“Whatever you do, do not contact home.”

Well, that’s not something I’m used to hearing as a public-school teacher.

I don’t often contact home because I never know what I’m walking into. Some parents are very respectful of me, as their child’s teacher, but some are not. Because of this, I usually avoid contacting home.

The quote above came from my principal at the time. She explained that I cannot contact home not because the student’s parents were going to harass me, but because the father had a history of abusing his son after hearing anything negative from school.

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Now, let’s flash back a little bit here.

I consistently had issues with Kevin’s (named changed to protect privacy) behavior in my class. He was one of those kids who has a pure soul, but sometimes, his behavior gets out of hand. In my class, he had a hard time staying quiet, he was very antsy, and he was usually obviously uncomfortable.

I went to my principal multiple times to ask her thoughts about this situation. I was only in my second-year teaching, so I knew my management wasn’t top notch yet and I asked her if I should be managing him differently. I also asked how to make sure all students feel comfortable in my classroom, because, like already stated, he was uncomfortable in my classroom.

She explained that my management wasn’t the problem, that he has been like this for years. She also explained that because I had him seventh-hour, and he hated his home, he was probably uncomfortable because he knew he would be going home soon. She said his behavior in my class might be attributed to that as well.

At the time, I was too inexperienced to think to ask why he didn’t like to be home. I was just relieved to hear that it wasn’t my problem. I thanked her and went on my merry way.

A few weeks later, Kevin’s behavior still hadn’t improved. I had a few conversations with him during this time, and he consistently said he’d get better. At one point, I told him if it didn’t, I’d have to call home. He flipped into panic-mode and begged me to not call home.

In my infant teaching experience, Kevin’s reaction was normal. Typically, kids don’t want their parents to know they’re not behaving. His reaction was not a red flag.

Apparently, it should have been a red flag. Actually, it was a flag, waving in front of my face and I was too blind to recognize it.

In a subsequent conversation with my principal, she said, “Whatever you do, do not contact home.” I asked if the parents would ream me out for not forcing their kid to behave, which has happened in the past.

Her eyes bugged out of her head when I asked that! And she replied, “NOO. Dad will make him stack wood!”

Confused, I asked for clarification.

As it turns out, whenever Kevin’s father hears that Kevin is misbehaving, he makes him stack wood. Yes, he makes him stack wood.

When Kevin gets home from school, dad sends him outside to the wood pile (they had so much wood because they heat their house with wood.). He makes Kevin take the wood off one pile and restack it on a different pile. Once he’s finished, he starts the process over. My principal said it’s not unusual for Kevin to stack the wood for a few hours and often times, he ends up missing dinner.

This is a weird form of child abuse, but it’s child abuse, nonetheless. At that time, the school had made multiple reports to the county’s child protective services (CPS), but whenever CPS went out to the house to check out the situation, dad always claimed that having his son help around the house is not child abuse. Fair enough.

I never met dad, but he apparently comes off as a really kind person so I can see how he could sweet talk CPS and convince him that Kevin was just doing some average household tasks.

It’s sickening.

Once I heard this story, I made a deal with Kevin.

I pulled him aside one day and told him what the principal had told me. It was risky, I know, but I trusted him.

I asked if that information was true. “Yes.”

I asked him how he felt when he was at home. “I hate it.”

I asked him what he felt when he was at school. “Safe.”

I told Kevin that I would never contact home as long as he did not misbehave in my classroom. We came up with a codeword. I’d walk by his desk when he wasn’t behaving, say the word, and almost immediately, he’d stop his behavior.

Kevin quickly became one of my favorite students. When I moved on to another position, he and I sat together and cried because we both knew we were losing a friendship.

Kevin and I still follow each other on social media. I see him post pictures of his truck and snowmobile. I see how happy he is with his girlfriend, another one of my past students. Overall, Kevin’s life looks really happy, but as we all know, we can’t judge someone’s life by what they post on social media.

Please remember that child abuse sometimes exists in the strangest places. For Kevin, the child abuse existed in the material his family used to heat their home in the winter.