A Terrible Beauty: What Teachers Know but Seldom Tell outside the Staff Room (16 page)

Aurora picked her up at six a.m., Honda wagon
smelling of roast turkey and oatmeal cookies. Mouth watering,
Solange wished she hadn’t skipped breakfast. They rode in silence
until they were out of the city, the only sound wipers and heavy
rain against the windshield.

She could tell Aurora had something to say. Whatever
it was, she wished she would say it.

“Lordy, if this rain keeps up we’ll need an ark!
River Road’s already under a foot of water.”

Solange waited—there was something else.

“This is Dai’s last week, isn’t it?” Aurora said.

That was it. “It might be.”

Aurora drove as if considering whether or not to say
more. At last she sighed, turning to look at Solange. “He’s a very
special person. I can’t imagine Elk River without him. There are
only a few of us left who don’t take it all so seriously. So many
of the new teachers, like those clucks at the other end of the
table, think every new philosophy that comes down the pike is going
to save the world. They get so excited about everything, you’d
think they thought of it.”

Solange wondered where this was heading.

“After the accident I think he just decided not to
lie any more.”

The wipers worked as they drove past sodden forest
and pasture.

“I’m with him, but let’s face it, where would we all
be if we stopped playing along? We’re not ready for that much
honesty, are we? It scares us, that much truth all at once. The
lies are so comfortable, so soft and cozy.”

Solange frowned. “What is the truth, then?”

Aurora, gripping the wheel tightly, leaned forward to
peer out the fogged window, then laughed her goofy laugh. “That
it’s all flimflam.”

She didn’t understand. “Flimflam?”

“All that about meeting every child’s needs. The
truth is that some kids can be educated, and others can’t, period.
That it’s nine parts what the kid will do—can do—to one part
teacher and school. That’s it, that’s the ugly truth we don’t want
anybody to know.” Aurora raised a hand, palm up between them.
“Well? Isn’t It? That’s why we spend all our time running around
muddying the waters with new programs, new acronyms, new code
words. By the time anyone’s figured out the alphabet soup, we’re on
to the next one.”

Solange smiled to hear truth so simply put.

“Hmm?” Aurora said. “Isn’t that right?”

Solange couldn’t resist a laugh. Of course it was
right.

Aurora turned to look at her. “Now I want you to look
me in the eye and tell me you think Dai’s a bad teacher.”

Solange saw she was perfectly serious, and looked
away, furious at herself for being suckered in. She couldn’t and
Aurora knew it.

Aurora nodded, biting her lip. “Uh huh, that’s what I
thought. Well, at least you’re that honest.”

• • •

Solange found O’Connel in his room upstairs.

He met her at the door.

“Come on, we’re late.” She checked her watch. “Late?
It’s seven to seven.”

“I’ve got a meeting with my pod this morning at
seven.” She dropped her bag on a desk, confused. “Isn’t it a little
late to find religion?”

“It’s never too late, at least that’s what I hear.
Come on, I want you to see why I stopped going.” She shrugged. “I
wouldn’t miss it.”

• • •

They met in Karl’s room. Sid, Karl, the VP and two
other teachers had pulled desks into a circle.

Parnell, spotting O’Connel, dropped his jaw. “You
lost?” Calandra made a place for them. “Ms. Gonsalvas must have
dragged him here.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” O’Connel said, impatient with the
ribbing. “I’m here, okay? Let’s get on with it.”

Parnell handed each of them a paper listing student’s
names, and their infractions for the quarter.

O’Connel groaned under his breath. Already the
novelty was wearing thin. He remembered now why it was he hadn’t
been to a meeting in over a year. Although well intentioned, they
were a supreme waste of time. Calling a parent for the
10
^th
time, scheduling another meeting, none of it
changed anything. If the parents could do anything, they would have
done it.

He smiled, remembering a mother he’d asked for help
with her son’s behavior during a conference. She said she hadn’t
called him for help all summer, so why was he bothering her during
the school year. What could be more fair? First up was a boy
classified special ed. His offenses took up three inches
single-spaced. No serious mayhem, just little things, things that
made teaching a chore and kept anyone else from learning.

“He doesn’t belong in our classrooms,” Calandra said,
tapping his pencil on the desktop.

Olivia, a petite woman with large brown eyes, opened
a file. She was the pod’s special ed teacher. “As you know, he’s
entitled to be taught in the least restrictive environment.”

“Entitled by law to make sure no one else learns,
either,” Lott said.

Karen, a first year teacher, shook a pencil for their
attention, and O’Connel hid his eyes. Sententious and overbearing,
her pontification was something to be endured.

“His Individual Educational Program says he’s to be
taught on his level and given individual instruction.”

“How are we supposed to teach him one-on-one when
we’ve got thirty other kids in here?” Karl said. “He can’t read,
let alone do the math I give him.”

“It’s your responsibility to find a way to do it,”
Karen said. “He’s got the right to be there.”

“His parents are very up on their rights,” Olivia
said. “I’ve tried to suggest to them that he stay in my classroom,
but they want him mainstreamed. They’re very positive about
that.”

“Are they the ones who threatened to sue?” Karl
said.

She nodded. “They want him in the regular classroom.
They won’t even listen to anything else.”

“Ah, yes, the least restrictive environment,” Sid
said. “Dear Lord, we wouldn’t want to restrict anybody.”

“Oh, hell, no,” Karl said.

“I don’t know what else to suggest,” Olivia said.
“I’m already offering him a pizza and soda every Friday if he can
stay out of trouble during the week and remember to take around his
progress report for all his teachers to sign.”

“I haven’t seen it yet,” Karl said.

Olivia shrugged. “He’s never brought me a completed
report, but then he hasn’t been able to stay out of trouble,
either.”

“So, what,” Sid said, through a mouthful of carrot,
“Is there anything we can do about this kid?” He sat up straight,
taking off his glasses. “I mean, he’s not a bad kid, he just needs
somebody to sit there with him and hold his hand. We can’t do
that—not and teach too.”

Olivia shook her head, looking hopeless. “I’ll call
Mom again and see if I can meet with her. We’ll see.” With nothing
solved, they went on to the next in line. It was Lyle Walker, the
boy he’d put up against the wall. O’Connel scanned down the rap
sheet. He had been thrown out of class a half dozen times this
quarter. They’d met with his parents, both of them teachers, three
times. Lyle had signed a behavior contract. The counselor had
counseled him. The psychologist had analyzed him. He’d been
assigned lunch detention, kept after school, suspended—none of it
had worked.

“Well,” Olivia said, “I don’t know where we can go
from here with Lyle.”

“What’d he do now?” O’Connel asked. “I heard some
kids talking about him this morning in the hall but didn’t catch
what they said.”

“That’s right,” Olivia said. “You don’t have him in
your class any more, do you?”

“Yesterday,” Parnell said, “after he left your class,
he called Olivia a bitch, threatened to blow her head off.”
O’Connel waited for him to go on. The faces around him were blank.
“Well?”

“I sent him home for the rest of the day.” O’Connel
was sure he’d misunderstood. “You sent him home? For the day?”
Parnell kept up his doodling, eyes on his legal pad. “His parents
are both teachers in the district.”

“You know,” Olivia said, “I kind of wonder if it
wasn’t my fault the whole thing happened.”

“What do you mean, your fault?” O’Connel said, not
believing.

“I may have pushed him too hard. Maybe if I’d handled
it differently—”

He slapped the desktop. “Will you listen to
yourself?” O’Connel said, wanting to throw something. “You’re a
smart, tough, caring teacher, and he threatened to kill you in
front of your class. That’s not your fault, it’s his! That’s
assault, he should be in jail. So what, he gets a couple hours at
home watching the tube?”

“Judy says he may be O.D.D., and that may be
why—”

“Oh, come off it! This kid’s been around the pike so
many times he knows he can do whatever he wants and get away with
it.” O’Connel held up the list. “Look at this rap sheet— spitting
on a student, profanity, bullying, disrespect, obscene behavior,
open defiance, on and on.” Calandra spoke up, “I heard you threw
him out of your class yesterday. “ O’Connel nodded.

Parnell leaned forward, tapping his eraser on the
desk. “You never should have touched him.”

“I’d had it, Dean.”

“Well, all this is beside the point anyway,” Karl
said. “Next week starts the second quarter. Now we wipe the slate
clean and start fresh.” Sid leaned back in his chair, crossing long
legs out in front of him. “Hey, what a system, huh?” O’Connel
clamped his jaw, glancing at Solange, who seemed relieved he hadn’t
exploded.

Next on the list was Burl, a boy with an insolent
smile and a smart mouth. His mother made sure they all knew he had
epilepsy, and that whatever he did, it was because of his medical
condition. If he sat and stared in class, it was because he was
having a seizure.

When he did nothing but talk and shoot rubber bands,
it was because of epilepsy. When he turned in sloppy, incomplete
work, or forgot to turn it in at all, that was epilepsy, too.

“He hasn’t turned in a completed assignment all
quarter in math,” Karl said. “Mama says he said he turned them in,
though.” He held up his hands. “Gee, guess I lost them all?” Sid
scratched his head. “Anybody see a pattern here?” O’Connel closed
his grade book. “What are we doing here, making ourselves feel
better? This jerk circle doesn’t change one thing. We may be
fooling ourselves with all these meetings, but we’re sure as hell
not kidding them. The kids know what’s going on, and it’s nothing
for them to worry about. Kids see the bottom line…is anything going
to happen if I do this, or not. And I’m not talking about fifteen
minutes detention a week later.”

“I see nothing wrong with our detention system,”
Karen said.

“To a kid, a consequence happens now, not at some
remote time in the future. Now, right now! When a puppy wets the
carpet, you don’t wait a week to swat it. We’re not willing to give
kids consequences unpleasant enough and soon enough for them to
understand.”

Karen shook her head. “I just don’t see what you’re
getting at. We’ve got assertive discipline guidelines in place that
work just fine.”

“What about the kid last week who wandered into the
safe and walked out with a thousand dollars of student council
money? Three days suspension? Three days? That’s what grand theft
gets you now? You think we’re not sending a message with that?
“This kid’s a legend around school now, it’s like he’s Billy the
Kid. Remember the eighth grader last year who robbed a bank and
kidnapped a teller? Eighth grader— if the courts hadn’t stepped in,
he’d still be in school, I have no doubt.”

“If you’re talking about corporal punishment, I can
tell you that I’m glad we’re no longer living in the bad old days,”
Karen said.

“You don’t swat a dog that bites people,” O’Connel
said. “You get rid of them. Are we so afraid of losing five percent
of the kids that we’re willing to let them take the other
ninety-five with them?” He pointed at Parnell. “You know, one of
these days, these parents, the same ones who let their kids get
away with this crap, are going to figure out that they can sue the
district for a million dollars when their kids graduate and still
can’t read. I’m surprised no one’s thought of it yet. It’ll happen,
wait and see.”

“Hey,” said Lott, “maybe I’ll go to law school.”
Parnell, who’d been listening to all this while fiddling with his
pencil, shook his head. “C’mon, Dai, I’m tired of always being the
heavy in this dime novel.” He spread his hands. “You’re no virgin.
You know how it works. Before I can move for an expulsion hearing,
the superintendent wants every base covered. We send the kid to the
psychologist and they almost always come back with a section 504
disability.” He laughed, rubbing his eyes wearily. “My favorite’s
O.D.D. Oppositional Defiant Disorder. It basically means he has the
tendency to tell you to go screw yourself” Parnell stabbed the air
with a finger. “Gotcha! Now he’s special ed—can’t be expelled.
Beautiful, ain’t it? The serpent swallows its tail. Now we get to
sit down and write him an Individualized Educational Program.” He
threw up his hands and smiled. “Guess that shows us, huh? “I just
sat in on a meeting last week for one kid whose parents insisted we
give him the right to get up and walk out of class whenever he
feels like he might get in trouble. This is written in his IEP,
now. He made a big show of walking out of class five times
yesterday.” He held up five fingers. “Five times! You think that
kid doesn’t have our number? “Some of these kids—” He shook his
head, disgust plain on his face. “If you knew the things they went
through— Sometimes I just want to grab parents and tell them— ‘Hey,
you know what? You shouldn’t even have kids.’ But, you know, you’ve
got to be political, so I just suggest counseling.”

Karen shook her head. “I don’t know what all that has
to do with the students we’re discussing, but we have a
responsibility to all the children here,” she said, facing
O’Connel, “no matter what difficulties they may have.”