Down at the shelter today, things started out okay. Kids were sharing and being cooperative. I made Play-Doh turtles for some. We had a reading period in which the kids rapped out the number of syllables for words like seeds (click), broccoli (click-click) and tomato (click-click).
I was willing to cut some slack for the mis-syllabification of brock-lee, but I had to file a protest over t'may-doh. I'm only a volunteer, but I'm also an English major, after all, and I've never forgotten the day I missed when they covered syllables in third grade. The teacher let a girl in class bring me up to speed, and she did a good job. I've been impeccable on hyphenation and click-click-clicks ever since.
One boy in the class is pretty disruptive. He's been known to bite and he's quick to hit others, often clawing at the face. He has a strong tendency to grab a toy he wants, but that's just not the way we do it. During reading time, he's restless, purposely intruding into the space of other kids and being a distraction rather than paying attention.
All the kids have their moments of this, but D requires a constant watchful eye. While we're trying to work with him every day to socialize him better, the more immediate focus of attention is to make sure he doesn't hurt someone or cause discord and disrespect to spread.
We were outside on the playground where my role is to be more physical with the kids. Some days that means keeping balls aloft or spotting kids on the equipment. Others, I might be a monster chasing them around. Or making sure they only pretend to eat the wood chip birthday cake. Today, I was giving shoulder rides, letting kids admire their height in the reflection of the windows, pull leaves off the lone tree or grab ahold of the brick pillars and then pretend to fall so I could catch them.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the lead teacher snatch D and sit him down decisively on a bench. It was a familiar move — remove him abruptly from where he's causing trouble and isolate him. A quick grab-and-plop contains an element of surprise and a little reminder that adults really do have the upper hand. Once he starts acting out, D doesn't respond to subtle appeals to reason, but he'll listen a bit once he's been cowed.
On the other side of the fence, residents come outside to smoke. Literally, the no-smoking sign in the playground is back-to-back with the smokers' benches.
A very large woman sharing a cigarette with another woman saw the teacher sit D down. She started shouting about how the teacher had jerked him and slammed him on the bench. I'm calling D's mother to tell her how they're beating her son. That's why I won't put my kids in day care! (No. I'll make them sit out on the hot concrete while I smoke cigarettes and ignore them.)
She stormed around trying to enlist other people to join her outrage. D's mother, who was at work, no doubt got a call from Angrywoman and was needlessly distressed over this. The teacher may face a complaint. She was asking us, did you see it? Did I sit him down too hard?
We've all done the same thing with D when he had to be separated from the other kids. We're firm and we don't take his crap. But we also see the good in him and keep trying to bring more of that out, to teach him how to play with others, to show him that bad actions have consequences. We have a responsibility to keep all the kids safe.
Angrywoman is living in a shelter with her kids. Maybe there's no man around. She's hugely overweight and has a bit of a beard. Life isn't going well for her right now. She's got to fell pretty powerless.
So she sees a white woman act roughly toward a black kid, and she's not going to stand for it. Her outrage is genuine and her protest feels righteous. In this case, she's going to make a difference.
I get all that. But in this case, she's wrong.
Recent Comments