Retention on Repeat

A seventh grade student mistaken for a parent by a staff member. A 13-year-old in fourth grade. A first grader a two heads taller and more developed than all her classmates. An eighth grade student able to drive to school. Sound nonplausible? I have them all in my school.

Retention is an epidemic in my building and district. The district has pass/fail guidelines, and if a student does not meet them, chances are they will be retained and repeat the grade. Give them an extra year to make up what they didn't learn the first time through, and they're on their way. Since I recently found out that my school is in the lowest 5% of schools in the entire state, and our graduation rate hovers around 50% district-wide, my Spidey senses tell me there's a hole in that logic.

We could go on and on about the research regarding retention, but in short: retention doesn't work. Kids that are retained can lose their achievement gains from repeating within 2-3 years, are more likely to be unemployed, on public assistance, or in jail as an adult, may have negative social/emotional adjustment, are more likely to have negative social outcomes as adults (drug use, low self-esteem, emotional distress), and are 5-11x more likely to drop out of school or not achieve a diploma by age 20. In an urban setting with many of these problems already present in the community, retention is just one more strike against getting students prepared for a productive life in a post-school world.

Are there instances where retention is a good option? Sure, but educators must look at it on a kid-by-kid basis and consider the whole child (academics, social/emotional development, maturity, physical development, etc)--not use blanket guidelines or benchmarks.

Since we can't change the system, we need to work at a building and classroom level. What are some other options for educators, aside from retention? NASP has some great ideas in this excellent article. A sampling of some that would work within an urban education framework, for the short attention-spanned :) :

• "Early developmental programs and preschool programs to enhance language and social skills. Implementing prevention and early intervention programs is more promising than waiting for learning difficulties to accumulate.
• Early reading programs: developmentally appropriate, intensive, direct instruction strategies have been effective in promoting the reading skills of low-performing students. 
• Systematic assessment strategies, including continuous progress monitoring and formative evaluation, to enable ongoing modification of instructional efforts.
• Student support teams with appropriate professionals to assess and identify specific learning or behavior problems, design interventions to address those problems, and evaluate the efficacy of those interventions.
• Extended year, extended day, and summer school programs that focus on facilitating the development of academic skills.
• Tutoring and mentoring programs with peers, crossage, or adult tutors focusing on promoting specific academic or social skills."

Here are two other article resources from NASP:

1. Grade Retention and Promotion: Information for Parents
2. Grade Retention: Achievement and Mental Health Outcomes

How does retention look in your building? Does your district have academic benchmarks for students to meet in order to be promoted to the next grade? What do you do instead of retaining/repeating students?

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Square Peg, Meet Round Hole

So we've all seen the cartoon at left, explaining why it's silly to force those of different abilities or skills into the same molds. I recently came across this very conundrum during a reevaluation for the Committee on Special Education (CSE) for a fourth grade student.

Z has been struggling for a long while, and is actually supposed to be in sixth grade but has been retained twice (almost three times, last year he was promoted mid-first quarter due to his age). Z has some severe language deficits that are really impacting his ability to read. He has extreme difficulty with decoding--confuses and substitutes sounds, reverses/transposes letters while reading and writing (i.e. will say "substitute" as "suditute" or "supitute"), doesn't retain learned sounds and sight words, etc. Z has been through the same, basic, 1st grade level reading program for two and a half years, and has made little lasting progress. He's practically memorized it, but can't translate it into classroom use in the subject areas, like science and social studies, and doesn't have the knowledge base and skills to move on to the next level. As the fourth grade curriculum becomes more challenging, he's stagnant. To say he's frustrated is an understatement.

So if everyone can learn to read using decoding and phonics, why can't Z? And why are we still instructing him using the same program he's already failed at twice? Because there isn't anything else available. In my building, we follow one to two district endorsed reading programs, all of which focus on phonics. Z is placed in an Integrated Co-Teaching classroom with two awesome teachers (he was in a model classroom last year, too), so he's received a great deal of individualized and small group instruction. His teachers have supported him in so many ways, and yet he still struggles. To say we're defeated is an understatement.

At his CSE meeting, we scratched our heads about what special education services we could provide for Z. Clearly, the Integrated Co-Teaching setting, despite his wonderful, attentive teachers, was not meeting all of his academic needs. We discussed placing him in a 15:1 Special Class, which in my district is for students with severe learning abilities who need more adult attention to achieve learning standards. We were hesitant, knowing that if he left our building for another placement, we couldn't guarantee that he would have a classroom with a high level of intervention, like he was getting from his two teachers (one would hope, but we can't assume). Unfortunately, we didn't have a good answer, a good place, or the right program to fit a kid like Z.

In the end, we did decide on a 15:1 Special Class, but it wasn't a comfortable one. His special education teacher in particular broke down in tears, knowing that despite providing a lot of support to Z, we didn't have what would be able to help him take off academically, especially with reading. It may be that the 15:1 won't either, but we're hoping that a very specific, detailed Individualized Education Plan (IEP) and a self-contained class will be able to provide him with more varied programs and curricula to draw from, so that he isn't sitting decoding CVC and CVVC words, like "cat" and "roar" for another year.

How do you support kiddos that don't fit the approved curricula and programs used in your schools, when there may not be the man power or budget for other options?

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The One That Got Away

Since I work in a highly urban, diverse population, it's no question that we have a large refugee and immigrant population attending our schools. Our students speak over 75 different languages, from those as common as Chinese, French, and Russian, to the lesser known Karen, Dinga, Oromo, and Mai Mai.  There are certain buildings within the district that house the English as a Second Language, English Language Learners, or Limited English Proficiency (whichever you prefer) populations, where they not only receive assistance learning English and learning in their own language, but also social services and family supports.

One of our ESL buildings closed at the end of last school year, so the students were divided up between existing buildings where their needs could be met. My building, which is not an ESL building, took a lot of the students, all of them English language speakers. Except for one. M is a refugee student from Africa, and in addition to be an English Language Learner, he is also very learning disabled. He came over as part of the 15:1 class that we absorbed from the closed building.

Right away, I knew that we could not meet M's needs in the building as we have no ESL staff. I started emailing and called my principal, people in the Multilingual Education department, special education supervisors, and anyone who would listen. My principal emailed her supervisors about it and got no response. No one gave me an answer about what to do with M. I heard that there was no 15:1 at his grade level at any ESL buildings, that we needed to change his special education placement so he could get into a building with ESL, that we had to get an ESL teacher to come in to instruct him. Lots of no real help.

When we began our state review, I brought the concern up to the supervisor who came in. She started contacting many of the same people, including the head of the ESL program. It seemed like she would take care of it and find a placement for him, along with finding placements for all the other kiddos who were leaving us. Incorrect. M is still hanging out in our building, struggling with not only English, but in all academic areas. He's also been excessively absent from school, and due to the language barrier and the transient nature of many of our refugee families, his family is very difficult to get in touch with.

For all the kids that I was able to appropriately place this year, move into more suitable classrooms, and qualify for much needed services, I feel like I let M down. I have no experience working with families like M's, so it's tough for me to know where to start, aside from emailing all the game-makers to try and get this kiddo where he needs to be. Hopefully, next year if he's still here, there will be a 15:1 at his grade level in an ESL building that he can be moved to.

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No, You Can't Have a Piece of Candy, GO BACK TO CLASS!

One thing that every person who works in a high demand field needs to know is their own personal limits. Although we all aspire to be Super Psychologists, test every kid, solve every problem, respond to every crisis, and consult with every teacher, I have news for you: we can't. We are limited in our time, resources, and support, and we need to prioritize and learning what to say "no" to. I had, and continue to have, difficulty not jumping up to respond to every situation or crisis (though with the testing and evaluations piling up, it's becoming easier). The hardest part is we all have a big drive to help and make things better, but getting everything done isn't possible. Knowing your limits with what you can feasibly accomplish will make professional life so much easier.

That's one kind of "knowing your limits," and there's another kind that's equally important: knowing what populations you have difficulty working with. We are not effective when our buttons are pushed or we are dealing with personal reactions to children in our buildings. Some people have trouble working with abuse cases, others have reactions to students who curse at them, others have difficulty working with aggressive children, etc. Me? My limit is... well, we'll call them "self-directed" girls, Grades 2-4 (and by self-directed, it's my nice way of saying bratty and noncompliant).

There are four little girls in my school that I have a really hard time interacting with when they are having behavioral difficulties because of their attitude and defiance. There's just something about it that really gets under my skin and turns me into yelling, crazy eyes, Mean Psychologist. For those that know me in person, or from what you've gleaned from my blogging, that is not me at all. I strive to be positive, problem-solving, and child-centered at all times, but these ladies turn me into a hot hot mess.

One of them was in my office yesterday and was completely disregarding all gentle directions and reminders I was giving her. I was trying to work with another student, and she was constantly disrupting me, getting out of her seat, going on my desk, and asking to draw a picture or for a piece of candy. Eventually, I snapped and started yelling at her, much to the surprise of the other young gentleman (who later said, "Miss __, you got really mad..." and I gave him a little pat to comfort him). Another colleague returned to the office, and I gave her my best set of pleading eyes, and she helped me out with the girl.

See? Totally unproductive. Not only did my tirade interfere with my ability to effectively deal with why she was sent out of the room, but it also impacted the little guy I was working with.

God help Fiance and I if we someday have a daughter...

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Multiply Disabled, Doubly Blessed

Earlier this month, we had a Committee on Special Education (CSE) meeting on a rather tough case. X, a kindergarten student, was referred by his foster mom/aunt and his doctor due to suspected developmental delays. I had to blog about X and his CSE referral, since cases like his don't come around very often. Here's a list of notable things in X's social history, shortened for brevity:

Facial features of children with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome

-heavily exposed to alcohol and marijuana in utero. Recently diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. (also exhibits facial features)

-traumatic brain injury at 6-months (suspected that biological mother dropped him, cracking his skull).

-no medical care after first well-visit after birth.

-significant history of malnutrition (often left to fend for himself to eat, which led to injuries as he attempted to cook for himself; currently, hoarding food and pica-like behaviors of eating inedible objects).

-not toilet trained (a requirement for attending kindergarten in my district--he was asked not to return to school until he was toilet trained, because he was having accidents throughout the day).

-much smaller than is typical for his age--looks about 3 years old when he's 5-years, 7-months.

-speech concerns (articulation, voice tone and quality, expressive and receptive language deficits).

-underdeveloped fine motor abilities (shoe tying, writing, cutting; also sensory concerns).

-removed from biological mom's care 6-months ago due to severe neglect; living with his aunt.

-no exposure to school or age-appropriate social interactions prior to entering kindergarten this year.

During testing with me, X exhibited no spontaneous conversation, and when he did speak, it was in a whisper (I must've driven him nuts asking him to repeat himself so much because I couldn't hear him!). His sentences were no more than three words and he would gesture or point rather than speak at times. Throughout our time together, he exhibited flat affect and appeared lethargic. He was slow to respond to many assessment tasks. He rarely smiled or responded appropriately when I tried to make him laugh (I probably am not funny).

Lots of assessments were done, to get a full picture of X's developmental levels. Speech/language and occupational therapy evaluations were indicative of significant delays, so he qualified to receive those related services. My cognitive testing was in the borderline intellectually disabled range, as was standardized academic testing (i.e. standard scores in the 70 range). Behavioral rating scales were also completed by X's teacher, which indicated high levels of atypical or "strange" behaviors and moderate hyperactivity and attention problems. Adaptive behavior was also delayed, with daily living skills (self-care skills) and socialization were the lowest areas.

Standard scores within the 70 range across all areas (cognitive, academic, adaptive behavior) would in most cases lead to a classification of Intellectually Disabled. However, I recommended a classification of Multiple Disabilities. What are the criteria for this disability, in New York State?

Multiple disabilities means concomitant impairments..., the combination of which cause such severe educational needs that they cannot be accommodated in a special education program solely for one of the impairments. The term does not include deaf-blindness. [Part 200.1(zz 8)]

Due to his pervasive level of delays and needs, and concurrent head trauma and Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, Multiple Disabilities was a more appropriate classification for X. After the New Year, we are going to look into an agency self-contained classroom for him to be placed in. This setting will meet not only his educational needs, but also his daily living, self-care, and toileting.

So with all these hurdles to overcome, why is X "doubly blessed?" Because of his foster mother and aunt. She is working so hard to support him and provide him with the nurturing environment that he has lacked for the last five years. He is receiving routine medical care, nutritious food, an education, and most importantly, love and social interaction. She has advocated for him in ways that most people would find difficult, starting first by taking him in when she has other children of her own, and by initiating the special education referral that will get him the support he needs. I am confident that X will quickly catch up to where he needs to be with her care and appropriate educational services.

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Reminiscent of a Headless Chicken

So the start of the school year has been uber crazy for me. With my CSE chairperson being out on medical, not having a clerk since May, and my social worker only at our building 3 days out of 6, I've been wearing a lot of hats. I've been on the phone constantly with parents, placement, etc, running around helping teachers, making copies, emailing the upper up's about building issues, scheduling CSE meetings and testing munchkins, and meeting on/discussing kiddos. Normally, I take stress and a fast paced work environment super well. I love to be busy because I feel productive and like I'm making a difference. Today though, I had an experience that pretty much summed up my overwhelmed feelings lately.

There's a little boy who has never attended school before and was placed in first grade this year right off the bat. He is totally drowning--no understanding of structure, won't write his name or any words, won't follow routine, etc. Poor little munchkin. Anyway, he got moved down into kindergarten part way through today, and not long after, he got dropped off by his teacher in my office... screaming. At the top of his lungs.

He was utterly inconsolable and would scream in your face if you tried to calm him down. Didn't want a hug (which always works, uh hello), didn't want a tissue, didn't want to color or draw, didn't want anything except to scream. And scream. And cry. And then scream some more.

He screamed for virtually 30 minutes straight. Yeeeeppp...

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Time to Recharge

My apologies for the lack of marvelous blog posts lately.

Life as a first year school psychologist has really been wearing me down lately. A lot of building-related nonsense has been getting under my skin, most of which I unfortunately have no control over. I hate not having control of things in my work environment, especially when it affects how I am able to help the kiddos. It's all about the kiddos! Thus, I have been spending my Spring Break recharging my proverbial batteries. Lunching with graduate cohort friends, happy hour with my office mates, dancing around my humble abode to iTunes, celebrating my birthday with Boyfriend, and traveling to my dad's house to have Easter with the family will hopefully help me regain my focus.

Spring is on it's way!

Hyacinth - my favorite flowers!

Keep Your Hands, Feet, and Dart Guns to Yourself

Another one of my big challenges is the culture of violence that students bring into the school building with them. One of our universal rules housed under our Positive Behavior Intervention Support (PBIS) program is keeping one's hands and feet to one's self. Yet, all day I hear about kids who try to solve their problems with their hands instead of their heads. Fourth grade students bring in dart guns and BB guns to school. The police get called to take a student home after he throws a table in the lunch room. Middle school girls fight each other on the bus loop. Kids Hulk out and fling chairs across my office. What gives?

 I think the problem exists at two levels. First, students are told at home and on the streets to defend themselves. If I had a dollar for every time I've heard a student say, "My [mom, dad, brother, uncle, etc. etc. ad. nauseum] told me that if someone hits me, I hit them back," Boyfriend and I would be touring the UK this summer. Students learn from their families, the media, and their communities that it's okay to use violence to solve your problems. Did you ever see the Coyote trying to talk out his differences with the Roadrunner? Negative, and look where it got him.

Second, my students lack the necessary coping and problem-solving skills to resolve conflicts more effectively. These kids are reactive and rely on instinct because their culture has made them. They act without thinking nine times out of ten, which usually ends them up in hot water. We'd be adding Germany to our summer vacation if I had a dollar for every time I recite the following mantra with a student: "If he puts his hands on you and you don't hit back, who's going to get in trouble? But if you put your hands back on him, then who will get in trouble?" (Seriously. I can say with complete surety that I have said this at least one 95% of the days we've been in school. The other 5% is when I'm sitting in CSE meetings).

So what to do? Do I open up a School Psychologist Meditation Center where we can all be in peaceful bliss, poised in yoga asanas, chanting my mantra? Not likely, though that would be quite relaxing (I would nap). You have to start small, by encouraging and rewarding instances of positive conflict resolution and teaching the skills needed to make appropriate decisions. Easier said than done, however. You can teach and model and roleplay for 30 minutes every day, but Ronnie might still walk out of the building and jump someone on the way home. We can't change how they react outside the school building, but we have to do our best to reinvent how they behave inside it.

Any suggestions, tips, etc that have worked for others on this topic would be greatly appreciated!

Ineligible

Get ready for a Debbie Downer post. Wah waaaahh... (that was the Debbie Downer noise, by the way)

We had some rough CSE meetings today. Two students who have social-emotional and behavioral issues were found ineligible for services by the committee, much to the dismay of their teacher and for one student, parent (the other's parent didn't attend). The decision was based on assessment data and teacher reports that revealed that the students were of low average cognitive ability, but had standardized achievement within an average range. They are benchmark in reading and math and while their grades were not Ivy League, but they were not terrible. This information tells us that, while they have behavior problems that are difficult within the classroom, the issues are not significantly impacting their achievement or grades. Since special education is about providing service to students with educational disabilities, we could not qualify the students because their academics were acceptable.

Enter the firestorm. The teacher was very upset, and I don't blame her in the least. These students are tiring, frustrating, and difficult to manage when they are "off." The teacher is a good teacher who has expended a lot of energy managing her entire class. It was understandable that she was dismayed. The parent of one student was also very upset, because she obviously wants anything to help her child. She is going to appeal our committee's decision at the district level, and we encouraged her to do so.

Thankfully, both students are receiving counseling within the building and are also being seen by outside agencies. Wraparound services are going to be discussed to provide both families with more behavioral help in the house and respite. The two students do not have individual behavior plans and show inconsistent response to the classroom plan the teacher has in place. We're going to set up behavior plans for them, in addition to providing them other supports to help them in the classroom and during testing.

I think the worst part of the whole ordeal was the knowing that the students needed some kind of help, but being unable to provide them with services. True, I wouldn't say that they needed special education, because they did not appear to have educational disabilities, but they have obvious issues that need to be addressed. It was a tough place to be in with a fine line to follow. I felt very unsatisfied and drained after the meetings, like nothing had been accomplished. It's hard to deny a kid who has problems help that they may need, especially when it upsets other key players in the child's life, like the teacher and parent. I would have given these kids the world if my hands were not bound by state and district eligibility requirements and expectations. I'm hoping that through concentrated counseling efforts, behavioral intervention, and medication, if appropriate, we'll start to see the behavior and mental health concerns improve. The situation still stinks though.

Blech. Ick. Ugh.

The Cross-Country Team

One of the biggest frustrations/obstacles/WTHeck issues in my building are what my colleagues and I like to call "runners." Runners are kids who either refuse to enter the classroom or leave the classroom during instruction and roam/run the school building. Why do kids "run"?

• They came to school "off" from something that happened at home or on the bus.
• They are upset over something that happened in the classroom.
• They don't want to complete assignnments.

The concept of "running" completely blows my mind. Maybe it's the expectations I have from school environment I went through as a student. No other building I've worked in has had this issue. I've worked in suburban, rural, and urban schools before being hired here and I can count on one hand the total amount of times a student left a classroom. It was unheard of! Now, I can count on TWO hands the number of times students leave the classroom A DAY.

The biggest issues that runners pose is the fact that they are extremely disruptive and they are missing instruction. Not only do many of our runners actually run the halls, they also bang on lockers & classroom windows, throw materials into classrooms, yell, and slam doors. No, I am not joking. Yes, I work in a public elementary school building, not a day treatment facility. These kids are also out of the classroom during key instructional time. They either wander the halls, sit in or just outside the main office, or spend time "cooling down" in my office. In a building that is already "at-risk" in terms of state Math and English Language Arts (ELA) test scores, these kids need to be learning.

I'm not entirely sure why it has become acceptable for students to run. Is it something to do with the teachers? Is it the community and home life? Is it a lack of coping skills? All I know is that it can't continue if we want our building to function efficiently.

Any suggestions on how to not only help the kids, but to help the teachers and staff, are uber welcome.

Apocalypse Nowish

So... did the crazy train crash this week and let all the crazy escape? (I'm imagining that "crazy" looks like Ozzy Ozbourne right now... maybe it was the use of "crazy train")

I only ask because, after hearing from colleagues about the mass bird deaths in Arkansas and Louisiana, and the even mass-ier fish deaths in the Arkansas River, it sounds kind of scary out there. Add onto that the preposterous situation that was today, and I'm thinking that the apocalypse is on our doorsteps.

The first hour of my day went a little something like this...

9:00am - return to office after breakfast duty. Start to gather materials for the morning of CSE meetings we have planned.
9:02 - receive call that two fourth graders have walked out of the classroom and are running in the building (one of them was D; the "cool" thing didn't last very long). Someone who works with them both leaves to intervene.
9:03 - receive call that a 2nd grader is off the wall throwing books around classroom, etc. Since his usual case worker is predisposed with D and R, someone else goes to take care of that.
9:03 -  student's mother comes in to discuss his IEP. My colleague, MB, sits down with her.
9:04 - receive call that D admitted to hitting a peer across the face during breakfast. Inform teacher that someone is on the way to intervene.
9:04 - receive call that a 6:1+1 self-contained student going bananas upstairs in art. Someone goes upstairs to take care of the situation. Begin to hyperventilate. Meanwhile, D and R arrive in office unannounced. Aannddd...
9:05 - D hulks out and throws a chair across my office and hits R. Is taken by MB to office, kicking and screaming. R remains behind.
9:08 - after a couple more phone calls for wacky kids, the individual sent to deal with D and R initially returns to the office and takes R to nurse. IEP Mom leaves rather flustered.
9:09 - get another call for the 2nd grader. Art Misbehaver comes to office and goes to another room with another colleague to talk and calm down.
9:13 - MB has not returned after taking D to office, and she is running our CSE meetings, which begin at 9:30. I begin to panic, because I haven't gotten anything done for them.
9:15 - begin moving files, laptops, tape recorder, etc over to meeting room. Realize that Art Misbehaver is in there and is in engaged in deep conversation. Leave awkwardly. Question whether we informed district parent advocate of time of first CSE meeting. Scramble to find her phone number; fail.
9:17 - another colleague returns to the office with 2nd Grader and another young student whom I don't recognize.
9:20 - 2nd Grader and Friend are taken into our CSE meeting room. Still haven't found MB despite searching over first floor for her.
9:30 - prepared for CSE meetings, have found MB, in CSE meeting room, office informed to send substitutes to relieve teacher needed for meeting. But wait! R has taken off again, and MB heads upstairs.
9:35 - begin to wonder where my sanity has gone.
9:37 - begin to wonder where everyone for the meeting is.
9:40 - dad for the first meeting arrives with our district parent advocate (yay!). Still no teachers. Go to the office to find out what is going on. Discover classroom teacher and speech teacher are absent, but sub was sent to reading teacher. Call reading teacher--sub never arrived.

9:41 - die a little inside. Apologize profusely to CSE Dad. Find sub wandering hallway, discover he wasn't following the given schedule. Give him correct schedule, get attitude. Thanks.
9:43 - return to meeting room, apologize more profusely to CSE Dad. MB is MIA. Leave to find her.
9:47 - return to meeting room sans MB, but find her already in meeting room getting ready. Breathe for perhaps the first time since 9am. Reading teacher arrives.
9:52 - begin first CSE meeting of the day, 22 minutes behind schedule.

The rest of the day continued at a somewhat subdued level of ridiculousness. And, if you're on bated breath, D, R, 2nd Grader, and Art Misbehaver all went loco later in the day again, and I believe all were suspended. Oy vey.

Hopelessly Hopeful

My apologies for the delay in entries (to those few who are reading ;) )—I have been without Internet at my humble abode for the majority of the week.

Dealing with students in crisis can make you feel completely hopeless at your job. Earlier this week, I was called by administration because a first grader had said he wanted to hurt himself. This student, XX, is in special education and has a history of behavior problems, particularly inattention and noncompliance. While a lot of his problems come from wanting peer and adult attention, he also completely lacks self-control over his actions. He also may have underlying mental health issues that haven’t been discovered yet. I’ve been working with XX’s teacher all year regarding his behavior, and the Committee of Special Education (CSE) is also going to meet soon to reevaluate his needs.

During a threat assessment with a social worker in our building, XX was out of his seat, destroying the room, running from the room (I had to block the door and got barreled down a few times when he would try to escape), and crying/screaming. XX repeatedly said that he wanted to hurt himself because it was “funny” and that he would run out of the building and get hit by a car. While we didn’t feel XX had the true means and intent to harm himself (though when I got him from his class, he was slamming himself in the bathroom door, to the delight of his peers…argh), we were concerned about his well-being and feared that he would truly leave the school building. As such, administration called his mom and he went home.

Through this whole ordeal, I felt like I had no grip on the situation. How do you deal with a student who is so unfocused and defiant that you can get nothing done? How do you handle students like this when their behavior is the same, day in and day out? How can I give teachers suggestions on how to handle students like XX when I can’t handle him myself one-on-one, and am not a classroom teacher myself, despite whatever behavioral training I have? Hopefully I’ll be closer to answering these questions as the year goes on and I gain experience, because it is no fun dealing with a 6-year old who can’t deal.

School's out... and I'm stuck in the gym

It's only the fourth day of school and already my PM duty is starting to grind my gears. Every afternoon, I report to the gym to supervise students who wait there for their bus to arrive. There's about 40 PreK-8th grade students that wait in the gym for my assigned bus, and another 35 or so that wait for another bus on the other side of the gym. The gym itself is about the size of a run-down studio apartment. I am barely exaggerating. I know what you're thinking. "Aimee, why are you complaining? Having 70+ kids anxiously waiting for their four-wheeled ticket to freedom (which is always the LAST BUS to arrive) in a small, hot, loud stress chamber is a blast!" ...... I can't even make a witty, sarcastic retort for that, because that statement sums up the hell that is PM duty pretty darn well.

Regardless, as in all things, I try to find the positive: helping all the little lost Pre-K'ers find their way; watching an older "cool" girl hold the hands of two nervous kindergarteners on the walk to the bus; making a squirmy fourth grade boy who wanders and refuses to sit on the bench with the rest of the troupe sit in the middle of the gym floor to wait, then devising an incentive plan to help him keep his backside where it belongs (we're trying it tomorrow); getting waves and hugs from children I have never seen before; seeing that awkward middle school flirting hasn't changed since I was in school.

But by far the best experience I've had in PM duty thus far has involved M, a first grader with autism. M is a student who has a one-on-one aide throughout the school day to help keep him on task and keep him safe (he wanders, runs off without warning, and has difficulty navigating the stairs). Since the school year started, M has been without his aide, and has had random people filling in for parts of the day. Consistency and structure are hugely important for children with autism, and disruptions in their routine have the potential to be disastrous. M also reacts poorly to lots of commotion and noise. You may think that sitting in a gym with 70 other students would be a bad idea. You'd be right.

This particular day was very difficult for M. By the time dismissal came around, the woman who was his aide for the day had to leave to go to a doctor's appointment, so I volunteered to make sure M got on his bus safely. About the time I got M finally seated for more than 15 seconds (he repeatedly rolls on the floor), a little girl was dropped off in the gym and promptly starting crying because she was anxious to go home. I seated her next to M so that I could keep an eye on them both. M was quite startled to having a crying ball of Pre-K next to him, but turned to her looking quite concerned. What happened next made me all warm in my tummy. M started patting her forearm and wiping the tears from her cheeks with the crumpled paper towel she was holding. It was precious. And, for those of you who are familiar with autism know, children with autism can have great difficulty with social understanding, including interacting with peers and showing empathy, so to see M react to her in such a way was uncharacteristic and fantastic. Ahhh kids.