Warner Update
Making a difference, one person at a time
Hugging a Porcupine
He is ours.
He was ours when he arrived – precocious, skeptical, curious, and bursting with spirit. His blue plaid shirt brought out the tint of his eyes and his bountiful smile brought joy to those around him. He's smart, impish, naturally clever, and full of promise.
He was ours when learning became more challenging. When his emerging struggles with dyslexia and distractibility started to manifest themselves in emotional outbursts and disruptive behaviors. He was ours when he began to indiscriminately hit and kick other kids on the playground. He was ours when he drew an intricate picture of a prairie landscape in art class, amazing us all with his innate artistic talent.
He was ours when he began testing the limits of acceptable classroom behavior. When his self-esteem began to slowly die and his personality turned increasingly stormy. He was ours when he intentionally punched his teacher in the arm and threw a book at another student. When he curled up in a corner of the room, hyperventilated, cried, and said he was sorry.
He was ours when his parents divorced and when he lost a loved one. We were there when his dad remarried and moved away. He was ours when his mother lost her job. He was ours when the home he’d lived in all his life went through foreclosure and when his mother and he moved in with friends. He was ours when he started stealing and tormenting smaller kids at the bus stop.
He was ours when his beautiful, infectious smile retired and the darkness began to encircle him.
He was ours when we had to reassure the other children they were safe, despite his nearly constant threats.
He was ours when he stopped doing homework, when he stopped caring about his grades and when he started playing violent video games.
He was ours when he got suspended for fighting, for chronic disruptive behavior, for cussing out a teacher, for breaking a computer. He was ours when we couldn’t find his mom to pick him up on the day he said he was going to hurt himself. When he told his counselor he wished he’d never been born.
He was ours when the police came to visit him.
He was ours when a loved one had an overdose. He was ours when he returned to school as a hollow shell of his previous self, nearly catatonic from his prescribed regimen of daily depression medications.
He was ours when a caring teacher decided to take a chance. When the color came back to his eyes. He was ours when he won a prize in the Young Artist contest. He was ours when he found a counselor he trusted, who took the time to listen and who was patient enough to peel through the many layers of anger and angst surrounding his soul to discover the sad, insecure, yet lovable boy inside.
He was ours when he recovered his smile again. When he joined a local youth group and found meaning in his life.
He will be ours when he graduates. When he hugs loved ones and says, “I love you. Thank you for saving my life.” He will be ours when he leaves our school to become the best version of what he can be.
This child is ours. He is smart and bright and kind and troubled and hurt and angry. For years, he has struggled mightily to overcome trauma, despair, learning challenges, and a self-defeating mentality. He wrestled for most of his young life to keep himself balanced, to calm his inner demons, to make friends, to trust adults, to show compassion, to love himself, and to learn with any consistency.
To simply be a kid.
You see, he was always ours. He belongs to us as much as the star athlete, the future scholar, the homecoming queen, and the valedictorian. For much of his schooling, he was tough to love. We didn’t want to own him.
If you have been in education very long, especially in a larger district, you have met “him” or “her,” likely more than once. These children frustrate us, make us angry, and cause us to cry. They cause us to question our effectiveness as educators and the meaning and value of our work.
It hurts to get close to children like “him.” It’s like hugging a porcupine. But they are ours, and hugging porcupines is occasionally the most important part of our job.
A core belief I hold tightly is this: When children are in our schools, they are our kids. All. Of. Them. If a kid walks through the doors of our public school, we should see them, listen to them, push them, care for them, support and believe in them as if they are our own.
When we help these children survive and thrive – academically, socially, and emotionally – we are reminded of the beliefs and passion that power our work as educators. All kids can learn. We know how to teach them. Together, we have what it takes.
All the kids at our school are “ours.” For some, we have but a brief opportunity to do the one thing – the RIGHT thing – to change the course of their life in a positive way. What an awesome privilege and frightening burden that is.
This much is certain. This boy is ours.
And when you take the chance to hug a porcupine like him, the reward will be yours.
Next Week At A Glance:
Wednesday, Sept. 18th: K-2 Assembly at 8:45am
Wednesday, Sept. 18th: PLC Wednesday
- Past 1/2 way of Quarter 1 - evaluate pacing of essential standards
- Discuss Behavioral Interventions - documentation, behavior plans, parent communication
- If time discuss current formative assessment(s) for this week's essential standard
Thursday, Sept. 19th: CPFCU 4th and 5th grade presentations
Thursday, Sept. 19th: Warner TEAM Meeting 9am
Thursday, Sept. 19th: Illuminate Training at the ISD 1pm
Friday, Sept. 20th: Staff Meeting in Mrs. Archer's room
- Chapt. 1 & 2 Help For Billy
Saturday, Sept. 21st: Parma Days Celebration and Parade
* Please remember the process to bring students to TEAM
* Conferences are one month away...reminder:
- Families don't like surprises
- Families grow tired of only hearing negatives or negative heavy conversations
- Find small things to celebrate and share with families