BACK IN THE SADDLE Last week I watched a behaviorally challenged boy destroy a classroom. Twice in one day. His classmates had evacuated. My role was to observe, ensure the lad’s safety and make sure he didn’t leave the room. In the first incident, the child moved all eight student desks in his SDC (Special Education) class to a different arrangement, commenting, like an interior designer, about the rationale for his work. About eighteen to twenty minutes in, his demeanor changed. He sat in the teacher’s chair and rested his hands on her desk. After a while, I asked him if he was ready to put things back together. And we did. The second incident came thirty minutes before the end of the day. By the time I arrived, all of the student desks except his own had been tipped over, their contents strewn across the floor. Mates again evacuated, he was stepping from inverted desk to inverted desk, chirping like some huge, angry sparrow. He moved from the student area to the teachers desk where he dialed the phone over and over; then he moved to the computer where he attempted to play a rewards based online game. I told him I’d help him and endeavored to shut the machine down. Tiring of this, he found a stapler and a sheet of paper and began pounding staples into it. Twice, he moved toward the exit and I stood in front of the door barring his escape. I called the office to cancel a meeting and requested that the secretary inform who ever was to pick the boy up today that he needed to be picked up from his classroom instead of out front. Long minutes elapsed as the boy’s behavior throttled up and down. The classroom door finally cracked open and mother peaked in. She shook her head, called softly to the boy that it was time to clean up. This was met with refusal. She advanced upon him, embraced him, said something to him and didn’t let go until the jittery stiffness left his body. The magic words of mother worked. She and I and the child did what we could to return the classroom to normal. As she left I thanked her and told her we would convene an IEP (meeting) in the next day or two to discuss how we might better meet the child’s behavioral needs. She nodded and stopped at the door. There, she asked the now compliant boy to stay. She came over to me, took my hand and said, “Thank you so much.” The boy, seeing this, reentered the room and while mispronouncing my difficult last name wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug. I made out, “Have a nice weekend Mr. Galrawrto.” Together we walked to the car. All in a day’s work.
Posted on: Wed, 07 May 2014 12:43:03 +0000
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