Re: Action

Steven is a little slow. He's on medication to help him focus better in class, but it doesn't seem to be having the desired effect. Most days he is only available for minutes at a time, then he is gone again, head on his desk or endlessly arranging his pencils. At the end of the day, when my other students have left, he will stop and ask me about the book order, or could I please write down the homework on a post-it so he won't forget. Even though I know he will.
There have been a couple of days that Steve has come back to my classroom after school to tell me that other kids are bothering him and his little sister. I finish up what I'm doing and then walk with them to the corner, where I keep an eye on them as they head on down the street to their house. Steve sometimes stops and looks at things in the gutter, or stares at himself in the sideview mirror of a car parked on the street. There's no danger there, just a protracted walk home. Until today.
I sensed more immediacy in his little sister's voice when she rushed into my room. "Mister Caven, they're trying to beat up my brother!" This was no lurking threat, but an actual event. I hustled out into the hall, and followed her out to the sidewalk, where I saw Steve being chased by six other kids up the street. I used my biggest outdoor voice, "Everybody stop right there."
To my great relief, every one of them stopped in their tracks. I was fortunate to have my fourth grade colleague behind me, and she helped herd the whole group back down the sidewalk and up the front steps of the school, into the Principal's office.
There was a lot of denial and finger-pointing at first. Once the older sister of one of my students spilled the whole story, then they all wanted to get in their limited confessions. And as I listened, my stomach turned. The mob mentality, hunting the slowest gazelle, moving in a pack. I knew that I needed to stay, and see that justice was meted out, but I wanted to leave. I wanted to turn my back on the ugliness that had witnessed. Could it have been worse? Of course. It was the quintessential elementary school bully moment.
Maybe it was the guilt I felt for the times I felt my own patience for Steve disappearing. Maybe it was a flashback to my own encounters with foul-tempered punks in grade school. Maybe it was just the end of a very long day. When the sentences were handed down - no recess for a month, and a letter of apology from each of the participants - they were on their way. I know that some of their parents would back us up. I know that some of their parents will probably be upset with us for being too harsh. And I know that some of their parents won't care one way or another. Those are the ones I expect to see again.
And what about Steve? Will this make it hard for him to come back to class and participate fully? My guess is that he won't remember it past the first week of recesses missed by his tormentors. He'll be back to scooting his pencils around his desk tomorrow morning. It might take me a little longer to get back to normal.