Tough Guy

He punched a cadet in the face for asking him to be quiet, but cried as he tried to tell his side of the story. He threatened and intimidated other students but practically begged me to play four square with him on the playground. He couldn't sit still or keep quiet in class, couldn't stay in single file in the halls or keep his hands to himself in the cafeteria. If anyone confronted him about his behavior he'd become defiant, but for me he’d usually offer a sheepish grin and apologize with such charm that I wanted to believe him.

Kenneth couldn't help but stand out, not just because he was one of only a handful of black students in his fourth grade class, but also because he was a head taller than anyone else.   At nine years old he was already bigger than many of the teachers in our school so there was no way for him to slip under the radar even if he’d wanted to. He’d been suspended from his previous school a half dozen times for fighting, but only twice this year. We were making progress.

He was a disarmingly friendly kid most of the time so I figured we’d use his size to our advantage and make him the coat room monitor with the theory being that he could be our safety helper and keep the rest of the kids in line, and at the same time give him some responsibility. It seemed to work - or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Nothing else helped.  Detentions only made him mad.  Notes home were promptly returned the next day thanking me for having such patience with him but his behavior didn't change. The boy frustrated me to the point where I checked the “conference requested” box on his report card with a red marker. The envelope was returned signed but no conference was ever scheduled.

Things finally came to a head one morning before school started. As I was coming out to pick up the students I was told there'd been a fight. He'd punched another student in the face and within minutes two other students said he'd threatened them as well. That's when it all unraveled.   

Frustrated myself, I confronted him about his behavior and he said he wanted to go to another school. I'd had enough and suggested that we call his Mom right away and let her know about his decision. He was in fourth grade, but if he wanted to make the move maybe we should line up schools. I asked him what his next choice of school would be, and if he'd ever been to a school where it was okay to beat up other people.  He just grew quiet and cold.

We marched the class into the building single file and as soon as I was able we went out to the hallway to make the phone call. I dialed the phone but the woman on the line was not his mother. It was the receptionist at the domestic abuse shelter where he and his Mom had been living . . .