonda how mi ago feed you come next day you wait til me a sleep fi git up outa your bed and sneak outa my house tru my door and gaan a new kingston go a gogo club go watch Miss P a dance? Where you get money from fi pay go inna di gogo club fi go see Miss P a dance pon pole? An as a matta a fact, mi want you tell mi a which club so mi can call police an tell dem seh dat club a tek in 12 yr old gal a nite time. Mi sure dat no lawful at all. Likkle girl, is how you reach dere? A walk you walk or a taxi you tek? Cause mi know every taxi man whe drive from soandso and mi sure one of dem a go jail tiday cause dem no suppose fi a cyarr no 12yr ole gal go nowhere a nite time. So mi need fi know which taxi you tek cause bus tap run 10aclack. Talk to mi chile."
Awesome!! I swear, he said that in one breath. Then he grabbed her and gave her a resounding box and slammed her back into her chair, so hard, she bounced. Now, normally I would have been horrified but to tell you the truth, I felt justly avenged. With that done, he grabbed her and walked out of the school, ranting about how she and his wife had some explaining to do and how all this secrecy was going to be at its end. When I went back to my classroom, I was informed, via my trusty teacher's-pet-wannabe, that nobody in the class believed anything the evil child had said (not even har cayliss fren dem neva believe and that is why they had make me come tell you in the first place). I felt a tad reassured but of course a bit shaken up.
After Young Miss returned to school, we never had another incident with her for the rest of the year. From that point on, all PTAs and parent consultations were attended by Daddy Dearest. I found that not only was she an excellent student but she also had the capacity to not be "darker dan b%ttyh#le". Young Miss and myself shared an arm's length type of relationship, though.
Yup. I did think long and hard about this teaching business after those two incidents. I am still in it, go figure. But I also learned the power of a good box.