Warrior in Disguise
During my 4th year of teaching, I had a student whose bad reputation preceded him. Let's call him Jamie. In fact, I'd had Jamie in my freshman English class the year before, and he was such a challenge I threatened to quit should he be placed in my class again I often dreaded third period when he would walk through the door. Interacting with him used up nearly all of my energy. Jamie was nineteen and repeating the class for the third or fourth time. He was borderline combative when I made requests of him and he acted like the rules didn't apply to him.
Cell phones were just becoming an issue in schools and the policy where I worked was that phones would be confiscated if they were seen. Of course this rule was difficult to enforce, but most students at least made an effort to conceal their phone usage in class. One morning, in the middle of a lesson, a phone started ringing. I stopped talking and made my impatient-teacher-face, expecting students to rummage through backpacks and pockets and subtly silence the ringing device. Instead, Jamie reached into his pocket, answered his phone, then stood up and walked out of class to take the call.
I was floored. Stunned. Irate. The rest of the class looked at me, awaiting a response. Would she call the office to request an administrator? Would she explode into a fit of rage? Would she ignore it and carry on teaching? The reaction would undoubtedly set a precedent.
I gathered myself and stepped out to confront the offender. He was still on the phone in the midst of a conversation. I stood there, arms crossed, glaring at Jamie. When he hung up he jumped into an explanation. "It was my boss!" he pleaded. "He wants me at work right now, and I had to tell him I'm in school." Jamie's tone was agitated and tense. He was defensive and ready to engage in a confrontation.
Despite my inclination to tear into him about how disrespectful and disruptive his actions were, I took a moment to pause. I collected my composure and told Jamie I would be making an effort to be a little more understanding. I asked if would be willing to attempt to follow the rules. We reached some mutual understanding in that moment and walked back into the classroom.
It is only now, after years of self-reflection, that I am able to see Jamie for what he was: a warrior. He was coming from an unstable background, and was a legal adult with a job. He was also making a very conscious effort to continue coming to school despite the fact that he regularly experienced failure there. I don't know many people who would do that.
There were elements of school that made him feel safe in spite of the challenges he experienced between classroom walls. It may have been connecting with peers, the consistent presence of stable adults, or a cafeteria with available calories. Whatever it was, Jamie kept coming to school, and though he was a thorn in my side, I now recognize the significance of a reliable school in the lives of so many students who lack reliability in their personal lives. I also feel privileged to be a part of such a school. May school always be a sanctuary for the students who walk through its doors.
Cell phones were just becoming an issue in schools and the policy where I worked was that phones would be confiscated if they were seen. Of course this rule was difficult to enforce, but most students at least made an effort to conceal their phone usage in class. One morning, in the middle of a lesson, a phone started ringing. I stopped talking and made my impatient-teacher-face, expecting students to rummage through backpacks and pockets and subtly silence the ringing device. Instead, Jamie reached into his pocket, answered his phone, then stood up and walked out of class to take the call.
I was floored. Stunned. Irate. The rest of the class looked at me, awaiting a response. Would she call the office to request an administrator? Would she explode into a fit of rage? Would she ignore it and carry on teaching? The reaction would undoubtedly set a precedent.
I gathered myself and stepped out to confront the offender. He was still on the phone in the midst of a conversation. I stood there, arms crossed, glaring at Jamie. When he hung up he jumped into an explanation. "It was my boss!" he pleaded. "He wants me at work right now, and I had to tell him I'm in school." Jamie's tone was agitated and tense. He was defensive and ready to engage in a confrontation.
Despite my inclination to tear into him about how disrespectful and disruptive his actions were, I took a moment to pause. I collected my composure and told Jamie I would be making an effort to be a little more understanding. I asked if would be willing to attempt to follow the rules. We reached some mutual understanding in that moment and walked back into the classroom.
It is only now, after years of self-reflection, that I am able to see Jamie for what he was: a warrior. He was coming from an unstable background, and was a legal adult with a job. He was also making a very conscious effort to continue coming to school despite the fact that he regularly experienced failure there. I don't know many people who would do that.
There were elements of school that made him feel safe in spite of the challenges he experienced between classroom walls. It may have been connecting with peers, the consistent presence of stable adults, or a cafeteria with available calories. Whatever it was, Jamie kept coming to school, and though he was a thorn in my side, I now recognize the significance of a reliable school in the lives of so many students who lack reliability in their personal lives. I also feel privileged to be a part of such a school. May school always be a sanctuary for the students who walk through its doors.
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