My third year of teaching was a mixed bag of good and bad. I felt like I was finally hitting my stride as a teacher, but I had a few students that seemed to bask in the pain they caused me. One student in particular, let's call him Scott, was a particular treat. This was a kid who did all that he could to make teachers lives absolute hell. For some reason, he liked me. Maybe it was that he saw that I truly cared about his education and was invested in making him a better man...or it was because I was a white male and he was a misogynistic, white supremacist. Either way...the kid liked me.
One day, little Scotty was not having a great day. He came into my class and was wearing a white wife beater (which is ironic, seeing as though that he later was arrested for physically attacking a girl, but that's neither here nor there). This was against the school dress code and so I felt it necessary to address this to the young man. I went up to him in private and asked him if he could please go change his shirt. He stood up, without speaking, and walked out of the room.
After he left, I assumed he would be right back with a full t-shirt. After about fifteen minutes, he was still gone. If you have never worked in a classroom, this is a red flag for a student who has about a baker's dozen suspensions on his rap sheet. When he returns, he still has his wife beater and is now a little sweaty and out of breath. More red flags, so I proceed with caution. I quietly go over to him and try to privately talk to him as to not embarrass him...he did not mind talking about the issue. Here is the dialogue as I remember it.
Me: "Hey, Scott. Could you not find another t-shirt?"
Scott: "I'M NOT CHANGING MY SHIRT"
Me: "Umm, I need you to change you shirt."
Scott: "NO! IF GIRLS ARE ALLOWED TO HAVE THEIR BOOBS AND MOLASSES* OUT, I CAN WEAR MY WIFE BEATER."
Me: "Yeah, I'm going to need you to change."
Scott: "NO!"
Me: "Please go change your shirt."
Scott: "NO!"
Me: "Please go change your shirt."
Scott: "NO, YOU CAN SEND ME TO THE OFFICE, BUT I'M NOT CHANGING."
Me: "Okay, bye."
He gets up to go head to the office. I stand by the doorframe to watch him leave because he, being not the most stable human being, has a tendency to fly off the handle. I see another student walking in by him in the hallway.
Student: "Hey Scott! Where are you going?"
Me: "I'M GOING TO THE OFFICE! THAT FLUFFING PICKHEAD** IS MAKING ME CHANGE MY SHIRT!"
After I write him a referral to the office, I look to see his write ups on our system. Remember that fifteen minutes where he was gone? He had been written up five different times within that fifteen minutes. Not certain, but pretty sure that it was a new high score. One of the write ups included telling a teacher that he looked like Peter Griffin...the kid's got jokes.
I saw him later that day and he apologized to me which was nice. He said he was having a rough day and that he took it out on me and was sorry. We shook hands and I thought that was all.
I got an email the next day. It was from the head of the counseling department and was about having a meeting with little Scooter and his mother about the issues he had the day before. I went into the meeting a little late because I was waiting to finish my class. When I walked into the meeting, it was already a war zone. The meeting attendees included several principals, the head of special education for the district, the head of the counseling department, Scotty and his mom.
This kid's mom was already yelling at every individual in that room and I immediately wanted to moonwalk my way out of that office.
Scott's Mom (pointing at people individually): "IT'S YOUR FAULT THAT HE WASN'T IN CLASS, IT'S YOUR FAULT THAT HE ACTED THIS WAY, AND IT'S YOUR FAULT THAT HE IS A PROBLEM FOR YOU."
Neat...love the positive adult conversation.
I sit down at the opposite end of the table from her. This is when all eyes turn to me. The head of the counseling department says that she wants me to give my side of the story. Scott's mom apparently had confused me with the teacher was called Peter Griffin. This is the actual dialogue.
Scott's Mom: "WHY ARE WE GOING TO TALK TO HIM? ALL HE'S GOING TO DO IS COMPLAIN ABOUT BEING CALLED PETER GRIFFIN!"
Me: "Actually I'm Mr. Springman, and Scott didn't call me Peter Griffin, but he did call me a flushing slickhead***."
Scott's Mom: "WELL, ARE YOU PLUMPING CHICKDEAD****? BECAUSE YOU LOOK LIKE ONE THE WAY YOU'RE SITTING DOWN THERE."
Now I have been called bad names by students, but this was definitely the first time that a parent has been this aggressive. While I was really upset when this happened, I am so happy that I have this in my arsenal of teaching experience. While funny in hindsight, it also shows my friends outside of education about the things some of us teachers have to deal with. Hopefully people see this and get a kick out of it, but also see the crap that we have to work through.
*He didn't actually say mollasses
**He didn't actually say fluffing pickhead
*** I didn't actually say flushing slickhead
****She didn't actually plumping chickdead
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