Lost at School (8 page)

There are also convincing data documenting increased rates of ODD and CD in kids with mood disorders (i.e., those who have difficulty with skills related to the regulating of one’s emotions, including managing one’s emotional response to frustration so as to think rationally [separation of affect]),
³
and in kids who are socially impaired (including skills such as accurately interpreting social cues, seeking attention in appropriate ways, appreciating how one’s behavior is affecting others, empathizing, and appreciating how one is being perceived by others).
⁴
The research literature has increasingly shown that kids with language processing delays (including skills such as considering a range of solutions to a problem; expressing concerns, needs, or thoughts in words; and understanding what is being said) are at significantly greater risk for ODD and CD as well.
⁵
And there is a persuasive and growing literature documenting the very challenging behaviors that can accompany autism spectrum disorders and nonverbal learning disability (and the black-and-white, concrete, literal thinking that typifies these disorders).
⁶

We’ve learned a lot about children’s brains in the last thirty years. We now know how challenging kids come to be challenging. It’s time for our actions to reflect our knowledge.

Question:
You mentioned that kids with behavioral challenges aren’t usually challenging every second of every waking hour. Some kids are challenging at home and not at school, others at school and not at home, and others in both places. If it’s true that the kid is lacking skills, then why would he be exhibiting challenging behavior in one place and not another? Isn’t the discrepancy in behavior between home and school proof that he’s
choosing
to behave one way in one place and another way in the other? Isn’t that a sign that the kid is doing well when he wants to?

Answer:
Actually, it’s proof that challenging behavior is specific to certain conditions: those where skills are being required that the child does not yet sufficiently possess or where he continues to confront problems that he hasn’t been able to solve.

Especially in cases where a kid is more challenging at home than school, it’s common for people to explain the disparity as the result of poor parenting. Now you know better. The school environment may have advantages that reduce the likelihood of challenging behavior in some kids. School environments tend to be more structured and predictable than home environments, and this can reduce the likelihood of challenging behavior in some (but by no means all) challenging kids. Often medicines that are helpful for reducing challenging behavior at school have worn off by the time the kid arrives home. And some kids can manage to stay tightly wrapped during the school day and then completely unravel—some would say decompensate—once they’re at home again. Of course, most of us look a lot better when we’re outside the home than when we’re inside it!

Even when the reverse is true—if a kid’s challenges are greater at school than at home—it’s common for the finger to be pointed at parents (“The parents just let him do whatever he wants at home. No wonder he doesn’t act up with them.”). The more plausible and productive explanation is that the school is placing demands on the kid—for focused learning, self-starting, organizing, sustained effort, and getting along with others—that may not be nearly as intense at home. Best for adults to stop pointing and start identifying the kid’s lagging skills and unsolved problems.

The Story Continues …

Joey and his mother rode home in silence, Joey staring out the window from the backseat, Ms. Lowell feeling alone, frustrated, and at a loss. Joey attempted a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

His mother was trying hard not to scream or cry. “Don’t talk to me, Joey. I don’t want to hear anything right now.”

What’s the point of screaming and crying? she thought. Joey had been on the receiving end of many of her lectures and punishments over the years, but his problems remained.

It angered her that the people at school acted as though Joey’s problems
were all her fault. But they weren’t any better at dealing with Joey than she was. Worse, in fact. They just expected her to retrieve him when they decided they’d had enough.

She briefly considered calling her ex-husband, Joey’s father. The guy who had left it up to her to raise Joey. Actually, his lack of involvement, while an irritant, was better than the alternative. They had never agreed on how to deal with Joey anyway. Still, it sure would be nice to have
someone
to help out.

Joey’s mom conjured up the list of mental health professionals who’d worked with her and Joey over the years, seven at last count. The ones who told her to be more consistent, set firmer limits, use more consequences, and hold him accountable. The ones who prescribed medication that usually didn’t make things much better and often made things worse. Eventually, Joey just refused to keep going to therapy and taking medicine, and his mother didn’t see the point in forcing the issue anymore. None worth calling now.

Finally, they were home. When they entered the house, Joey went to his room and Ms. Lowell to her own. She sat down on her bed and started to cry.

Joey could hear his mother crying. He walked quietly to her room and knocked on the door. She quickly wiped away her tears as he opened it.

“Mom, I didn’t mean to hurt Mr. Middleton.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I screwed everything up again.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Me either.”

“I’m sorry you’re crying.”

“I’ll live.”

“Maybe I should go live with Dad.”

“Why, you think your father has any great ideas for how to keep you from going nuts at school?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do
you
have any great ideas for how to keep you from going nuts at school?”

“No.”

“Well, me either, Joey. So there it is. No one knows what to do. You’ve got us all baffled, pal.”

Joey didn’t say anything else. He closed the door, went back to his room, and buried his head in his pillow.

Mrs. Woods sat glumly at her desk at the end of the school day. She tried grading a few papers. She tried reading a memo from the superintendent. But something was gnawing at her. Joey.

She’d seen her share of challenging kids over the years, but she was still in disbelief about how quickly things had escalated in her classroom only a few hours earlier. She recalled what she’d heard about Joey from last year’s teachers: “Joey is like Jekyll and Hyde. One minute he’s minding his own business, the next minute he’s exploding, usually over practically nothing. I think he’s still upset over his parents’ divorce. I hear his mother has a pretty nasty temper, too!”

I guess I saw Hyde today, she thought. She sighed as she recognized a familiar knot growing in her stomach. How many of those had she experienced over the past five or six years?

Her team teacher, Mrs. Franco—known for running a tight ship and for her strong irreverent streak—stuck her head in the door. “You OK?”

“I don’t really know.”

Mrs. Franco walked into the room. “Tough day. What happened?”

“Which part? The blowing up, the telling Taylor he was going to kill her, or Mr. Middleton getting his jaw hurt?”

Mrs. Franco winced sympathetically.

Mrs. Woods picked up the superintendent’s memo from her desk. “Have you seen this? Here we are, trying to keep our heads above water with all these kids who need our attention, and we’re constantly being reminded that every kid needs to get over the same bar before the school year’s out. Like it’s a bunch of robots we’re teaching. Like I’m some sort of magician.”

“You’ve had a tough day,” said Mrs. Franco. “But look at the bright side.”

“What bright side?”

“It’s Friday. And Joey won’t be in your class for the next five days.”

* *  *

Mrs. Woods’ husband could always tell when she’d had a bad day at school. Normally, when he arrived home from work, she’d be listening to classical music and looking over her students’ work. On bad days the house was silent. He found her in the backyard watering annuals that had just suffered through the first frost.

“Looks like those flowers are done for,” he said.

“What makes you say that?” she snapped.

“Just that the frost seems to have got to ’em,” he said.

Mrs. Woods felt her eyes stinging. “They’ll be fine.”

“Tough day at school?”

“You could say that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I want to water my dead flowers a little longer.”

“Want me to make dinner tonight?”

“That would be nice.”

Mr. and Mrs. Woods had raised a son and daughter together, both well-behaved, both good students, both now in college. His wife’s increasing unhappiness and frustration at work were at odds with Mr. Woods’ vision of what should now be their “easy years.” As he began preparing dinner, he reminded himself not to give his wife advice about how to run her classroom. Mrs. Woods always grew impatient when she tried to explain to her husband that she couldn’t run her classroom like he ran his hardware store.

Mrs. Woods came in from the backyard. “Am I losing my mind, or did I just spend twenty minutes watering dead flowers?”

“You’re definitely losing your mind. So what happened at school today?”

“I had an ugly scene in my classroom. One of my kids lost it, Mr. Middleton got hit in the jaw, another of my kids got threatened, the kid who lost it ran out of the school and got suspended for five days …”

“Geez,” said Mr. Woods. “Middleton got hit in the jaw? Why’d the kid go nuts?”

“I asked him to come up to my desk because he wasn’t doing his work.”

“Middleton OK?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him after school.”

Mr. Woods’ eyes narrowed as he looked at his wife. “You OK?”

“Well, I didn’t get hit in the jaw, but the whole thing was pretty upsetting.”

“The kid went nuts because you asked him to come up to your desk? What’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know. I mean … that’s probably the most upsetting part. I don’t know what’s the matter with him. I couldn’t believe what was happening in my classroom.”

“So the kid got what he had coming to him,” said Mr. Woods. “I guess he’s going to learn that you don’t go nuts in Betty Galvin’s school.”

“Betty Galvin isn’t going to have the kid in her classroom when he comes back from being suspended.”

“Maybe”—Mr. Woods could feel himself slipping perilously into advice-giving mode—“Maybe it’s time for you to start thinking about …”

“This is exactly why I don’t like to tell you what happens in my classroom! If you start with that hardware store speech again I will leave!”

Mr. Woods recovered. “OK, OK, no hardware store speech. But I hate to see you upset like this. It’s just not worth it.”

“It
is
worth it! I
like
teaching!” said Mrs. Woods. “Well, I
used
to like teaching. But I’m not the type to run away from a problem.”

“That’s why you were out there watering dead flowers.”

“Very funny.”

“See, that’s my point. You keep telling me about how the kids keep getting more and more difficult. You keep telling me you don’t like to run away from problems, you want to help them. Maybe trying to help these kids is like watering dead flowers. Maybe there’s no helping them.”

Mrs. Woods thought for a moment. “I don’t believe that,” she said softly.

“All I know is if our kids ever acted that way …”

“Garrett and Lisa were easy,” said Mrs. Woods. “I don’t have trouble with the easy kids in my class. They’re easy. I have trouble with the
tough
kids. I don’t know what to do with the tough kids!”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” said Mr. Woods, turning his attention back to making dinner. “If you’re bound and determined to help the tough kids, then I guess you’ll have to find some way to figure it out.”

On Tuesday, Joey’s mother received a phone call at work.

“Hi, is this Mrs. Turner?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

“No, this is not Mrs. Turner,” she responded impatiently.

“Um, is Mrs. Turner there?”

“There is no Mrs. Turner here,” she said with curt satisfaction.

She heard the caller fumbling with papers. “Oops, uh … sorry. Oh, I see here, Turner’s your husband’s name …”

“He’s not my husband anymore,” she said tersely, while feeling slight pity for the confused-sounding man on the other end of the phone. “Who is this anyways?”

“Oh, um … I’m sorry. Yes, now I see … Ms.
Lowell,
yes?”

“You got it. What can I do for you?”

“My name is Carl Bridgman. I’m the new psychologist at Joey’s school. Is this a good time?”

Oh, great, Joey’s mother thought. Another shrink. She tried to suppress her well-established frustration with the mental health profession. “No,” she lied, “this is not a good time.”

“Sorry about the confusion. I’m kind of new to the school system, and I just received Joey’s file this morning. I understand there was a problem at school last week.”

“You could say that.”

“I’d really like to understand what happened in that classroom,” said Dr. Bridgman.

“You’re not the only one,” said Joey’s mother.

“It sounds like this is a bad time for you, but I’m thinking it might be a good idea for me to meet you and Joey, you know, so I can start to get a handle on things.”

“Mr. Bridgman … that’s what you said your name was?” asked Joey’s mother.

“Well, it’s Doctor Bridgman, but whatever.”

“Doctor Bridgman,” said Joey’s mother, “if you can get a handle on what’s going on with my son, you’ll be the first to accomplish the feat.”

“Hmm … I take it others have tried.”

“You’d be number eight.”

“Sounds like Joey’s been struggling for quite a while.”

“I thought you said you had his file in front of you.”