school

Is the System Broken?

While I’ve been a teacher, I’ve had to report multiple students and situations to the authorities. In this blog post, I will be sharing two of these situations.

Read on to find out what it’s really like to file a report.

Jackie

My first incident happened during my first-year teaching. I was a one-year long term substitute, so the students knew I wouldn’t be returning the next school year. A lot of them were sad and tried to convince me to stay. They were young, so they didn’t understand that I couldn’t.

It happened during May.

I was on the far east side of Wisconsin attending my cousin’s wedding when I received this Instagram message from, Jackie (name changed for privacy), one of my students. It’s hard to read.

It is true that she had tried to contact me multiple times via my personal social media, and I had always ignored her messages. Up until this point, her messages had really only consisted of saying how much she was going to miss me the next year and begging me to stick around.

After reading the message, I immediately tried to call the local police department, but I didn’t have enough cell phone service to make the phone call. I tried multiple times and the call kept failing. It was Saturday and I did not have phone numbers of anyone at my school so I couldn’t text anyone.

So, I did the next best thing. I took screenshots of the message and emailed them to the school counselor. In the email, I explained my situation and requested that she call the police.

I left it at that and hoped I’d see Jackie on Monday in my classroom.

I walked into the lion’s den when I got back to work on Monday.

The counselor brought me into her office and said my actions over the weekend were uncalled for. She said I should have never raised that alarm because this girl had a history of crying wolf and all I did was make myself look bad by “overreacting.” She said forwarded the message to the police (I’m not sure if she emailed it or if she called them) and they went to do a welfare check on the girl, but she was fine.

The principal brought me into his office and said I didn’t deal with the situation correctly. He said there was no reason to email the counselor because she couldn’t do anything about the situation and that I should have called the police department. I explained that I didn’t have enough service to make the call. He didn’t believe me and said I could have been responsible for a student’s suicide.

The school resource officer said I wasted everyone’s time by raising the red flag. He said she likes to cry wolf and there was no reason for me to forward the request. He said I wasted the police department’s time because they legally had to check out the situation and when they arrived at her house, everything was fine.

Basically, I had caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people because I went through the steps to report a concern about a child.

That was the day I learned the system is broken. There is no reason all of those people should have been mad at me for responding the way I did when I received that message. We should have worked together to make sure Jackie was safe. There should have been no hard feelings or anger toward me.

I would have considered the situation child abuse had I NOT raised the red flag.

Today, Jackie is a happy and healthy adult. We communicate every once and awhile on social media. She’s recently engaged to a wonderful and kind man and I truly think she is going to lead a very successful life!

Kristin

My second story is another story of a broken system.

This time, the abuse was talked about in my classroom.

Kristin (name changed for privacy), an 8th grader, stayed after class one day to talk to me. She apologized for being so behind in my class and said it was because she’s very busy at home. Naturally, I asked why she was so busy. It was alarming that an 8th grader was genuinely too busy to get her homework finished.

Kristin explained that when she gets home, she had to begin preparing supper for her family. She lived with her dad, her dad’s girlfriend, and her five other siblings.

She said, beyond this, she had to watch the kids, and do all the house work. She cleaned, cooked, did everyone’s laundry, and more.

I was shocked to hear a thirteen-year-old girl was taking care of the house like she was, so I asked why she did all of that.

She said her dad forced her to and if she didn’t, she didn’t get to eat supper that night.

I asked about the girlfriend, and if she helped in any way. She said the girlfriend was basically her “monitor” and if she didn’t get something done, or if she didn’t do it well, or if she snuck food while she was cooking, or basically if she did anything “wrong,” the girlfriend would tell the father and Kristin would go hungry that night. Beyond this, the girlfriend told Kristin that the purpose in her dating her father was most definitely not to keep his house clean OR to be a mother to his kids.

Yikes!

Kristin continued on, telling me more horrible things. The more she told me, the more I knew she was being abused.

As a mandated reporter, I am expected to report situations like this. I reported Kristin’s situation to the country Child Protective Services.

Shortly thereafter, the school received information from the county that basically said there was no reason for the complaint, and that there is nothing out of the ordinary going on in Kristin’s home.

That same day, Kristin came into my class, visibly angry. She stayed after class again, but this time, we didn’t have a conversation.

Kristin simply looked at me and said, “You remember all that stuff I told you? It was all a lie. My dad’s girlfriend does all the work around the house. I don’t do any of it. I eat supper every night. Stay away from my family.” And she turned and stormed out.

I’m not sure what happened to Kristin after I made that report and what caused her to come and tell me everything was a lie, but I do know that it must have been something that added to the abuse. I suspect she was told to cover up what she had told me, or even to make it go away. I presume she was somehow threatened. Situations like hers really hurt, because I know I can’t do anything to make it better.

Kristin’s situation makes me realize again that the system is broken. Kids that need help cannot get it because they’re forced to lie or they’re threatened, or whatever. It’s so very sad and it hurts my heart knowing I can’t do anything to help in these situations.

I don’t know where Kristin is today. I lost track of her when I left that school. I sincerely hope she’s doing well!

Is the system truly broken? Or have I just had a bout of bad experiences trying to help these students?

Posted on by Mary Gondringer | Leave a comment

Now He’s Dating the Class Valedictorian

I was teaching sophomore English in a low-income school. For some reason, I have a tendency to attract the kids who’ve gone through trauma. I don’t know what it is about me, but kids tell me things, things that hurt my heart and make me go home and cry for them because I can’t help them.

This particular student, Jackson (name changed for privacy), was in my sophomore English class and my advisory, so we chatted often. One day, he made a comment about how he didn’t have wireless Internet at home, and I replied, “No?” Simple question that yielded a lot more information than I anticipated.

Side note: The school was 1-to-1, where each student was issued a Chromebook to take home. Unfortunately, Chromebooks don’t work all that well without wireless Internet. So, regardless of the fact that students had their own devices, I still did not assign homework because of the story Jackson told me…

He replied, “Ms. Gondringer. I’m lucky to have a roof over my head.” I must have made a surprised face because he continued with roughly the following story:

Between his 4th and 8th grade school years, he considered himself “homeless” with his older sister. They lost their mother when Jackson was really young (I think a year or two old) and Dad was left to raise the kids. I’m not clear on what happened between the time his mom died and when he became homeless in 4th grade. Jackson we wasn’t legally homeless because he and his sister still lived with their dad. But…

Dad didn’t trust the kids with a key to the house. Dad was also an alcoholic. Dad spent pretty much all his time at the bar. He’d go to work and then walk uptown to the local bar. He’d stay there until who knows when. He’d stumble home, sometimes not even making it to his home, and pass out in a ditch somewhere. All the while, the kids were sleeping in the truck in the yard, because remember, Dad didn’t trust them with a key to the house. Jackson talked about stashing blankets under the truck seats or in their school lockers so when the dead of winter hit, he and his sister could snuggle in close and share body heat under the blankets they had. Sometimes they’d get lucky and head into the house in the middle of the night, after Dad got home. He usually didn’t relock the door. They could go in, grab food, clothes, take a shower, and head off to school the next day. This went on for four years.

Eventually, and again, details are fuzzy here, but eventually, Jackson’s aunt found out what was happening and rescued the two kids. That was when Jackson was an 8th grader. He was still living with his aunt when he was a sophomore and in my class.

Two years later, Jackson graduated high school with honors. He was part of the National Honor Society and was one of the highest-ranking individuals in his graduating class. This picture is of Jackson from his graduation day, visiting his mother’s grave. (All personal details have been blocked out to protect privacy.) In the picture, you can see his NHS collar as well has the red cord, the school’s symbol for honors.

He’s also now dating the Valedictorian from the class that graduated two years behind him. He’s done really well for himself, despite his rocky upbringing. He’s proof that people can and do get out of terrible situations!

This story still hurts just as bad as the day Jackson told me about it. The fact that a parent can be that reckless and neglect their children like that sickens me. Something has to be done about people like this. There’s no reason for abuse like this to happen.

Thank you so much for reading! Stories like this need to be told.

Posted on by Mary Gondringer | Leave a comment

Why Does it Smell like Weed in Here

Parent teacher conferences are fun (#sarcasm). They’re especially fun when parents leave and your room smells oddly skunky.

Weed. Marijuana. Pot.

That parent was definitely smoking the reefer right before he came into my classroom.

An interesting parent.

And rude.

And missing most of his teeth.

He walked into my room, abruptly sat down and asked,

“How’s the f***er doing?”

How am I supposed to respond to that?

I asked him which student I was looking for. He looked at me like I was speaking to him in German. It was my first year in the school and I didn’t know the parents; clearly, he was insulted by this.

Gruffly, he replied, “Billy (name changed for privacy)?” Almost like, “duh, you should have known that.” (facepalm emoji)

I pulled up Billy’s grade. He was receiving a B.

 

Dad: “Wow. He’s that smart, huh? Or is that a pity grade?”

Me: “No, Sir. Billy is a very good student. He works hard, hands his work in on time, and produces high quality work.”

Dad: “Wow. He’s really not that smart, you know. Is he cheating?” (angrily) “You tell me if he’s cheating. I’ll beat his a**!”

Me: “No, Sir. He’s not cheating. He is doing the work all on his own and he truly is a very good student. I thoroughly enjoy having your son in my class.”

Dad: “Well holy f***ing sh*t. I don’t know whether or not I should believe you. Seems like someone’s not being truthful. Billy is stupid.”

Me: “Well, the semester isn’t over so I guess we will have to see how his grade changes by the end of the semester. In the meantime, do you have any other questions or concerns for me?”

Dad: “Yeah. He behaving himself ok?”

Me: “Yes, Sir, he is.”

Dad: “He better be. You let me know if he’s not and I’ll whoop his a**.”

Me: “Will do. Thanks for stopping by and have a great day. Please feel free to contact me if….”

By then he was out the door.

He walked out. I breathed a sigh of relief and immediately walked down to my principal’s office to ask her what was up with that family.

She told me a story:

Billy lived in a trailer home on the outskirts of town. The home was in complete disrepair and should have been condemned. She thought it might have been condemned in the past but was not sure. Either way, during the summers, the family basically let their home go back to nature. That sounds so weird, I know, but they removed all the windows and doors. They claimed that they were “letting the fresh air in.”

She asked me if I ever noticed how bad Billy smelled. Of course, I had. Billy was such a kind kid, but no one wanted to be friends with him because he smelled so bad. She said their home didn’t have laundry facilities, so it’s very possible Billy’s clothes hadn’t been washed in weeks.

Beyond his clothes, she said since they basically let their home to go nature in the warm months, the floors are covered with animal excrement.

She told me a story about how one time Billy woke up in the morning, rolled out of bed, and during the night, he had killed an entire litter of bunnies. Apparently, mama bunny had her babies on his bed and he didn’t realize it when he climbed into bed for the night. During the night, he rolled over on the entire litter and killed them all. She said, knowing the parents and the home, probably no one cleaned up the dead baby bunnies and they could have been in his bed for weeks.

Hearing this blew my mind. How could someone live like this? How was it that Billy was still living with his parents? How did the system not rescue him yet? My principal’s answer to my question was, “The system is broken.”

Sad.

I went back to my classroom to finish conferences. I was very broken-hearted and my heart hurt for Billy.

I went back to my classroom. I went back to my desk. I sat down. And I waited for the next parent to come in.

Before I could get lost in my thoughts, my next parent walked in and asked,

“Why does it smell like weed in here?”

This was clearly neglect. Like my last story about Kevin, this is a form of child abuse that wouldn’t come to mind when claiming someone was being abused, but living in the conditions Billy was living in was definitely neglect. It’s was very sad. Very sad indeed.

Posted on by Mary Gondringer | Leave a comment

Don’t Call Home

“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.

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.

Credit: Libby Penner – Unsplash.com

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.

Posted on by Mary Gondringer | Leave a comment