nowhere meeting

My dear MC, the boy who can't contain himself, the boy who is like a two year old inside a (large) seven year old body, who can write his own name but that's about it, is at it again. He's run from my classroom a thousand times already, and lately he's taken to running down stairwells (and where he's gone, nobody knows) which is when I generally have to call the office, which is when nobody responds anyway. Yesterday half of my class went outside with Ms. N, my para, and half stayed in with me, including M (who peed behind a bush last time we were outside). He left, ran down the stairs, I had ten kids with me, couldn't chase him (which becomes a cat and mouse game to him anyway). I called the office. It turns out he ran all the way down stairs, down the open public space hallway and to the exit where Ms. N was coming in with the rest of the class. He told her in Spanish that he was looking for her. Yet he didn't get in line with her, simply ran back, went up another flight of stairs, and met her on the floor of classrooms. Super dangerous of him.

I went to the asst. principal at the end of the day, who said "Oh, did your student come back?" ... ummm yeah but not because anyone from administration responded.

"I can't do it anymore with him. He doesn't stay in my room. He's running down stairwells."

She says my para should be working one on one with him. I burn.

"I have 24 other students, about 6 of whom need serious attention. There is no way that's going to happen."

She says, "Well what do you want me to do?"

I don't know, I want to say, that's you're freaking job, isn't it.

I told her what happened when he left, going to public spaces, running, etc and she tells me to send him down with work tomorrow and he can stay in her office for the next two days as a consequence.

I think Yeah, This should be good. He doesn't work. He doesn't write anything other than his own name. He doesn't read, he doesn't count, he does nothing. Good luck with that.

I get a message at 10am that his mother is coming in and we're having a meeting about him.

Ha. Bet he's run out of her room a few times. Bet he's rolling around the floor in her office. Good.

So at 1pm I go for the meeting. Nobody is there. I go to Ms. asst Principals office. She is manning the door of the solitary confinement room, a child screaming his head off, "I DON"T CARE!!!!" I ache with compassion for this stranger boy and ask if I can go talk to him.
"yeah," she says. "Go for it."

So I go into this large closet sized room with the red carpeted walls (sound buffers) and not a single other thing in there except the chair he is sitting on. I kneel down with this boy and I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry you're having a hard day. Are you okay?"

Mean face, no answer.

"My name is Ms. Lowe. It must suck being in here by yourself. I hate this room."

He's still looking down, but I see I have his attention.

I ramble on, I ask his name, his teacher, he doesn't answer me but I keep talking anyway, keep my hand on his shoulder.

"Life can be hard. Life can be really hard," I tell him. He nods.

"I'm so sorry it's hard for you. It can get easier, but you have to try. I know how hard it is."

He is fighting tears so hard, he is looking up as high as he can to avoid them spilling.

"Adults can be stupid," I say. "Adults don't always know the right thing to say or do. I think maybe you just need some kindness."

He keeps looking up, trying so hard, so hard not to show me his tears.

"You can cry, you know. I won't tell anyone. I promise."

Tears start dripping. I wipe them away with my scarf.

"I'm so sorry it's hard for you. I wish I could do something to help."

I wipe more tears.

"Have you eaten?" I ask. He shakes his head no. "Sometimes things feel better when you have something in your stomach. Did you eat breakfast?" he shakes his head no.

The kid hasn't eaten. Well, hello.

"Yesterday I hadn't eaten and I went home and was such a brat to my husband. I was so cranky. Then I ate dinner, and I was like Ahhhhhh... I felt so much better."

(this didn't really happen last night, but it certainly has happened).

The counselor comes to the door just then with his lunch tray.

"You gonna eat this or what?" she says. She, too, is menacing. I want to hit her.

WHY ARE THESE ADULTS SO MEAN? WHY CAN'T THEY TURN AROUND AND TRY SOME OTHER TACTIC?

I say "C'mon," and tug his arm to get up. He gets up and goes into her office to eat.

Then I look around for the principal. She is still busy. The meeting hasn't started. I go to the office. The mother is there, I say hello, and the SPED teacher is waiting.

"We're going to need an interpreter," I say.

One of the office women pages someone to translate.

I am edgy, it's been 20 minutes and the meeting still hasn't started. My class is alone with my para. This mother has been waiting all this time. C'mon, can't we at least try to be professional here? I hate my school.

I go back again to see if the principal is coming. I check in the counselors office and my new little friend has eaten everything on the tray.

Finally, at 130, the meeting starts.

MC was the same in Puerto Rico. His mother was so honest about how hard he is, how he doesn't listen, etc etc etc. On and on and on... therapists and psychiatrists and doctors... plans and appointments and strategies... I know this mother is as frustrated as we are, is as worn and discouraged.

The principal says he's in her office as a consequence for the next two days.

I pipe up. "I don't think he understands what a consequence is. I don't think it matters to him."

This is translated. His mother agrees. It's the same at home.

The meeting ends with appointments and evaluations forthcoming and going to the doctors next week to get a prescription, hopefully, to contain the hyperactive part.

"He'll be back in Ms. Lowe's class on Monday."

What does this solve? What did we even meet for? Where is this going? Another meeting in a few weeks to see how it's changed? As if it will change one bit? Are you kidding me?

What is wrong with this school?

BTW, this school is at the very bottom of the achievement list in the state. IN THE STATE. The state tests? not ONE CHILD not ONE was proficient in math last year according to the state exams. Not one. FOUR, only FOUR were proficient in ELA.

Is that our fault, the teachers fault? Are you kidding me? When we're dealing with disabilites and sexual perps and angry children and crack heads and poverty and violence?

I wish I could save the world. I wish I could save these kids. I wish I could make a difference but I have to believe that I do, at least a little, at least a little.