by Norman W. Wilson, PhD
From the small country school I moved to a suburban school system. There I taught in the basement of a strip mall for one year and then moved to a former old elementary school. There, in the basement, next to the furnace room I taught English-Social Studies for several weeks until a regular classroom was available. A multimillion dollar new school complex was under construction. During these first two years, my teaching assignment was the emotionally handicapped. I had no specialized training in this area.
I had a group of 30 fourteen year-olds for three hours at a time; two classes a day. The school was also on a split session. You guessed right. I had a session in the morning and one in the afternoon. In the northeast, during the winter months it's dark early.
At this time, I weighed in at 145 pounds. One of my students, I'll call him John, insisted he could get up, leave the classroom, and go out into the hallway and talk with friends. I went out into the hall and demanded that he return to class. He told me in no uncertain terms to buzz off, and swung at me. I ducked and came back with a punch connecting to his left jaw. He went down . Stunned, he just sat there.
I told him to get back into the classroom and get to work. Did I mention he weighed in at a good 30 pounds more than me? He did.
I stormed into the principal's office, told him I had struck a student, and he could go ahead and fire me. I was yelling by that time. When I finally stopped yelling, he asked if I felt better. I said I did. He replied, "Well, get back to your class. They need you."
By the time school ended, and I had made sure I had everything prepared for the next day, I left the building. It was dark and cold. Just as I was pulling my coat tighter around me, a deep voice boomed out of the shadows.
"I've been waiting for you."
It was John. I was sure I was going to be beaten within a inch of my life. H e had the entrance to the building blocked so I could not get back in and get help.
"You're the only teacher who ever made me do what I was supposed to. You're okay," he said.
From then on, John helped control the class for me while I worked one on one with those who needed that concentrated instruction. John became an attorney with a law firm in New York City.
You just never know.
Norman W Wison and his wife Suzanne are Camano Island residents. This essay used by permission from the author. His website is http://www.shamanicmysteries.com
Comments