Topsy Turvy Frustration

I am thinking today about a child's frustration. I heard yesterday that one of our first graders "spun out" as we sometimes call it and gave the principal, the security guard and the teacher a real run for their money. He reached the bus loop with his class at the end of the day and promptly refused to board. He placed two legs spread eagle and firmly planted on the cement with arms akimbo, backpack dragging off his shoulders, and refused to budge. There appeared to be no way to convince him to go home. As the situation accelerated, the first grader, in sheer desperation, upon realizing that there were a number of adults who were committed to getting him to leave, bolted for the nearby fence and tried to climb it. I am not sure how the problem was eventually resolved but all in all, I am not really concerned about the bus and the fence. I am concerned about the child.

The history of this child is painfully similar to other members of our student body. It turns out that both this little boy and his sibling have been sexually molested (to what degree is not clear), by a next door neighbor. Instead of reporting this travesty, the Mother has decided to forgive the perpetrator and now according to some, "they are all good friends". I have no specific information about the family except that there are profound social and economic problems. I do not understand what sort of relationship the Mother has with the perpetrator. I do not know whether or not the abuse continues and I do not know whether or not the child and his sibling receive counseling. I am simply observing and listening.

After a significant time in the district, I am no longer surprised when a small child does not wish to go home at the end of the day. I lived to go home at the end of the school day. Home meant safety, milk and cookies and a loving family. School was a necessary obligation. The most serious education took place at home. Our bus provided transportation but I only really felt safe riding with Mom and Dad. School provided fairly decent food, but the real food was at home. My home was everything that so many of our students do not experience. I did not have to fight going home at the end of the day.

Our first grader suffered another meltdown this afternoon. He was so upset about going home that upon exiting the school building, he began picking up discarded cigarette butts off the ground and putting them in his mouth. I last glimpsed him being carried back into the school building over a teacher's shoulder. I think about this little child and I think that I would not board the bus either...would you?