elizabethlevett

I have this little girl in my kindergarten class. We’ll call her Emma. Emma does not like to be ignored. She often provokes other children. She seems to need lots and lots of approval and attention. At times she can be cruel, other times she exaggerates her responses to frustration or disappointment to a dramatic degree. Sometimes other children retaliate. And no, I don’t say, “Well, ya had it coming, sister,” much as I’d like to. When Emma gets into a tiff with another student – “Oscar called me stupid and said he’s gonna hit me!” – I acknowledge that Oscar is not allowed to call her a name or threaten her, I have Oscar apologize and give him a little “think time.” Fine.

It came as some surprise then when I received a lengthy email on a Sunday evening from Emma’s father telling me he is shocked, disappointed, and deeply concerned about some of the stories of relentless bullying she has been sharing with him in the evenings. He is also shocked, disappointed, and deeply concerned that I’ve been ignoring his daughter’s pleas for justice in a class where she is obviously being picked on by the other students regularly. After all, she is a “young woman standing in her truth.” Her dad went on to explain that he works in HR so knows what women go through. Okay.

These are the moments where I have to laugh but also, I can’t help feeling discouraged. I’ve been there on so many levels for this child for ten months now. When she is demanding, I’ve tried to be accommodating. When she interrupts constantly, I’ve tried to be patient. When she says mean things to other students, I try to find out why. But she is five. Five-year-old children sometimes lie. I’m sorry, but they lie. I’m remembering the first grader whose mom phoned me demanding to know why I had stolen her daughter’s sweatshirt. I told her that I wear a larger size sweatshirt than a six-year-old and besides, her sweatshirt is in her desk. Little kids don’t always accept the truth. They don’t always like it. “I want that” becomes “That’s mine.” “I did that” translates to “Somebody else did.” For little kids, stretching the truth is an experiment, not an outright evil.

Naturally no parent wants their lovely little daughter to be bullied at school. I get that. But doesn’t he know her well enough – at least as well as I do – to understand her habits, her desire to, well, stir things up? Any good social worker or parenting coach could explain to this gentleman that he is heading down a troubled path. That his child’s needs usually will have nothing to do with the things she’s saying and more to do with why she says what she says.

So I wrote back. I did not tell this man that while his young daughter may be standing in “her truth,” she certainly is not in any way inhabiting “The Truth” or that objective reality tends occasionally to conflict with Emma’s sense of self interest, so to speak. No, I did the textbook nice teacher thing. I told him I was glad he contacted me with his concerns but that I was shocked, disappointed, and deeply concerned that little Tiff would give her parents the impression that I don’t listen to her. I reassured him that I am actually aware of what’s going on in my classroom, that I always take time to have a conversation with any student who says or does something that hurts another student – that these behaviors do have consequences, and that Emma is a wonderful student. (I might have been stretching a little for that last point.) I explained that young children are very tired at the end of a school day – plus a few hours at after care – and will often exaggerate out of a need for a little extra attention. I told him I looked forward to speaking with him if he’d like to sign up on the report card conference sheet I’d sent some weeks back.

I also did that textbook nice teacher thing we all do. I tried to look out for Emma a bit more. After all, no matter how annoying a child’s behavior can be, it’s really up to us adults to take the high road. Making sure children feel safe and seen and appreciated is what’s most important even as we acknowledge that they so speak and act out to elicit a reaction from others around them.

There is sometimes a problem with the Emma’s of the world though. You can never do enough. Try to give them a bit more ownership and they expect a set of keys and a copy of your lesson plans. I’m exaggerating but just a tad. In any case, I thought we were getting along. I thought we’d reached an understanding. I told myself the drama was simmering down. What a big dumb fool a teacher can be.

On a Thursday morning my students are all sitting on mats just outside the classroom having their snack after recess. I’m just inside the open door since some of my kids are already inside reading. In comes a nervous boy who I’ll call Wyatt. He walks over to with his hands pushed deep into his pockets and his mouth pursed tightly.

“What’s up, Wyatt?” I ask casually.

“Emma called you Miss V—-a.”

Say what, now?

“She called you Miss V—-a.”

“Thank you, Wyatt.” Yup. That really is what he just said. Well this is an annoying new twist. It’s also hilarious. Is there a prize that comes with the title? Do I get to wear a sash from now on like Miss Oklahoma or Miss Nebraska?

“Emma, can you come in for a minute, please?”

Subtle, affected head shake and slight frown – “What for?”

“Come here sweetie. I’d like to talk with you.”

She takes another bite of cookie, smiles at a friend and slowly walks in like she owns the place.

“Emma, sweetie, what did you just call me?”

“Nothing.” Silence. Then, finally, “I don’t remember.”

“Sweetie, I’ve actually already heard what you said so you need to tell me the truth.” (As if appealing to her honesty was something I had evidence to suggest this would work!)

Long story short, she finally admits it after three other students tell me. And no, most of them probably don’t know what the heck she’s talking about. And yes, given that she is a true justice warrior standing in her truth, She Knows.

I had Emma sit down and write a letter to her parents – she’s actually quite good at writing. I must have taught her how in those brief lapses times in between cutting off her interruptions and disbelieving her amazing revelations of the unspeakable cruelty she’s been subjected to on my watch. I made sure her letter was tucked safely in her pink backpack and then sent an email to her dad describing the case, assuring him of witness testimony, and asking him to be sure and look for the note she’d written. And no, I did not tell him I was shocked, or disappointed, or deeply concerned. I had to remind myself to be measured in my own reaction. I suggested that he and Emma’s mom have a calm conversation with their daughter about appropriate language, treating others with respect, etc., and then let it go.

Emma’s parents did finally join me for a conference and no, I didn’t bring up this incident. Emma’s dad talked a lot. I knew he would. I pretty much stuck to the script and went over Emma’s report card. There are some conversations, I decided, which are better left alone. I only hope he’ll learn to listen to his daughter – not always to what she’s saying, but to what she needs to say and isn’t yet able to say. And I hope she finds a way to get what she needs while leaving room for someone else to speak too.