Life-Changing Moments

“I HATE YOU!” she screamed.  “Let me out of this hell hole!  I’ll never forgive you for this!”  The insults seemed to fly at me from all directions.  Jenny was having an off day.  The voices in her head screamed at her…told her that we were mistreating her…being unfair…abusing her just like he had done so long ago. 

And still, we barricaded the door.  Struggling to keep my voice steady and my hands clenched to the inside of my pockets, I took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry,” I told her, “but you cannot join the class until I see that you are calm.” 

“I AM CALM!” she wailed.  Her little body shook with rage and frustration.  Deep wrinkles and creases formed along her forehead and between her brows.  Her once bright eyes and rosy cheeks were now hidden in darkness.

“You’re doing great,” Pam whispered into my ear.  This had all happened before…many times, in fact.  Each time Jenny had a meltdown, our school’s counselor would join the scene and either escort Jenny to a place where she could calm down or stay with the teacher to provide support and witness the events for documentation purposes.  Learning from past experience, we both knew that tomorrow, Jenny would not remember the specifics of this outburst.  She would know that something bad happened, but she wouldn’t remember exactly what she said or why.  We had a nice little routine going of what to do when Jenny melted down before us, but repetition never made the events any easier.  We could block the exits, dodge flying furniture, and ensure the safety of the rest of the students with little to no effect on our own psyche, but the verbal assault was always the worst.  No undergraduate or graduate course can prepare you for an average-sized, brown-haired eight-year-old who cusses like a sailor and seems to have no trouble letting you know just how much you are ruining her life.

As I stood in the doorway watching Jenny rock herself back and forth, I began thinking back to the beginning of the school year.  Teacher after teacher told me how sorry they were for me.  “I see that you have Jenny this year.  Good luck.  You’re going to need it.”  This endless stream of negativity spewing forth from my co-workers lit a fire inside me that was unlike anything I had ever felt.  I decided then and there that I would be the difference for this child.  I would reach her on an academic, behavioral, social, and an overall human level.  I would not judge her for the events in her past that had taught her to shut down all rational thought and employ defensive strategies when she felt threatened.  I would simply accept her for the beautiful person she was put on this earth to be; I would accept nothing less than greatness from her.  I would not allow her to disrupt class, but I would also not hold her outbursts against her.  I would only hold her truly accountable for the actions she had the ability to control.

With an air of positivity swimming within me, Jenny and I began our journey down the third grade road.  Jenny blossomed into a thriving young reader and writer.  Knowing how much I had loved to read about Ramona as a child, I introduced her to Beverly Cleary’s books.  She took the challenge and developed an unquenchable thirst for any and all books I threw her way.  My students were expected to set monthly reading goals for themselves, and Jenny was no exception.  She set outrageous reading goals for herself, and month after month she met these goals with time to spare.  Days, and often weeks, passed by without a meltdown or explosion.  My co-workers were astounded.  “How did you do it?” they continued to ask.  The only trouble was that I didn’t have an answer…not one I was brave enough to say out loud. As I saw it, all I did was accept her for who she was…outbursts and all.  I didn’t treat her any differently than I did the other students.  Yes, she would get upset over minor issues in class, on the playground, or on the bus.  We dealt with the issues.  When Jenny got mad because she didn’t get to answer the question posed in class, I knew that she would pout and throw her head down on the desk.  She would hide in her arms, pull herself together, and then rejoin the class discussion.  The rest of the students had all learned to leave her alone when she was upset or angry.  Occasionally Jenny could feel her anger boiling and building inside her.  In such cases, she would ask for a quiet place to sit and think for a while.  These were the moments when I was most proud of her.  After a smile and a nod from me, Jenny would walk to the carpet square in the corner of the classroom…to her “quiet spot.”

Jenny’s first big outburst of the year came after a rough ride on the school bus.  She had been asked to sit quietly one too many times, and now she faced a bus suspension.  During her conference with the bus manager, Jenny admitted that yes, she had been standing up while the bus was moving.  And yes, she yelled at the boy in front of her.  And yes, she spit on the seat…of course, the spitting was an accident.  But what Mr. Bob failed to make her see was why she deserved a suspension.  For Jenny, a suspension meant that her parents had to drive her to and from school for the duration of her suspension…one day.  This was unacceptable.  She would be punished at home.  “Grounded,” she said, “They are going to ground me.  I will have to stay in my room with nothing to do but read books that I have read over and over.  And I won’t even get a snack before bed.  That’s not fair!  It wasn’t my fault!”  Jenny then proceeded to fold the suspension form in half and rip it to tiny pieces.  Magically, the suspension was suddenly three days instead of just one. 

We all knew Jenny’s parents.  Yes, to some, they were a little strange, but they seemed to be generally good people.  They had adopted Jenny and her sister from family members.  Although much of their immediate family had known about the abuse, neither girl knew that they were adopted.  They both had bi-weekly appointments with a psychiatrist.  Both of the girls had been sexually abused, but neither of them remembered the acts.  They were too young.  Those dreadful memories were buried deep in the subconscious folds of their brains.  Alice, Jenny’s sister, tended to struggle academically, and although she did have some difficulty in social settings, Alice did not have major meltdowns like the ones Jenny struggled to keep inside her.  Yes, Jenny would be grounded when she got home.  That was nothing new for her.  She often spent more time grounded than not.  I tried to assure her that I would send home with extra books to keep her company while she spent every afternoon for the next two weeks in her room.  Thinking about new books seemed to comfort her a tiny bit, but she never gave up her claim that, “this is not fair.”  Sensing his defeat, Mr. Bob simply said, “Well, life isn’t always fair,” and he quickly departed the building.

“I hate your fucking guts.” 

Spoken through clenched teeth, Jenny’s mumbled attack snapped me back into the present.  As the vile words tiptoed across her lips, I realized that she was beginning to calm down…drastically.  She spoke to no one in particular, which usually meant that she was speaking to the voice in her head…the one receiving the blame for today’s outburst.  She had stopped rocking, her tears had vanished, and she no longer crossed her arms firmly in front of her. 

“Looks like we survived another one,” Pam whispered with a smile.  “This one wasn’t so bad.  We aren’t bleeding, and neither is anyone else.”  I smiled back at her.   As outbursts go, this one got pretty loud, but it never got physical.  Success.  We both sighed with relief and looked at Jenny as she slowly approached us. 

“I’m calm now,” she said.  “Can I go join the class?”  She was calm.  Her face was relaxed, and her eyes once again held an innocent twinkle.

Bracing myself for another outburst, I told her that the school day had ended, and everyone had gone home.  Before she could panic over missing the bus, Pam told her that her dad was on his way to pick her up.

“Is he mad at me?  He gets really mad when I miss the bus.”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “He might be a little bit mad, but mostly I think he will be glad you are ok.”

She latched her arms firmly around me, and looked at the ground.  “I’m sorry, Ms. Simpson,” she said.  “I didn’t mean what I said.”  The crack in her voice let me know that tears were once again prickling her eyes.

With her arms still wrapped firmly around my waist, I lifted my hand to pat the back of her head.  “I’m sorry today didn’t end so well,” I replied.  “We’ll make tomorrow a better day.”

Together we straightened the desks and stacked the chairs in the classroom.  Jenny packed her backpack, and we walked up to the office to wait for her dad’s arrival.  In the silence that filled the empty hallways, I realized how much this brave little girl had been teaching me.  Fear and anger raged inside her, and yet on most days, she was just a happy kid trying to survive the third grade.  She came to school each day determined to make good choices, study hard, be a good friend to her classmates, and have a little fun along the way.  Every once in a while, the ugly side of her young life stepped in front of her, driving a wedge between her and anyone and everyone who got in her path. 

I think about Jenny often.  I can still see her too short bangs, the result of “my little cousin was playing with scissors,” and her dingy yellow sweat pants…the ones that she can’t seem to get clean anymore.  I wonder what life will be like for her in five years…ten years…twenty years.  Will she survive the cruelty that sometimes comes with junior high and high school?  Will she find a way to go to college and further develop her wonderful reading and writing skills?  Will she simply be able to control her anger so that she will stay out of prison? 

I don’t have the answers to these questions today, and maybe I never will, but one thing is certain…I will never forget Jenny…or how she taught me to love the world and the people in it…or the way she helped me to understand how important it is to always apologize for your actions when they have hurt someone else.  But most importantly, I will never forget how she showed me the importance of embracing the person that you are.  Of being the best version of you that you can be.