That one interaction changed the way I teach.  It changed everything. The student wasn’t a good student and most of the time was difficult to even like.  He was one of THOSE KIDS.  He had been suspended and expelled and recently kicked out of an alternative school.  He had been arrested and incarcerated.  He had a reputation that proceeded him.  His peers feared him and his teachers didn’t like him.  That is what had landed him in my classroom.

He entered my classroom every day like a bull in a china cabinet – pushing his way in, very loud and boisterous.  EVERY SINGLE DAY when I would try to give a directive, he would tell me to “F*** Off!”, often multiple times causing the other students in the class to also escalate their behaviors.  I tried everything.  I ignored it.  I tried to redirect it.  I tried to deflect with humor.  I got tough with him.  I tried to threaten him. I even tried to bribe him. I consider myself pretty good at handling THOSE KIDS.  I don’t get rattled much and typically keep my cool, but he had gotten under my skin.  I’m not proud, but he was one of only a very few kids that I’ve had in my classroom that I have thought I can’t work with him.  I can’t do this.

It was multiple weeks into this behavior when things finally came to a head.  He came into my classroom yelling for me to “F*** Off.”  I told him calmly that I needed him to have a seat so I could start class.  “F*** Off.”  I tried to ignore him and began giving directives to his peers. “F*** Off!” followed by snickers and cheers from his peers.  He started to pace around my room getting louder and more rambunctious. I told him to take a break and directed hospital staff to remove him from my room. He sat down at the chair next to my desk and refused to move.  I told him the only way he could sit there was if he was compliant.  Yeah, can you guess his response? “F*** Off”.  I responded to him to get out and proceeded to remove him from the room.  I had lost my composure and just could not handle him anymore – I had let it become personal.  I followed him into the hall and told him and support staff that he would not be leaving the hall or the school until him and I talked.  I said I would wait as long as I had to, even if it meant staying after school.

I returned to my room questioning what I had just done.  Had I really just drawn the line in the sand with THIS student?  My first thought was there is no way I’m going to let him win.  It was a make or break moment and I had to prove to him I could wait him out.  I would stay as long as it took until he had the conversation with me that I wanted.  I stepped outside every 15-20 minutes to see if he would talk to me and he told me to “F*** Off” each time.  His group proceeded on to the next class and still he sat defiantly in the hall.  About half way through the next class, his support staff stepped inside and said “He’s ready.  He said he will talk to you.” I gathered my strength and I stepped into the hallway. I saw him leaning against the wall trying to be tough, but what I saw in his eyes was fear and worry.  In that moment I realized it wasn’t a fight – it was a rescue mission and I only had one chance to do it right.

Our conversation went something like this:

What?” he said defiantly.

“I want to talk to you about what we can do to make my class my productive for you.  It’s obviously not working for you and we need to figure out a better plan.” I answered in a very quiet voice.

Silence.

“I would like you to have a conversation with me.  I would like us to figure out a plan that will allow you to be a student and me to be a teacher.  There has to be a way we can do better than what we have been doing.” I tried again, almost whispering this time.

“What are you doing?  Why aren’t you yelling at me?” he asked, still using a loud and defiant tone.

“Why would I yell at you?  I just want to talk to you.  I want us to figure out a way to work together.” I calmly replied.

“Just yell at me.  I’m ready. Just yell at me.”  A few moments of silence and then in a softer voice, “That would be easier.”  More silence.  “Are you trying to help me?  Why are you trying to help me? I don’t understand”, he said.

“My intention was never to yell at you.  I didn’t want to talk to you because I’m mad at you, but because I want to help you be successful in my classroom.  What’s going on now isn’t working for either of us.  I believe together we can figure out a better plan.  I want to hear what you think.  Can you tell me what you need from me?” I questioned.

“You really just want to help me?” he asked.

“Yes, but I need you to tell me how to do that.  I want you to tell me how to help you. I’m here.  I’m listening.” I said.

“I need you to be mean to me,” he replied.

“What?  Can you explain?” I asked.

“I need you to be mean to me.  I need you to take away all my choices.  I can’t do it on my own. It’s too hard for me not to try to be bad to impress my friends.  I need you to give me a desk in the corner, facing the wall.  I need you to have my assignment sitting out when I enter the room.  As soon as I enter the room, I need you to say, kind of mean, to me to sit down, don’t talk, and get to work.  I need it to look like you are the mean one and I don’t have a choice.  I’m okay doing the work, but I just can’t have the other kids know. I need to be able to act like I don’t have a choice,” he explained.

“I can do that.  If that will create an environment where you can be successful, then I will do that.  When you come in tomorrow that is the plan that we will start.” I agreed.

“You can still yell at me now if you want.  I deserve it.  I was pretty bad in there.  It’s okay,” he said.

“I don’t want to yell at you.  Talking is much better.” I answered.

“It would have been easier if you had just yelled at me.  I was ready for that.  It really is okay to yell at me.” He pleaded.

“No. I think the conversation we just had is much better.” I suggested.  I shook his hand, told him I was proud of him, and that I looked forward to having him in class tomorrow.  He kept his eyes towards the ground and kind of grunted at me as he shook my hand.  He quietly started to walk away, stopping when he was almost past me to turn around and say okay.  He proceeded to show up to my class for the rest of the time I had him and worked.  He never cursed in my classroom again.

My mind was blown.  That moment in the hallway.  That conversation. His words.  His reaction.  It changed everything for me.   Everything.  It was the most profound moment of my teaching career.  He didn’t want to be THAT kid.  He wasn’t choosing to be THAT kid.  He didn’t want to be the troublemaker and the kid failing every class.  I could see it.  I really believed that. I stood face to face with one of the toughest kids I’ve ever encountered and saw something that should have been so simple to see – he would behave if he could.  He wasn’t standing in the hall trying to process his behavior and figure out what he did wrong. No, he was preparing for battle.  He was thinking about getting yelled at and having someone be mad at him.  He was preparing to show me he didn’t care and prepare the words to hurt me before I could hurt him.  He was in survival mode.  There it was. Expecting him to be calm and clear-head and work to problem solve and compromise was ridiculous – I was expecting him to possess skills that had never been taught to him and that he had never experienced.  I couldn’t expect him to do better until he knew better, and he couldn’t know better until I taught him better.  I had to teach him.

THOSE KIDS.  My kids.  My passion. My calling.  I must teach them.  I must stop talking.  Stop thinking I always know best.  I must listen. I must see my students don’t need me to tell them the answers.  They need me to help them figure out their own solutions.   I must realize their behaviors aren’t about me. They may be directed at me, but they’re not about me. I must see that behaviors are a form of communication.  Their words and outbursts and moments of complete dysregulation tell their stories, theirs experiences, and their trauma.  I must connect with them.  Be persistent.  Persevere.  Let them experience laughter and fun. Give them credit for the good moments and the good days.   I must show up day after day after day.  I must be the one who doesn’t give up.  The one who believes in them. I must be the one who sees them as more than THAT kid or one of THOSE KIDS. I must believe they would behave if they could. I must teach them.

THOSE KIDS Series:

THOSE kids…

To THAT student…I’m Sorry I Wasn’t Better

The Voice of THOSE KIDS: I’d Rather Be Not Liked for Being Mean Than Not Liked for Being Me

I Told My High School Son to Just Stop Studying

I’m Not Going to Talk About the Gay Kid Anymore.