Hardt Time

[warning: this story might be upsetting to some readers, it was surely upsetting to me]

I teach a class of 3rd and 4th grade students with emotional disturbances. Although this is their label on their Individualized Education Plan (IEP), it is often not their only disability. My classroom ranged from a student who was still learning her alphabet to a student who was powering through his grade appropriate books. Today I’ll be speaking on the girl who was still learning her alphabet, HR. 

HR was a nine year old girl who functioned on a much lower level than my other students. When she was in school, she would often spend her time crawling on the floor, stealing things from other students, and making noising like a cat. Her attendance was almost exactly every other day, so it was hard to set routines and rules with her and we never really formed a bond. One moment she would hiss (yes, hiss) at me from across the classroom, the next she would nuzzle into me like a cat. This bizarre behavior continued all year and I never really got a footing in her heart. 

One morning, when I greeted her in the cafeteria she surprised me by responding (she usually ignored me in the morning). “I don’t feel good,” she stated and I absent mindedly asked her where she didn’t feel good, “My tummy,” she replied but motioned to her private parts. I almost missed the motion in the chaos of the morning and had to stop myself and ask her again to show me where she hurt. Again, she pointed to her privates, no where near her “tummy” region. “Why do you hurt there?” I asked, my mind racing with panic as I tried to figure out what to do. “I was played with.” She stated and a cold chill ran down my spine. Knowing that I was in way above my head, I reassured the student that she would be okay and went to find help. I told my administrator and her guidance councilor and both spoke with her in private receiving similar responses. When speaking to the guidance councilor she stated that she was not allowed to say who played with her and became very nervous and refused to talk.

That day, the councilor and I called ACS because we are mandated reporters. We stated our relationship to the student, who she was, and everything that we had ascertained. “What would you like me to do about it?” The woman on the other end asked, and not in a kindly or concerned way. Check in on her? Investigate? Do your job? All these answers raced through my mind and I politely, if not a bit confused, said just that. The ACS worker stated that if I didn’t make an accusation against someone specific they could not open a case or look into it for us. She wanted me to make allegations against someone without any real evidence, so that a case could be opened. In that moment I toyed with the idea of just naming someone in her family and letting them deal with the consequences. But how could I do that? How could I lie and say that I know it was one person when I’m not sure of anything at all. I thought the system was meant to protect and support children in need. I thought they were suppose to get in there and find out what was wrong and make it better…but they wouldn’t do that for HR, apparently, her story wasn’t enough to merit saving. 

        When I excepted my job placement last August, I was just thankful to have received an offer. I was going away on a three week vacation from mid-August to the beginning of September and had thought I would have had a job secured by then. I wasn’t sure how I felt about teaching a self-contained classroom of 8 students with emotional disabilities, but I didn’t have much of a choice.          When I had interviewed for the job, I had met a few students who I was told would be mine. They seemed quirky and definitely odd, but none of them gave me too hard of a time so I figured it would be okay. I remembering noticing that some kids seemed absolutely “normal” while others just looked like something was off. I secretly prayed for the “normal” ones because I wasn’t sure I was capable of handling students with severe disabilities. You see, since I was little and a boy with down syndrome had pulled my hair accidentally, I had been a bit nervous around people with severe disabilities. I had only received my special education license in undergrad because my university required dual certification. I went on from there to get my masters in early childhood special education because I dreamed of beings a SETSS teacher; I never pictured myself in a self-contained classroom, especially not one in a D75 school. 

        I had always gotten into the schools I wanted to get into and the job placements I desired, and now when it really counted, I was floundering to find my way. Going into the first day of school I was petrified but put on a brave face. My pride wouldn’t allow me to do anything but say that this was the job I had always wanted.