Sunday, May 28, 2017

The Long-Term Sub

In a previous post I told the story of how I work in a kindergarten class that has seen a lot of changes this year. The regular teacher had a baby, and then a long-term substitute came in to fill her shoes for what ended up being about 10 weeks.

The sub's style was a drastic change from what the children had grown accustomed to. All the basic behavior management strategies employed by the original teacher were immediately discarded and replaced with sticker chart systems, sparkle raffles, and last minute schedule changes intended to keep the children interested by constantly stimulating them.

Not surprisingly, the class became louder and more rowdy with the substitute. I had to sit in a corner for almost three straight weeks with one student on the autism spectrum, reviewing social stories with him in an attempt to keep the child calm while the class went crazy.

When I brought up the well being of the above student with the sub, however, I was told that he was the problem. That his behaviors were out of control and that something needed to be done to keep him from wandering the room and having meltdowns.

She had all kinds of ideas, many of them good, most of which I implemented along with writing a functional behavioral assessment, a behavior intervention plan, and requesting that data be kept throughout the entire day (even when I wasn't in the room).

For all the substitute's insistence that the student needed the added visual supports we implemented, she didn't use them consistently. For all her verbal statements of support for the collection of quantitative data, she refused to use the clicker I gave her or to fill out the data sheets in the moments when episodes occurred. Instead she would fill in her parts of the data many minutes or hours after events occurred.

She was obsessed with the students who displayed poor behavior in that class and zeroed in on them with such force that students who had previously behaved started misbehaving either for attention and for the benefit of receiving rewards like ipad time and special chairs. I kept waiting for the class to become calm again and for the number of kids having behavior problems to decrease...

..

..

When the original teacher left, there were 5 students who demonstrated consistent behavioral problems. But by the end of the long term sub's time in that classroom there were 13.

A few days ago I was given a stack of placement forms to help fill out for the kindergarten class. Here are a few comments the long term sub wrote about her least favorite students:

"If something happens that upsets him, he becomes very angry (hot temper)."

"If she does not get her way, she will throw a full-blown tantrum where she throws herself on the floor/screams/refuses to follow directions."

"Even with support he still displays disruptive behaviors such as screaming/shouting, bad words, throwing objects, throwing himself on the floor."

"She is not disruptive, but often times is in 'la la land.'"

As an educator I am flabbergasted by how unprofessional this is. As a parent I am furious.

Saturday, May 27, 2017

The Anniversary

I stuck with my ex-husband for almost 15 years, and I never remember being excited for an anniversary. Back then the occasion usually consisted of going out to eat and having sex.

That was it.

It didn't feel special.

But my boyfriend and I have been together for three years next week, and I am super excited for our anniversary! Interestingly enough we don't live together. We don't share children. And both of us are weighed down by commitments to our own communities, kids, and careers.

This is not a conventional relationship.

And yet we are committed to each other. I'm over the moon happy for our anniversary celebration.

This is a man who knows how to touch and how to listen. His eyes are my sunrise. His voice is my home. His mind a playground where I can spin and swing and slide. I hear the sound of the ice cream truck, and then the two of us look up and run through the mulch and over the grass to the vendor waiting at the curb. A pop sickle is thrust into my hands: sticky and purple. It melts on my tongue the way my stress melts each and every time we spend time together.

I didn't used to believe in soulmates.

Now I do.

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Riding in Cars Without Boys

Today is Mother's Day; I want the world to know I'm grateful for my children, even if I don't love their father anymore.

In fairness, I loved him for well over a decade, but there are certain things love cannot survive. Or rather, there are things love can survive in small doses, things that upon first inspection appear innocuous, but that can build to a level of toxicity when administered on a continuous basis: coldness, lack of affection, exacting standards I could never meet.   

"Andy, make that kid stop crying! Make her stop, or I will!"

I never thought he'd hurt the children. Even on the one occasion when he lifted our infant daughter from the crib and dangled her over the stairwell of our house by her ankles, I didn't think he'd drop her. Not for real. And yet I'd had to talk him down. "Hand me the baby. Go back to bed."

He pivoted until the child no longer hung over the stairwell, and I quickly snatched her into the safety of my arms. When he went back into the bedroom and turned the fan on full blast, I just stood there in a state of shock. He loved our daughter. Why would he do that?

Thank God she was too young to remember!

Today is Mother's day, and I am thankful for my children. They are alive. They are healthy. They are happy. This speaks volumes to the resilience of my kids and to the many friends who have reached out over the past few years. It is a credit to caring teachers and to conscientious therapists. 

It isn't a credit to my brothers, unfortunately.

Growing up in a religious home that claimed to be all about family, I really believed blood was thicker than water. I was close with my brothers. It took me years to tell anyone the story about the stairwell, and when I finally did, my older brother was the one who heard it. 

"Let it go," he said.

I was still married then.

Instead of stepping into my shoes, my brother launched into a defense of my husband's actions. Unfortunately, this pattern held. After the divorce, my older brother stopped returning phone calls. My younger brother, who asked for details during the separation, responded to my honesty by saying sexual consent wasn't a thing in marriage. And that marital rape wasn't real. 

Since leaving my husband, my brothers treat me differently There is no texting. My phone calls aren't returned. And landmarks like my birthday or Mother's day or Christmas are punctuated only by a foreboding silence. I no longer feel like I ever had a family.

It was a boy's club. 

When Reality Sinks In

I am average--5'6" with a medium build, slightly ruddy skin tone, my hair neither brown nor blond. My IQ hovers somewhere between 1...