LJ Idol Week 7: Feckless
“That’s it. I’m done,” Juan declared as he packed up his belongings and strode toward the classroom door. “I’m going to the office.”
“If you leave class, I’ll have to call your father,” I reminded him, barely looking away from the student I was assisting.
“Ugh, why?” he whined.
“School policy.”
“Fine,” he grumbled as he slumped back into his seat.
***
“Do I have to go?” he asked me. “Everyone is just going to talk bad about me to my father.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” I insisted. “At these meetings, we discuss your progress, good and bad, in the last year. Don’t we have good things to share this year?”
“No,” he scoffed.
“Well, I get to share that you tested out of my ELA class this year,” I suggested.
“Yeah, sure.”
“And have you been getting into trouble this year?”
“Not really.”
“Maybe a little minor stuff, like talking during class, but nothing like being sent out of class, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Exactly,” I smiled. “And whose education will we be discussing?”
“Mine,” he mumbled.
“Don’t you want to have a say in what we decide for you?”
“I guess.”
***
“Given his weaknesses in verbal working memory and auditory processing, Juan continues to be eligible for special education services as a student with a specific learning disability,” reported the psychologist.
Perpendicular to her right, Juan paled and his eyes watered. “But I don’t want that,” he protested.
We proceeded to explain to him that we offer a continuum of services from classes where below grade level material is taught because students have gaps in skills to little to no assistance, such as just being afforded extra time to complete work. “For you, specifically, we want to place you in our co-taught classes. That means that there will be two teachers in each of your classes to support you. We think this is the correct spot for you because you struggled in math last year, but due to other classes that you needed at the same time, we weren’t able to move you into co-teaching last year, and to help you make the transition from my ELA class to a grade level ELA class.”
“Do you understand what I do, Juan?” I asked after a pause.
“Sure,” he replied, “You’re a teacher.”
“Well, yes, but I am also a case manager. I may not be one of your teachers anymore, but I am still your case manager. When you have issues in any of your classes, you can come see me and we can try to figure them out together.”
***
“Hi, Mrs. D,” Juan said as he slid into the room with a smile. “I’m back in your class.”
“Uh huh. How are you?” I asked.
“I just wanted to tell you that I got my grade up in ELA.”
“I’m glad to hear that. What about math?”
“Math’s hard, but she helps us a lot.”
“Good. You better hurry to class so that you’re not late.”
“Bye!” he yelled behind him as he rushed out of the door toward his actual class.
***
“Why are you always in here?” a student asked as I looked up to see Juan approaching.
“Because I don’t get to see Mrs. D. anymore.” He flashed the other student a smile, who went and sat down at his desk.
“I asked her again and she still hasn’t done it,” he complained, turning back to me.
“How did you ask her?”
“I talked to her before class, like you said, and explained that I couldn’t see the board where I was sitting and she just told me to go sit down.”
“Okay, I’ll speak to her. Don’t be late to class.”
After class, I sent his elective teacher an email explaining that Juan is having trouble seeing the board during class and, therefore, taking the appropriate notes and asking if she could move him to where he could see better because, after all, preferential seating is written into his IEP. “I will adjust his seat once he earns it,” said the response the following day.
A few days later, Juan appeared after class with tears streaming down his face. “He sprayed perfume in my eye and she didn’t even do anything to him! And I got sent out of class because I went to wash my face!”
“Okay, okay. Let me speak to your counselor and see what other class options we have without disrupting your other classes.”
***
“She sent me out again!” he said as he burst through the door.
“What happened?”
“She wouldn’t even let me in the classroom. She just handed me this,” he says as he waved a stapled packet of papers around, “and told me not to come back until it was finished. Multiplication tables! She told me I need more practice, but this is an insult.”
“Juan, I want to be honest with you. A lot of your teachers are frustrated with your behavior lately. They’re telling me that you’re disrupting your classes and that you’re not completing your work. Yesterday, your ELA teacher called me because you were arguing during a test.”
“Oh, you know about that?”
“Yes, and you know what I told her to do?”
“No,” he replied hesitantly.
“I told her to kick you out of class. There’s a lot of other students on my caseload in that class that I have to look out for just like I do you. You’re putting me in the position of having to choose between you and them and, if removing you from class, allows more students to learn, then we have to do it." I sighed. "I can't do it for you. All I can do is give you the tools to be successful; you have to choose to use them. I appreciate that you come to me to work through things with you, but I'm not going to be there next year. High school is a lot different than middle school and your teachers won't hesitate to send you out of class if you won't follow directions."
"They just don't like me," he insisted.
"I'm so sorry that you feel that way, but I assure you that that is not the case. You have some amazing teachers who are willing to help you just as much as I am, but we can't care more than you. I'm concerned about you, Juan. This is not the way you'll become the first person in your family to go to college."
"I know, I know," he said as the bell rang.
I don't know how this story will end--I don't know whether, over the next couple of years, I'll hear how wonderfully Juan is doing at the high school or if I'll hear that he continues to be kicked out of class and fail his classes, but I know which one I'm hoping for.
“If you leave class, I’ll have to call your father,” I reminded him, barely looking away from the student I was assisting.
“Ugh, why?” he whined.
“School policy.”
“Fine,” he grumbled as he slumped back into his seat.
***
“Do I have to go?” he asked me. “Everyone is just going to talk bad about me to my father.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” I insisted. “At these meetings, we discuss your progress, good and bad, in the last year. Don’t we have good things to share this year?”
“No,” he scoffed.
“Well, I get to share that you tested out of my ELA class this year,” I suggested.
“Yeah, sure.”
“And have you been getting into trouble this year?”
“Not really.”
“Maybe a little minor stuff, like talking during class, but nothing like being sent out of class, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Exactly,” I smiled. “And whose education will we be discussing?”
“Mine,” he mumbled.
“Don’t you want to have a say in what we decide for you?”
“I guess.”
***
“Given his weaknesses in verbal working memory and auditory processing, Juan continues to be eligible for special education services as a student with a specific learning disability,” reported the psychologist.
Perpendicular to her right, Juan paled and his eyes watered. “But I don’t want that,” he protested.
We proceeded to explain to him that we offer a continuum of services from classes where below grade level material is taught because students have gaps in skills to little to no assistance, such as just being afforded extra time to complete work. “For you, specifically, we want to place you in our co-taught classes. That means that there will be two teachers in each of your classes to support you. We think this is the correct spot for you because you struggled in math last year, but due to other classes that you needed at the same time, we weren’t able to move you into co-teaching last year, and to help you make the transition from my ELA class to a grade level ELA class.”
“Do you understand what I do, Juan?” I asked after a pause.
“Sure,” he replied, “You’re a teacher.”
“Well, yes, but I am also a case manager. I may not be one of your teachers anymore, but I am still your case manager. When you have issues in any of your classes, you can come see me and we can try to figure them out together.”
***
“Hi, Mrs. D,” Juan said as he slid into the room with a smile. “I’m back in your class.”
“Uh huh. How are you?” I asked.
“I just wanted to tell you that I got my grade up in ELA.”
“I’m glad to hear that. What about math?”
“Math’s hard, but she helps us a lot.”
“Good. You better hurry to class so that you’re not late.”
“Bye!” he yelled behind him as he rushed out of the door toward his actual class.
***
“Why are you always in here?” a student asked as I looked up to see Juan approaching.
“Because I don’t get to see Mrs. D. anymore.” He flashed the other student a smile, who went and sat down at his desk.
“I asked her again and she still hasn’t done it,” he complained, turning back to me.
“How did you ask her?”
“I talked to her before class, like you said, and explained that I couldn’t see the board where I was sitting and she just told me to go sit down.”
“Okay, I’ll speak to her. Don’t be late to class.”
After class, I sent his elective teacher an email explaining that Juan is having trouble seeing the board during class and, therefore, taking the appropriate notes and asking if she could move him to where he could see better because, after all, preferential seating is written into his IEP. “I will adjust his seat once he earns it,” said the response the following day.
A few days later, Juan appeared after class with tears streaming down his face. “He sprayed perfume in my eye and she didn’t even do anything to him! And I got sent out of class because I went to wash my face!”
“Okay, okay. Let me speak to your counselor and see what other class options we have without disrupting your other classes.”
***
“She sent me out again!” he said as he burst through the door.
“What happened?”
“She wouldn’t even let me in the classroom. She just handed me this,” he says as he waved a stapled packet of papers around, “and told me not to come back until it was finished. Multiplication tables! She told me I need more practice, but this is an insult.”
“Juan, I want to be honest with you. A lot of your teachers are frustrated with your behavior lately. They’re telling me that you’re disrupting your classes and that you’re not completing your work. Yesterday, your ELA teacher called me because you were arguing during a test.”
“Oh, you know about that?”
“Yes, and you know what I told her to do?”
“No,” he replied hesitantly.
“I told her to kick you out of class. There’s a lot of other students on my caseload in that class that I have to look out for just like I do you. You’re putting me in the position of having to choose between you and them and, if removing you from class, allows more students to learn, then we have to do it." I sighed. "I can't do it for you. All I can do is give you the tools to be successful; you have to choose to use them. I appreciate that you come to me to work through things with you, but I'm not going to be there next year. High school is a lot different than middle school and your teachers won't hesitate to send you out of class if you won't follow directions."
"They just don't like me," he insisted.
"I'm so sorry that you feel that way, but I assure you that that is not the case. You have some amazing teachers who are willing to help you just as much as I am, but we can't care more than you. I'm concerned about you, Juan. This is not the way you'll become the first person in your family to go to college."
"I know, I know," he said as the bell rang.
I don't know how this story will end--I don't know whether, over the next couple of years, I'll hear how wonderfully Juan is doing at the high school or if I'll hear that he continues to be kicked out of class and fail his classes, but I know which one I'm hoping for.