A Word Aptly Spoken

On Saturday I went to the memorial service for my former principal and friend Rich Sterner. After the enjoyment of seeing so many former colleagues on Thursday night at a retirement party, seeing them on Saturday was an entirely different experience. It was a beautiful service that Rich planned himself filled with music and people who loved him.  One of his daughters joked that it was just like her dad to get all those people in a room and make them listen to his playlist. That playlist was so much like Rich – it showed his broad interests and his heart.

I have been reliving part of the past for a week now as I talked to old friends and colleagues. As much as I have been reflecting on my friend and the experiences we had over the years, I have also been revisiting times of my life, the teaching profession, the people I’ve worked with over the years. No matter if the memories were good or bad, they all had one thing in common at the time. We thought they’d never end. The friends would always be there. Our joy in our work would always be there. But there is something that is preoccupying my mind. The memories narrowed to a small aspect of the past. There were many good memories, but I had one very unsettling realization. And at the time, I thought it would never end either

Before I tell you about that, I have to preface it by speaking of how much I loved my students. I have the best memories of them and love hearing from them on FB, meeting them for lunches and dinners, having them come to my home, knowing their children, and even having them become part of my family! I have former a student whose children who are my grandchildren. They have always known me and introduced me as that. I also have acquired nieces or nephews as I became Aunt Lynne.

Back to the very unsettling memory. There was one year that was completely horrible. I say that and often think that, but that isn’t really the whole truth. It wasn’t the whole year but the situation made the whole year seem awful. It wasn’t the entire junior class, it wasn’t even a whole class period. It was five boys in one class – out of over 4000 kids I taught in 31 years – who made the whole thing seem awful.

They were not just misbehaved children. They were evil. They slid death threats into my in-box. Made gunshot sounds as I passed them. One wrote a poem called “Killing English Teachers is Good and Wholesome” and turned it in for an assignment. His mother said I just didn’t understand his creativity – I call BS. The administration did nothing. The principal (not Rich) but also a man I saw as a friend told me that he couldn’t do anything because there was nothing in the disciplinary code. When I pointed out that threatening a teacher was in there and called for immediate suspension, he told me his hands were tied. I felt alone in this as I faced the class each day.

Other teachers in my department came up with a reason for us to trade classes for a week. That would give me a short break and also help to implement a curriculum we were working on. I took a few days off at one point in the year which was normal. However, what was not normal was that I took home my personal items because I knew they wouldn’t be there when I got back (another teacher had lost his stuff that was thrown out the window onto a roof below by these same students). My yearbook staff was afraid that I wasn’t coming back, and I have to say that was tempting.

The PSEA said that I should call the police because there was potential for these students to act on the threats, but while that scared the shit out of me, the teacher in me didn’t want to do that. In hind sight, I absolutely should have. This situation would not have gone on without that call to the police if it had happened just a few years later. When I think now of the school shootings that have happened and especially the one in particular which took the life of a colleague I respected very much, I am frightened at what could have happened.

The reason that I’m sharing this is two-fold. First of all I am afraid for other teachers. I’m hearing many teachers say that there is no discipline being maintained in schools. Add that to the disrespect being shown to teachers today from many parents and communities, the attacks from politicians, the self-interest groups who have been convinced that teachers have some evil desire to corrupt the minds of kids by teaching actual history of the Civil War or the Civil rights moments or allowing students to read a wide range of literature that talks of other cultures or other points of view. I wouldn’t go back into the classroom for love nor money!

The second reason for sharing is to say that I learned something this week – something about myself and about an experience many people have gone through that I empathized with but don’t think I quite got it. Because of a very brief encounter, I have now found an understanding, albeit on an extremely minimal level, of what those suffering from PTSD go through. You see, one of the first things I saw upon walking into the funeral on Saturday was one of those students I talked about above. Immediately my jaw tensed and I felt the anger I had from way back then. This man is probably not the same as he was as a teenager, although from the “greeting” I didn’t see any change. Rich found good in him, but all I saw even this week was that same hateful teen. I’ve given over way too much of the last few days reliving the pain, the terror, and the abandoned feeling one gets from being put into a room alone with people who pose a threat.  

I haven’t had to see these boys over the years. And the very next class I had was one of my absolute favorites ever. During that following year it was actually a group of my juniors who put a stop to the problem. One of them, who called me Ma, told me, “You don’t have a problem anymore. Me and Roberts took care of it.” All grammar aside, I already loved these guys but loved them even more for stepping up when the admin wouldn’t.

I got a small glimpse of what someone with PTSD must cope with and survive. I spent a school year dealing with this situation. It wasn’t a long deployment. It wasn’t a living situation with an abusive family member that went on for years. I don’t have to be triggered or worry about it every day, so I never realized that I could have such an emotional gut reaction. I don’t know how a war veteran, the abused, the victims of crime and others who have to deal with sounds, people, situations, or other triggers that can occur at any minute manage to live with any sense of peace or how they heal.

I’ll be better prepared if there is a next time that I have to see one of those hateful people since I’ve had the experience of being taken by surprise and know what it can do. I had only seen one of them before this, and I knew the man would be there so I was ready. He also talked to me about being an ass back when he was in my class – even if he didn’t acknowledge it was as serious as it was. I knew then that I still carry anger over the situation, but I didn’t realize what a surprise encounter like this would do. The real sufferers of PTSD don’t have the luxury of knowing when it could happen, and my heart goes out to them. I understand a tiny bit of what it’s like and will have much, much more compassion for them in the future.