Note before reading: This essay is a snapshot of my emotions during a very trying time and not an indictment of anyone involved. Things have improved in the short time since I wrote this. My son's teacher has a much better understanding of him and genuinely seems to be making an effort to help him succeed. In addition, he will now be receiving the services he needs in order to achieve the greatness that I know resides within him.
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The punishment should fit the crime. One would think that a school, of all places would follow this edict and my son's school generally does, but not this past week. If you have read Twice Exceptional then you know that my son, X, has been battling Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) for years. That blog post was written two years ago and while some things have gotten better, some have gotten far worse. His therapist warned us that entering middle school might cause a flare up of his symptoms. She couldn't have been more on target; he entered middle school and everything seemed to fall apart. He was even pulled out of the gifted program for doing poorly in his regular classes. This did nothing really, except make him feel hopeless.
A psychologist who tested him for a childhood OCD study at a major psychiatric hospital, told me that he shouldn’t be punished for his disability, because that is really what’s interfering with his ability to function in school. “He is gifted,” she reasoned, “And, he should be in a gifted program to challenge and engage him.” Regardless of this being true, I knew that I couldn’t protest his being pulled out of the program, because there is a district-wide policy that any child who receives a “C” in a class can’t remain in this program. But, there was something that I could protest, something that left me shaking and furious when I happened to stop in to the school office for another matter.
As I walked down the hall, I saw X coming out the main office, his lunch box in hand, a dejected look on his face. When I asked what was wrong, he told me that he had to eat his lunch while sitting in the main office, because a detention that he was to serve during recess actually included lunch, as well. The horrible crime that he was being punished for? He went to see his guidance counselor during class, because he was being bullied and felt distraught. He did not tell his teacher he was going, which is the crux of her complaint. Her first punishment was even harsher – she gave him a zero on the quiz he missed when he left. This brought his overall grade to an F, a grade that he had worked tirelessly to bring up. She decided that he should have known that they were having a quiz and should have told her that he was leaving, so therefore, he did not deserve a second chance – fail and that’s final.
She told me this in a note, a long derisive note. I wrote a note back, explaining that he was being bullied (two other students were calling him “stupid” and “ugly,” teasing him for a poor test grade and an eczema rash on his face) and at the moment he did not realize that he had a quiz, he simply wanted to feel safe. He did what grown-ups have always told him to do if he’s bullied; he went to a trusted adult and told her what was happening. He told his teacher first and she told him it would be taken care of, but he needed to feel safe at that moment and not wait until it was “taken care of.”
Because of his OCD and the distraction that it brews up in him, we requested that his teachers check his agenda and make sure that everything is in it and then sign the page. That spelling quiz was not in his agenda, so chances are that he didn’t even know he had a quiz even before the kids teased him, even before he walked out the classroom door and down the hall to his guidance counselor.
I mentioned all of this in my note and I requested that his teacher show him compassion, that she allow him to take the quiz. I requested that the punishment fit the crime. I did not receive a note back and I found that F for the class, thanks to the zero, on his "in-progress report" on the school website. The Friday before Winter break – a full four days after I wrote to her – I called the school and requested to speak with the principal. I was told that I needed to speak with the guidance counselor first. She called me back and informed me that she, the principal, the teacher and the school social worker decided that I was indeed right and that the punishment did not fit the crime. He would have a chance to take the test over again, but his teacher felt very strongly that he should suffer a consequence for what he did and that he would have to serve detention.
I was under the impression that the detention would be served during recess, because he already stays every ninth period for either band or extra help. This made sense to me and seemed a reasonable consequence for not telling his teacher he was leaving. All through the vacation, X
asked me if he would have to eat lunch during his detention, or if it would only be during recess. I assured him again and again that he could eat in the lunchroom and would only be punished
during recess. “Why wouldn’t they let you eat?” I asked him. “That’s not right – I’m sure it’s just during the fun part, recess.”
Which brings me back to finding him leaving the office, lunch box in hand, a look of despair on his face – he did in fact have to eat his lunch in the main office, like a pariah, like he was ostracized. I was livid. I knew he didn’t eat – OCD has affected his eating more than any other activity and it is hard enough for him to eat around friends in the lunch room. He has routines that he tries to hide, but when he can’t, he just throws his lunch away. I am sure his hunger is why he has an even harder time in his afternoon classes than his morning classes. I knew when I saw him, that there was no way that he would have eaten a bite with a roomful of adults around him, especially adults that he doesn’t know.
I went into the office and confronted the poor secretary, asking her, “Is this acceptable – to have a child eat lunch in the office, all by himself?” But, of course she knew nothing and sent me to speak to the school psychologist. The psychologist admitted that she was “surprised” when she saw X in the office, eating his lunch. She said that she felt bad for him, so she brought him some tests that he needed to complete. You see, X is in the middle of the evaluation process, which hopefully will secure him an Individualized Education Plan (IEP), which truly makes this whole debacle even more unfathomable. Why would a teacher punish a child, one who has a documented mental health disability, so harshly?
I was fuming at this point, so I told the psychologist that I wanted my child switched into a different class; that he’s a square peg who doesn’t fit into the teacher’s view of an ideal student and he’ll never get a fair shake. She told me she couldn’t help me, and that I should speak to the vice principal. Off I went to the vice principal’s office.
Halfway through explaining the situation to the vice principal (who was very sympathetic), X’s guidance counselor walked in and asked to join us. She explained that it was she who decided that X should serve his detention during the entire lunch period, rather than just recess, not his teacher. She explained that it is common practice when a child receives a lunch detention that it is for the duration of the lunch period and that they need to eat wherever they are serving their punishment. She apologized profusely that I didn’t realize that his punishment would encompass lunch. She said, "No one can understand how difficult it is for you on a daily basis." She said that she felt terrible that I was so upset.
I appreciated her apology and her sympathy, I really did, but had I realized that his detention encompassed lunch, I would never in a million years have agreed to it as a punishment. When I initially spoke with his guidance counselor about X’s punishment, I was at Target and perhaps it was hard to hear or perhaps it was just unfathomable to me that a child with such severe anxiety surrounding food – an anxiety that the school has been made well aware of – would be made to eat his lunch in an unfamiliar setting amidst a room full of adults. I am a people pleaser by nature. I don’t like confrontation. If I had known the guidance counselor, a very nice woman who does seem to care about X, had determined the punishment, I may not have been as vocal about my displeasure, especially since we were face to face.
I’m glad I didn’t know, because having already said something, there was really no point in hiding my dismay. “I think there should have been more sensitivity shown in doling out his punishment,” I maintained. “I think you all should have taken into account his anxiety surrounding food and whether it is common practice or not to make a child eat his lunch in the main office, you should have adapted the punishment to fit not just the crime, but the child, as well.”
To be honest, X’s teacher seems like a lovely woman as well, just completely clueless about OCD – she told us when we met her that she has OCD, because she likes everything in her classroom in order, a sure sign of a lack of understanding of the true disease. She also told me at conference that she feels X is lazy and she "doesn’t really see any evidence of OCD interfering with his academics" – that’s because he expends a tremendous amount of mental energy hiding his “routines” and
presenting a façade of normalcy. But, even with all of this, had she been in the room, I probably would have softened my reaction, because as I said I don’t harbor ill will against her as a person,
just her methods. Instead of demanding that X be switched out of her class, I may have simply stated that I wish she had shown him more compassion.
In fact, when the vice principal suggested that I sit down with X’s teacher to talk to her about how I feel X is being treated, I bristled. I really don’t want to make her feel bad, even if my son feels bad.
I realized as I was sitting with them in that office that this really isn’t about blame, about who did what to whom – it’s about guaranteeing that my son gets a fair shake and that stereotypes (kids with OCD are simply neat freak germophobes who need everything a certain way and are always washing their hands) are blasted away, because even if it’s not malicious, which I’m sure it’s not, misconceptions about OCD hurt my son and to use an even broader stroke, all children with mental illness.
I agreed to have the school social worker speak to X’s teacher and try to educate her, rather than speak to her myself. This absolves me of the need to be confrontational and at the same time removes any subjectivity from the equation – this is not a mother speaking about her child, it is a professional speaking to another professional about the best way to handle a classroom situation, a
situation which I hope and pray will never again result with my son in so much pain. I hope that armed with newfound knowledge, X’s teacher will see my son for who he is (a gifted child,
eager to do well, but imprisoned by mental illness) and not for what he does. When asked by the school psychologist during the IEP evaluation process what he will never do, my son answered, "Realize my dreams." I am hoping that X's teacher will step up and show him that nothing could be farther from the truth.
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