Courage

Miss Nike Socks comes into my classroom yesterday during passing time, voice already blaring as she steps over the threshold.  I'm balancing my computer, my lunch, and some papers and am on my way out the door as the Spanish class that takes place in my room is commencing, and she marches across the classroom directly to me, asking me all the way, "If your teacher thought you were being rude and you weren't really being rude but she thought you were rude anyway and said she was going to write you up about it, what would you do?"  And then she waits for my answer.
     I shift my computer and papers, while continuing my precarious shuffle toward the door, and say, "Well, I don't know Miss N, most teachers don't go writing kids up for no reason."  The Spanish teacher is taking attendance and clearly taking notice of Miss N's empty seat.  "Let's talk about this later, okay?"
     As she has a habit of doing, she ignores my request and needs some validation right now.  "I really wasn't trying to be rude.  I just went like this."  She shrugs her shoulders, hands out, and eyebrows up as if she's quite happy to be ignorant of something.
     The Spanish teacher begins announcing the homework, and I'm still trying to get out of her class.  I look at Miss N with my best "All complaints should be directed to the HR department" face to tell her that now is not the time to talk about this, and then I see that her eyes are watery globes and she is praying that I don't see her emotion.  "This is really important, I know.  Let's talk about this when there's more time.  I'm here after school, so let's talk then.  Your class is starting.  Okay?"  She nods, and I make my escape.
     I have all day to formulate my plan.  First of all, I'm a little peeved at her for the online shopping extravaganza that bothered a student enough to ask to be removed from her class after a school year of what he deems as "disrespect" from her.  I'm frustrated that just last Monday, when I was absent from school, she left the classroom early without permission, was found dancing in front of another classroom's door, and when the sub said that her actions would result in a detention, she said, "No it won't" (complete with neck swiveling and hand on hip).  It's killing me that her bad behavior has continued throughout the whole year, and when we approach her mother about it, it's the Spanish inquisition about why we're targeting her child.  This quarter, however, the sixth grade teachers have put a plan in place to hold repeat offenders accountable, and now Miss N's write-ups have accumulated to the point of missing our end of the year pool party and field day.  I don't know if she knows this yet or not, but I'm ready for a serious moment with her where we can talk about her poor choices and the unfortunate consequences.
     At the end of the day, as the noise outside my door begins to dwindle with the exodus out of the school building, she comes in.  She stands next to me at my desk with her backpack on, which shows me that she believes our conversation won't last very long.  I ask her about the incident she had been referring to earlier that day, and I ask clarifying questions, mostly just to make sure that she understands all that went on.  Details are fired out as if they'd been loaded and reloaded all day.  Her teacher had thought her attitude was negative.  Miss N was therefore going to argue that the teacher was mistaken.  She felt she had spoken her mind and maybe slammed the door harder than she had meant to when she was asked to leave her math class.  And of course, somewhere in there was the coquettish shoulder shrug. 
     I ask her to set her back pack down and get comfortable.  "So how do you feel now?"  I need a chaise lounge in my classroom sometimes.
     "She said she might write me up.  And I think I might have failed the test because I didn't finish it.  She said she's going to call my mama."
     "Are you worried about that?"
     "I don't want her to call my mama."  I see it again, the tears in her eyes.  "Mama said that if I don't get good grades and behave, I can't see my Daddy this summer."  Then, they all pour out.  Every tear that probably had stubbornly held its ground as Miss N stomped around our school campus the whole year.
    Now I have to re-evaluate my plan.  I was going to call her out on several behaviors that she repeats routinely that are disruptive, distracting, and dare I say it, rude.  I was going to be clear and probably a little harsh about how her choices don't only affect her, but also the other students who share classes with her.  But now I'm torn.  She can take a whole class down with her on a whim when she chooses, and she needs to know it, but she's also missing her daddy.  I decide to try to stick to what's strictly relevant to this situation.
     "I know you feel that you weren't rude.  You'd probably say most of the time, you're not trying to be rude, right?  But just because you don't think you're rude doesn't mean that it didn't hurt someone else's feelings.  Just last Monday, you offended the substitute."  I pulled out the Discipline Referral form that had been left on my desk by the sub.  "You have to try to understand how someone else feels.  You have to own it when you make a mistake and make it right, not spend time arguing." 
    "I did try to make it right.  I wrote an apology letter.  But she just looked at it real quick and set it down.  She didn't care."
     "I know your math teacher personally.  I can tell you that she is so tender-hearted.  She probably knew that reading a letter like that from you would have made her cry.  Really, Miss N."
     The tears really begin to pour now.  "And I have been trying to make it all right!  But now look, with that other write-up, I'll miss everything at the end of the year.  I got nothing.  I lost it all.  I don't even care!"  As if compelled to add to her list of reasons for why the world sucks, she added, "And y'all never pick me to be Student of the Week.  I don't even care!"
    I look at her and really just want to scoop her up in my arms.  She's the type who might smack me if I tried, but still.  She's falling to pieces, and the only thing I can control is whether or not she's Student of the Week, and with two write-ups, it seems hard to justify.  I take a deep breath.   "You are a strong girl who has confidence to say what she means, and the courage to stand up for yourself.  I've also seen you use your strength and courage to speak out for other kids.  This is a really valuable skill you have!  You just have to pick your timing.  It's always right to stand up for what's really important to you, but it's not always the right time.  We need to work on that.  But trust me, your teachers see the strength that you have.  We won't abandon you."
     She nods and wipes away the wetness on her cheeks with her t-shirt sleeve.  She turns around and walks out without a goodbye.
     The next day, she comes in after school again, only this time is asking for help with a poem she's writing.  We sit down at the table, and I smile immediately when I see the title:  "Courage."  There are no other words on her lined paper yet.  Just the title.  I know that she knows what has the potential for beautiful poetry--something personal, something she knows.  I can't wait to see the words flow, sort of like tears, only with deliberation, control, and calm, calm, calm.