Whew!

1 down, 3 to go! Somehow I survived the first quarter without too much disaster. I was mildly amused one day when I discovered a book (one of our brand new textbooks, even) had been hurled out the window into the courtyard. Hey ~ at least it wasn’t a $1200 microscope, right?

Last week was sobering. I realized my cell phone had been stolen, which was very unnerving. I had petty things stolen while student teaching, like my laser pointer, but never anything personal. It’s very unsettling to think that a 13-year-old has contact information for every person I care about.

However, in retrospect, I have a little more perspective. The next day, we (my team of teachers) were called to the office. Mrs. E added, “It’s urgent,” over the intercom, which is never good news. The admin. wanted us to try to identify the handwriting of a very disturbing note found in Mrs. C’s room. I shudder to remember the awful, dreadful description of what this student was plotting to do to teachers & the principal: bullets through heads and slashing of throats. I remember thinking, “I’ve seen this handwriting before . . . where?” We nervously rifled through papers, trying to match the writing. I noticed a name had been erased and other words had been written over it: “No one will ever hear from me again.”

I think my heart stopped for a few seconds, and I was gripped with a mixture of consternation, pure horror, and fear as I deciphered the kid’s smudged name. This is a youth who is extremely quiet, and I had approached the guidance counselor about him early in the year, b/c I was concerned. “Oh, he’s incredibly shy,” she assured me, adding that kids will often mispronounce his name & he doesn’t even correct them. He tenses up whenever approached and he appears completely petrified during oral presentations & group work. I never would have expected such graphic plans of destruction from him, but in a way it kind of made sense (whatever that means).

Anyway . . . I remembered where I’d seen the handwriting before. The day before, upon realizing that my cell phone had been stolen, I used Mrs. C’s phone to call & have my service suspended, to keep the punk from using up all my minutes. I grabbed a steno pad near the phone, and flipped through the first few pages, half-glancing at a few pages of strange poetry/verse that had been written on them. I assumed that the lines about “I’m a fleeting vapor,” and “ashes left behind” were merely typical teenage angst, and felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the troubled writer, nothing more. Mostly I was angry at the thief (who still remains enigmatic) that invaded my desk & stole my phone.

The next day, as I crowded around the threatening letter in the office, I made the connection. Mrs. C retrieved the steno pad, & the handwriting of the poetry matched the “hate letter” perfectly. We left the info with the admins & hurried out to the Life Skills (that’s modern-day Home Ec; clever, eh?) reception where our kids served us dainty little sandwiches & quiche. Just what we wanted … food, when our stomachs were churning with disbelief.

After school, I found out that the kid was questioned & that he confessed. He’s very troubled, and the letter apparently was a cry for help. He was sent for psych evals & our principal gave him long-term suspension. I can see her reasoning, as she must ensure safety for the entire school community, but I question whether a correctional youth facility is the best place for this kid. He will get beaten to a pulp in that environment, instead of being around adults who care about him & his mental/emotional health. He’s a bright kid, and I sense that he just needs some deeper social connections & more individual attention. I’m inclined to think that a home tutor might be more beneficial, but what’s done is done.

And, thankfully, I lived to write about it. What next, I wonder?