The Pirate Queen Learns Humility

People are always telling me... "Wow, you have some great stories, you should write a book."

Well, easy for them to say; most of them don't have 3 jobs.

But still, here's a story that I don't usually tell. There are a couple of reasons for this:

1. It's deeply important to me.
2. I'm kind of a jerk in it.
3. It means more to me than I can possibly say.

Yeah, I know. I mean, sure, I'm all about kicking ass and taking names, but generally my violent crimes, whether physical, emotional, or verbal, are focused upon the deserving... In this case,

Not so much.

Anyway, if you haven't already turned your brain off... Here it goes.

Once upon a time there was a young Saltminer. She was only in her second year of teaching, and she had even more to learn then than she does now.

She was working in a small outpost in a hot building, toiling daily with some of the worst dregs of the dysfunctional system we here call "education." She was what was called a "Behavioral Program Director." This means that any kid who was a problem, any kid who pissed off a teacher or just hated school was sent to her. She did not have a clue how to help half of them.

She was 22 years old.

She was still quite idealistic and hard-working, but perhaps she should have been just a bit more humble... after all, she was at least 5 years away from being the ass-busting Pirate Queen she would one day become.

Then again, perhaps she never would have become that very person without this particular experience.

One day, into her quiet and lonely classroom tromped a very angry young inmate. Although only 15 years old, he was nearly 6 feet tall, looked like Vin Diesel (haircut and all), and had numerous cuts and abrasions all over his visible form. Most notably, each of his knuckles was the size of a very large marble. The look on his face didn't just scream anger... It also bespoke a world-weariness I hadn't seen on some 40 year olds.

I welcomed him effusively into the program, and told him all about what he would be required to do, as well as the myriad ways that I could potentially help him to fulfill his educational potential.

At which point, I simply stopped talking. During this entire recitation, he had remained stoically silent.

Our eyes met.

And the staring commenced.

For the next 37 minutes, neither of us said a thing.

Not one single word.

It was eerie.

When the bell rang, he pushed back his chair, and walked out of the room to the tune of me cheerfully stating, "See you tomorrow, Aidan!"

He stopped for a second, and seemed to shake his head. Shocked that I apparently hadn't been fazed by his complete failure to communicate with me.

After he left I went to my desk, took a slightly shaky sip of cold coffee, and laughed an equally shaky laugh.

I was positive I would never see him again.

I was wrong... and thank goodness for that, otherwise this story would be an even bigger dud than it appears to be.

The next day, Aidan once again appeared in my room. He stood in the doorway, seemingly afraid to cross the threshold until I once again welcomed him with a thundering, "Hi there!"

He stepped through, sat down, and again said nothing.

Sensing that this could go on forever, I grabbed a folder which contained some of his assignments, and said, "Hey, let's go next door."

I don't know where this inspiration came from, but it proved to be one of my best choices ever. Once we were in the room next door (a small cluttered office instead of a large brightly lit classroom) he actually started talking to me... of his own volition. I learned that he was a skater and cyclist, that he generally got beaten to shit by his feats of daring, and that he had three brothers he was responsible for. This last fact is particularly ironic, since he was the youngest of the four. I have met the others... and even at 15 he surpassed all of them in both drive and intellect. I gave him a slip to sign so that he could be in my "Anger Management" class. (Oh, and don't think that I don't appreciate the supreme ridiculousness of ME teaching a class like that).

He then informed me that it probably wouldn't get signed unless he himself did the signing. When I asked why, he very frankly told me that his father was illiterate, and he had no idea where his mother was or who she might be shacking up with.

I gave him a pen and said, "Meet me next door when the slip has been signed."

30 seconds later he was in my room, the slip was stowed in the appropriate folder, we talked a bit more about extreme sports, the bell rang, and he was gone.

Thus began a year long journey for me and Aidan. Though we did have several rough patches, he would always show up in my room, and in pure self defense, we bonded. He told me once with complete honesty and lack of any form of sucking up that I was the only teacher that he had ever trusted.

By the end of that year, he had been kicked out of almost every class he was enrolled in. Of course, in their infinite wisdom, the school had him transferred to me. Oh yes friends and neighbors, I was now basically the sole responsible party in charge of this angry young man's education. (Me, the shop teacher, and the PE teacher... Those were the only two classes he was still actually attending).

One 20-something year, celebrated and venerable veteran of the Saltmine (who to this day is still lauded as being the "best" teacher who ever worked at the Saltmine) told me in these exact words that he would no longer be teaching this young man:

"He's a hoodlum. I won't have him in my classroom. He's your problem now. Good-fucking-luck."

All I could think was, 'What a self important ass-face.'

For the most part, Aidan was fine with this situation. He told me several times, very clearly, that school was not important to him in any way, and that I was one of the only people there that he didn't consider to be a complete asshole.

And so it went.

I was able to work with him, and ultimately he passed social studies, English, and science. He also got a half a credit for Spanish. (Yes, I was teaching him that as well... Just imagine).

But the greatest struggle by far... was math.

Oh yeah. Me. Teaching math.

But, regardless... he and I began making slow progress.

Some time around March, I actually got him to take home some math work to complete. I was confident not only that he could do it, but that he would do it.

Naturally... Pride goeth before the fall, as the poet once said.

The next day, he came into school, back pack in hand. I greeted him at the door, just as happy as a stupid little lark, and asked how he had fared with his homework.

He stared straight through me and calmly said,

"I didn't do it."

There was a long moment of silence in which I could practically feel the world revolving under my feet.

And then came the disappointment.

It was closely followed by a white hot rage so intense that I could feel my whole body shaking. I mentally punched myself in the face. What the hell had I been thinking? What the hell had I been wasting my time for?

There was a moment at which I nearly chose to simply put my head down on my desk and sob.

Worthless.

I should have been a tire sales person. Fuck teaching.

Instead, I said, "Let's go out in the hall." (That was probably the one and only good decision I made for the next 10 minute span, as there were several other students in my room at the time).

I stalked out the door, and stood in an alcove next to the ancient saltmine elevator. I waited there for him to follow, which he did... very, very slowly.

Once he was standing within a few feet of me, I let go of my fury.

Generally, on the few occasions when I am truly pissed off and say so, I almost always completely forget what I say. This is, in fact, one reason why I control my temper so very tightly. Part of me lives in fear of truly wounding anyone with my words. However, on this occasion I remember with crystalline clarity the words I spoke. I said,

"You didn't do it. Umm... I realize that all of this is probably just a joke to you, but we both worked really hard, and you have learned a lot. You told me that you would finish that work, and like a complete moron, I trusted you. Tell me, Aidan... Should I even be bothering? Am I just wasting my time? Because if I am, please say so now."

Eternally long pause.

At this point I was nearly speechless with fury. But I finally ended with the following gem of ineptitude: "Can you at least explain why you didn't just finish? I know that you could have. Why didn't you just do it at home like I asked? Why?"

At this point, I had finally simmered down enough to actually look at Aidan. Up until then I had been furiously staring at the elevator doors, the floor, the wall... anything but him. I was so pissed, I couldn't even look at him. I very nearly hated him... but I hated myself more for actually believing that I was helping him.

But when I finally did look, this is what I saw. Here was this enormous kid who looked older than I did, shaved head and all. His shoulders were slumped; he was staring at the floor, and his fists were, for once, unclenched, and just hanging by his sides as though they weren't even attached to his body. He looked exactly the way I felt.

Completely and utterly defeated.

Finally, as I stared at him he raised his head. His eyes met mine for the barest instant, and he whispered something in a hoarse voice that I couldn't understand. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery.

"What?" I said in a somewhat louder voice than usual, in an attempt to re-summon my anger. That one quick glance, as short as it had been, had hit me like a punch in the kidney.

There was a shorter pause, and in a slightly louder voice he said,

"Because you're not there when I go home."

This time I really was stunned speechless. Plus, I was afraid I would actually start crying... Which is something I never do in front of anyone. Ever.

I looked him in the eye again, said, "Grab your jacket. We're going for a walk."

For the rest of the period we did nothing except circle the outside of the school building. After an initial 10 minutes of silence, he finally began talking.

I didn't say much.

In fact I said nothing. I only nodded a few times.

What I learned was that when he arrived home, he started doing the homework. Not long afterward, his father returned from "work" (AKA drinking with his friends). When he saw Aidan at the table working, he began to laugh, and said, "What the fuck are YOU doing?"

When Aidan explained that he was doing math homework, his father responded with this brilliant quip, "What the fuck are you wasting your time on that for? You're just as stupid as a rock! It don't matter what you do, you'll always be a loser."

And of course, he proceeded to kick the chair Aidan was sitting in, nearly knocking it to the floor.

I had absolutely no idea how to respond to this information.

None.

Nothing they teach you in "teacher school" can ever prepare you for that.

Instead, when the bell rang we went back to my classroom, he took out his math homework, finished it, and asked me if I would take it to the teacher for him.

I did.

We never spoke of the incident again, I never asked him to take his work home again, and he continued to come to my room 4 out of seven periods every day.

He passed math. With a D-.

On the last day of school that year, I told him that I was prouder of him that I could ever be of anyone if I lived to be 1,000 years old. He shrugged in a very embarrassed way and walked out of my room, only saying, "See you next year."

Later that day, as the bell rang for the end of school, I happened to see Aidan with one of his friends in the hallway. When I passed him, we high-fived wordlessly, and I kept walking the other way. My aide, who was walking just behind me in the hall informed me of the following interchange between Aidan and his friend "Chris."

Chris: "Who the hell was that? Is she a teacher here?"
Aidan: "She's the only real teacher in this school."

When we got back to my room, the aide shared this overheard bit of conversation with me.

I immediately left my room and went to the 2nd floor girls bathroom.

I calmly went inside, closed myself in a stall, and cried.