Constructing Kasun, Educator

There’s one student who hasn’t fully bought into the idea of the classroom as a community.  William (as I’ll call him) is that one student who is highly intelligent but unaware that he’d be admired for his intelligence.  As an alternative, he attempts to be the class trickster.  He even admitted that when I have a substitute it’s “time to play.”  He elaborated:  “That’s when I get to have fun.  I just shout and scream and have a good time.”  He’s also adept at being contrary.  If a student says a character in a book is thoughtful, William shoots back, “Nu uh, I think he’s stupid.”  The teacher tries to show she’s nonplussed.  “What evidence do you have to demonstrate that?”  And then William offers a convoluted response that is short on logic but long on wind.

So the classroom shift to community has been difficult for him–takes the wind right out of his sails.  Now that we’re listening to each other seriously, his nonsensical comments aren’t well-tolerated.  He’s off-kilter, trying to steady himself.  The other students remind him, “Hey, William, you’re just trying to talk to get attention,” (which I can’t argue with), and he continues to argue.  They go at him again, “Come on, William, stop arguing!”  He continues.  If it doesn’t work, just try harder, he figures.

Last week, I felt like I’d hit a wall with him.  I had decided that because I believe in the reason, in the ability of the human mind to be reasonable, that I (along with the class), would be able to help him be a proactive member of the group.

The beginning of class went ok.  Then the groups began working on their children’s books again.  William had refused to work with anyone else, so he was working alone.  He didn’t seem to be enjoying his work, so he tried to distract the group next to him.  “Hey, see if you can solve this connect-the-dots puzzle I drew while the teacher was helping us figure out how to write good leads.”  I came over to the group and asked them what was going on.  They said that they weren’t working as much as they should have been.  I asked if it would be better to be less distracted.   They tentatively agreed.

He refused.  Nope.  It made more sense for the other four in the group to move all the way across the room. They disagreed.  Finally he moved.  And sat right next to another student and started distracting her.

“William, why don’t you move over one seat so you don’t distract anyone?”  He argued back, the lunch bell rang (yes, we have lunch right in the middle of class).  He refused to stay and talk to me during lunch, so I followed him to the cafeteria.  I told him in the lunch line that he needed to stay with me after class.

So he stayed and refused to look at me (we’ve talked about the need for students to look people in the eye in the U.S., so he knows by now).  Instead, he waved to people as they passed by in the hallway.  He refused to sit near me to talk.  He refused to admit that any of his behavior was distracting when I tried to “reason” with him.  I asked him if he wanted to be punished (not threatening, but curious).  He said yes.  I begged him to be reasonable with me and own his behaviors.  Nope.  So after ten minutes, I let him go back to class and submitted the ever-useful “discipline referral” to the administrator.

The referral is a tool designed to…  what, exactly?  I’m not sure.  To let teachers off the hook for when they can’t handle their own classrooms?  Yes, I’ve submitted some, but I’m now convinced they’re ineffective.  Develop the relationships with the kids, and the rest will come–my new mantra.  So I submitted the referral, thinking maybe the administrator would help William to become reasonable.  I didn’t know what else to do.
The wise administrator brought him to my door at the end of the school day.  That was fast!  We talked.  For an hour.  The three of us.  William refused to be reasonable for forty minutes.  I started to talk about him in front of him, telling the administrator the situation was intractable.  Then I apologized to William for talking about him in the third person.  I thought we were done.  No solution.  Just punishment waiting for William.

The administrator asked me what I wanted.  Was the right answer a day’s suspension?  I told him the truth.  I wanted to see William shine in my class for his intellect–I wanted him to be a person who helped build things, ideas, namely, not someone who tears every idea and every person in class down.  And somehow, at that moment, William started to change.  Maybe he finally believed I wasn’t just picking on him, but that I cared.   He started looking me in the eye and agreeing that he could behave differently in my class, that he’d try.

Two days later he was back.  And good.  He volunteered to read a journal entry that made sense.  The other students complimented him.  He smiled.  And acted responsibly.  And made a couple of jokes that were appropriate.

I’ll see him again tomorrow.  I don’t know if his transition will continue, but I have faith that he knows it’s what’s truly best for him.

This entry was posted on Monday, January 22nd, 2007 at 7:53 pm and is filed under education. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.