My mom was horrible with directions. She would constantly get lost going to the most common of places. We would tease and laugh, and when she had the kids in the car, she would wiggle a little dance and sing, “We’re on an adventure!” The kids would giggle at grandma, and know that that day would be a treat.
Today, we were on our adventure into Middle School. The goal with Moose is to have him completely immersed into the basic ed classes for the 4th quarter. As long as he does well there, he’ll go to the “regular” classes at Middle School. If he doesn’t the only other option is the EBD {Emotionally, Behaviorally Disturbed/Disabled} program. Before I got pregnant with Moose, I worked in a school setting just like that. I’m talking, swear words, fists, and desks flying, all around BAD environment. This is NOT the type of setting that Moose would deal well with. There would be no opportunity to grow, and he would literally wither from the inside out.
Since his incident with the PE coach, his teacher and I have been trying really hard to wake him up. We keep telling him how bad the EBD class is, and telling him he doesn’t belong there. So, this morning, we went and observed the class.
We saw two self contained classes, one significantly worse that the other. There was even a board up on the wall where a window once was, yesterday. Four kids were missing from that classroom this morning and honestly, the behavior intervention specialist said, the four that were there were acting on their best behavior. The worst behavior that we really saw was elopement issues, where three of the kids (one who was very angry about something that happened before we got there) went outside without permission, and their I.A.’s went with them. They were loud. They were gruff. Were they enough to scare Moose? Not so much. I was kind of praying that a chair would fly, since their desks were made out of super heavy, over-sized, single pieces of wood.
The behavior specialist did point out the brokenness in the classroom. I say it like that, because that’s really what it was, spiritual brokenness. It literally broke my heart and made me want to go back to working with those types of kids.. but I digress.
There were holes in the walls, a pencil sharpener in pieces, a board over the window that once was, a dent in the door, even the air conditioning vent was pulled off the wall and haphazardly reattached. The printer was broken, the shelves were scattered and disorganized—again, not the environment that’s right for my son. We went to the other classroom to watch.
This one was set up more like a traditional classroom, with smaller tables and desks. There were only four kids in that classroom, one girl was outside that I’m pretty certain belonged in that class but never came inside. These kids were more along the line of the ADD bunny.. They were very sweet, a few curse words, “joking” hands on, but definitely not focused. Again, still not the right environment for Moose. I asked the behavior specialist if we could show Moose what the “regular” classes looked like, even if just from the outside. We went into another part of the school and peeked inside the windows.
There were a LOT of kids in the one class. A lot. It was towards the end of the period, so I’m thinking that they had a few minutes of free time, because it was a little louder than normal. The other classes were much quieter, but they were all still working. Moose loved the science class, like I knew he would, getting excited that there was an observation table with microscopes IN the class.
We walked further down the hallway, and there was a bulletin board with all of the teachers names on computer paper, with a clipart image of an item or two. Moose was very interested on what classes they taught. The behavior specialist started working the board with him, pointing to the obvious ones first, like math and science, then pointed to a page that had two apples and an open book and asked Moose what he thought that teacher taught. Moose looked at it, and answered very matter-of-factly {as he usually does}, “she must teach physics.” Our tour guide looked at him, and literally his jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, looked at me, looked at him simply said, “Moose, I don’t know you very well.. only the little while we’ve been together today. The EBD program is a great program, but it is NOT the program for you. You would be bored, uninspired, and overwhelmed. You don’t need to be in this program.”
Moose just looked at him, nodded, and then asked about lunch. No sooner did he ask when the one EBD class we observed earlier came busting into the hall we were in, and started heading to lunch. We decided to follow them. They ran, skipped and squeaked their shoes up the halls, and when they got back outside to open hallways, ran and jumped some more.
We were explained to that the kids in the EBD program were so badly behaved that they had to go retrieve lunch from the cafeteria, then take it back to class, so they could eat it there. Moose kind of liked that idea, because he thought the cafeteria might be a little over sensory. As the kids got to the cafeteria and were asked to wait, they began literally bouncing off of the walls and tables, and running around.
I could tell Moose was a little overwhelmed. He asked questions about extra juice {because sometimes he likes having extra} and we explained how in middle school everyone is responsible for their own actions. If you want an extra juice, you grab, and pay for an extra juice. On another note, just because you’re in lunch doesn’t mean you *have* to have lunch.. I explained some kids make bad choices and don’t eat if they’re not hungry, but then by the end of the day, they’re starving. He didn’t quite understand why someone would do that.
The EBD kids started to leave and we asked our guide if we could stay and see what the “regular” lunch was like. The other kids started to filter in, and while they did I explained to Moose that once he starts 6th grade, he’s going to reconnect with some friends from other schools, and make new friends, and find people that are into the same things as him. Then, when lunch comes, you’re going to be so eager to look for Derek, or Joe, or James, that you’re not going to even realize how “loud” lunch is. He looked at me in disbelief. It was getting noisy, but I told him he’d have to just trust me on that one. He asked if we could leave.. I encouraged him to stay a few more minutes and told him to look at one of the students wearing an orange shirt. I asked him to really look at what he was wearing…
He spotted them right away. “He’s got on headphones!” he exclaimed.
I again, explained that in middle school you’re responsible for your own actions. You can’t wear headphones in class, but you can definitely wear them in lunch, or on the bus, or in the hall, or anywhere you think that you might need them, as long as they were off when you got to class. “Really?” he asked.
That was the golden ticket. He saw some hope in that one little moment that middle school might not be as hellacious and scary as it seems, and that maybe, just maybe, for the first time in his life, he’d have a chance to succeed. And he started getting excited. It seemed as if for once, it was clear, and he wasn’t Completely Puzzled.
Completely Puzzled 