Update by Krista Barton-Arnold

I was giving myself permission to give up on a child. I had the sound bites going off in my head: “You can’t save them all,” “He is taking up too much time and I can’t help him,” “He has no social skills.”

I had myself convinced.

It all started in the morning during PE, students were playing basketball and a game of knockout got out of hand, resulting in punches being thrown. The student in question, I will call him “T”, was going to end up in suspension. He felt like we were not being “fair.” He believed there were racial motives to his suspension. He didn’t hold himself accountable for his actions, he was frustrating me and I was already swamped, I put him in ISS, and moved on with my day!

T was not happy about being put in ISS, it was embarrassing. He made himself clear: he wanted to be thrown out of school. He wanted me to send him home. He was not going to sit in ISS and he was not going to do any work. He stormed and puffed up, threatened to walk out of school and walk home. He kicked a chair. Now he was really ticking me off -- I had emails to respond to and work to do.

While “T” stormed around the school, threatening to walk home, our assistant principal spent more time investigating the “crime”. She interviewed witnesses, and even drew a diagram of the basketball court, to get the full story and make sure that “T” had been heard. By the end of the second investigation the facts remained. “T” had hurt another student. I had myself convinced I had done what I could, what more could I do, I had a school to run, he was just the kid that couldn’t be saved. He is homeless, his mother is difficult to get in touch with, he fights first and asks questions later, he is rude and disrespectful to all of the adults in his life. Last week he threatened his teacher. Yeah, I was done.

He finally agreed to just sit in ISS but not do his work. I had written him off, so that worked for me. As I walked by him he mumbled something about a book I

had been reading to his class. The book was Crossover, by Kwame Alexander. For about a month, I had been going into T’s fifth grade class and reading aloud to them daily for 15 minutes. It is a great novel about twin brothers who love basketball. It is written in verse. I had no idea he had even listened to me when I was reading.

His question stopped me in my tracks. I asked him to repeat what he had said, and in a very hostile voice he said “If I am in ISS I will miss the last chapter of Crossover, and everyone else in my class will know what happened!”

That moment was one of the most humbling in my thirty-one years of education. In that moment, “T” was no longer the “bully” who was going to end up in prison, but a young boy who wanted to know what happened in the last chapter of a book! A book that I had been reading. What right did I have to give up on him?

I quickly regrouped and made him a deal: if he finished his work he could come to the class with me while I read. Everything changed in that moment. We did math together and he shared that he wants to be in advanced math. We talked about the book Crossover and what he thought was going to happen. He finished his work in record time and went to the class with me. He was polite and respectful and, dare I say… grateful.

What a teachable moment for me! First of all, it is one thing to place the saying “Every child, every day” on my signature line, it is quite another to actually live it. Second of all, the little things that we do, like reading a book to a class DO make a difference, we just might not always know it. Finally, if you ever start hearing a voice in your head telling you it is ok to give up on a child and that you have more pressing issues to tend to -- stand back, reflect, and regroup, because it is never ok.

Update:

I wrote this article several months ago for the VBAESP newsletter. Several of you emailed me and asked me about what happened to “T”, I am so glad you asked..

A few weeks after the incident last winter, with the fight and the book, I had shoulder surgery. I was out for a week. My first day back, I saw “T” had arrived at school early, as was often the case since he was transported by a taxi from the shelter to school. He was just sitting in the lobby waiting for school to begin. My

arm was in a cumbersome sling, I was struggling to get through the door and I asked “T” for some help. He carried my stuff, including my purse, which we joked about and walked back to my office. We spent 10 minutes talking, mostly he asked about my surgery.

For the next six weeks this became our ritual. He met me at the door and helped me to my office and we would talk.

Eventually, our conversations revealed all that “T” had been struggling with in the shelter and with his friends and family. “T” had been identified as special education years prior. As I probed I started to believe his academic potential was much greater than he was demonstrating. He started to trust that I could help him; he started to tell me what he needed to be successful. T confessed he struggled with understanding the meaning of words, especially science vocabulary. We started reviewing vocab words in the morning. I hooked him up with our GRT, who joined the effort of reviewing content vocabulary words. He would give me scenarios of behavior struggles he was facing and ask me what I would do. He was a believer in defending himself at all cost, being respected was very important. I talked about walking away, not fighting on school grounds, the risk of fighting and someone pulling a weapon on you. We talked about future and possibilities if he could stay out of trouble and do well in class. I shared with him that he was a natural born leader, but he needed to lead for Gryffindor not Slytherin. Many times “T” would share with me that, my solutions weren’t his reality.

Early spring turned into late spring, SOLs were coming. T and I talked about them every day, his fears, his strengths, we developed a game plan for when he got stuck, frustrated or tired. Reading was his first test, I held my breath as the scores came in. I couldn’t believe my eyes when his score popped in and it was a mid 500! Passed advance! True confession time, I broke every rule, called him down and told him his score. He asked me why I was crying! He had excellent teachers, they noticed his academic and his behavioral changes. He had stopped fighting, he walked away, the last quarter he did not have any suspensions. When he walked across the stage at the promotion ceremony, T had passed all of his SOLS, with solid scores!

I think about the big questions this story raises, like is he truly learning disabled? What would have happened to him if I had kept walking and truly had given up on him? What if the book I was reading to his class had not hooked him in? What happens now that he is in a Norfolk Middle School? Will he be able to sustain his academic and social progress?

As I reflect on the events of last year with “T”, what happened during that 6 weeks that worked for him? Was it the vocabulary review, or the discussions about coping in a shelter? I think it was something far simpler and yet far more complex, I believe it came down to time ( simple) and belief (complex). A lesson this veteran principal will never forget.

Krista Barton-Arnold

Parkway Elem, Virginia Beach

October 17, 2016