J

This week was a rough one.

My lesson plans were flawless, I had great activities and awesome ideas for implementing them. Somehow, though, it all fell apart. I'll focus on the one particular situation that's weighing pretty heavily on my mind right now to reflect on why I'm here and what I'm doing.

J has been an interesting student from day one. Our faculty adviser told us to "watch out" for him because he's such a "trouble maker" and has "no interest in learning." That, I believe, is completely false. I knew that J wanted to learn the second he walked through the door. He slammed his books down on the desk and complained immediately about having assigned seats. He has fought me on everything from whether he turned in his homework to the average points Kobe makes per game. He has a big attitude and a major anger management problem. He's one of my students with special needs--his fine motor skills are very underdeveloped and he suffers greatly with ADD and auditory processing. He reads and writes on a fifth grade level at best. He is often distracted and has a hard time staying on task. When confronted about his behavior in any way, he tends to take the defensive immediately. His referral log is literally pages long and chalked full of everything from sexual harassment to verbal abuse. All of this, and I still want to believe in this kid. J is one of the most earnest and sincere people I've ever met in my life. I know that deep down, he's all bark and no bite. This theory (and my patience) was put to the test on Thursday.

The students had been preparing for a midterm all week. I'd been doing all I could to pump them up, from writing inspirational messages on the board to showing them their progress toward their individual growth goals. But despite all the warm-fuzzies, I could tell J was still frustrated. I tried talking to him, but he told me he was "fine." When I asked him about his low test scores, he repeatedly said, "Ah, miss, I'm just a little messed up today." I believed him. I thought he could do better and since he wasn't responsive to my offerings to help him, I left him alone.

Thursday was test day. Juan was late to class and fussed with his backpack for a good ten minutes while we handed out the test. I asked him to keep it down--I often allow him to hum quietly to himself so as to accommodate his needs, but since it was test day I though I should be a little more strict. He immediately went on the defensive. He turned his head away from me when I tried to ask if he needed help during the first few minutes of the test. He put his head down on his desk and was leaving answers blank. Finally, J resorted to his same old trick: cheating. His file is full of referrals for cheating, and even though he usually gets caught, J would rather be sent to the principal than be embarrassed by his lack of understanding for the material. After all, this guy commands an audience. Everyone loves him, and he acts like the ringleader of the circus that is my classroom. And the ringleader can never fail.

I noticed J cheating from the beginning. I decided to use proximity and stood right next to him for about three minutes before he noticed me. He looked up at me with the most fiery look in his eyes and said, "Miss, why you be starin' at me?!" I was taken aback by his language and tone. The other students noticed, too, and looked up from their tests. I told him that I could see his eyes moving and that he needed to keep them on his own paper. He let out an exasperated sigh and said something (derogatory I'm sure) in Spanish under his breathe. I let it slide--BIG MISTAKE. There were questions popping up around the room about the test, so I continued to circulate. I kept one eye on J, but he seemed to be doing OK. Actually, he was solving a lot of the problems on his own. I spent about a minute helping another student who has trouble with reading understand a word problem, and the minute I looked up again, Juan was blatantly cheating off of the paper of the girl sitting next to him. He didn't even try to hide it. I marched over to him in the most authoritative way imaginable and told him he had to move to the front row in the corner immediately. He pushed his chair out from behind him and puffed out his chest, lowering his 6-foot frame to eye-level with me. "Miss, I'm not gonna tell you again. I. AIN'T CHEATIN'". I have never felt so small. Not only was I afraid for my personal safety, but I was afraid for the safety of my class. At this point, my faculty adviser jumped in and escorted J to the principal's office where a referral was logged and J was sent home.

Obviously, I was upset. The principal, Mr. M, told me it was my call how to punish J. Either I could log a major referral and kick him out of summer school for good, or I could log a minor referral and give him a second chance. And then there was the issue of what to do with his midterm grade. Should I give him a zero, which is our policy but would guarantee that he would fail the class? Or should I allow him some sort of make-up?

I didn't sleep last night. I literally stared at my ceiling and rehearsed the ways I would talk to him, the strategies I could use, the policies I'd follow. After having my personal safety threatened, I was torn between feeling personally angry and disappointed both in him and myself. At the same time, I knew that I couldn't kick him out of class. Where would he go? This is a 15 year-old boy who has a one year-old son and has already failed geometry twice. He already thinks he's dumb, and there's a good chance that not many people have told him that they believe in him before. I played every scenario out, from him hugging me to him punching me; from a teary apology to a fight ending in tears. This morning, though, I knew what I had to do.

I went to the principal's office first thing this morning. J was given a minor referral. During the first ten minutes of class, I called J out into the hallway. He must have heard my heart beating through my chest, because he calmly stared out over the busy Inglewood streets. We had a heart-to-heart, and he apologized for disrespecting me. He promised to be on my side, and agreed that he'd work hard to make up for the ground he'd lost for messing up. I decided that I had to give him a zero on the midterm, but promised him that his final assessment grade would count both for his final AND his midterm. His hard work, then, both behaviorally and academically would save him in the end.

Today in class, J was my biggest advocate. He didn't fight me on anything. When I asked him to turn around in his seat and get busy on an assignment, he did it.

Toward the end of class, I went around and helped students who were struggling with homework. I stopped at J last. He couldn't understand how exactly to classify angles. Suddenly, as I was explaining it to him, something clicked. He started rattling off every answer to my questions exactly right. I freaked out, did a dance, gave him a high five, and made his whole group clap. And, for the first time in awhile, J cracked a huge smile.