Homework5

2 A DAY IN THE LIFE

Once Upon a Time ...

The kids in our classroom are infinitely more significant than the subject matter we 're teach­ ing them.

Meladee McCarty

Some parents just don't want to hear any bad news about their children. Mr. Reardon* seemed to be one of them. Though I needed his help, I wasn't getting any­ where with him. I'd spent my entire lunch period trying to convince him that his ten-year-old daughter was in seri­ ous emotional pain. I didn't succeed; talking to him was like talking to a prosecutor.

After twelve years of teaching, I considered myself a "pro." W hy was I doubting myself now, wondering if this father's accusations were true? Were Rachel's* problems my fault? Were my expectations unrealistic for this child described by her father as "supersensitive"? Was I putting more pressure on her than past teachers had? I honestly didn't think so.

*Names have been changed to ensure privacy.

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Slender, blue-eyed Rachel was among my most capable students when the school year began. She grasped ideas quickly, managed math problems and social-studies reports with ease, and had a passion for creative writing. Though a bit shy, she was quick to laugh and chat with me and her classmates.

Midyear, however, I began to see disturbing changes. Rachel seemed distracted much of the time and found even the simplest tasks frustrating. Some days she · couldn't put her name and date on a paper without tears or spurts of anger. She'd fold her arms across her chest, pinch her lips together and sit motionless for an hour or more. Except when I asked her to write a story, she rarely finished a single assignment by the end of the school day.

But what prompted me to make the call home was her antisocial behavior. At recess, she stood off by herself while class:rr-ates played Frisbee or kickball. In the cafe­ teria, she sat in the custodian's corner, often with no lunch or money to buy it. Even in the classroom, when I encour­ aged students to choose partners for informal projects, Rachel remained alone, staring out the window or sketch­ ing fantasy landscapes in her notebook.

Why had Rachel's father reacted so negatively to my call? Why wasn't he worried about the changes in his daughter's behavior? Obviously, Rachel was troubled about something. What about her mother? Would she have seen things differently had she answered the phone? Maybe a new baby was on the way. Or a relocation. I was sure Rachel's anxiety was home-related, but home was off-limits to me. Her father had made that very clear. I should concern myself only with Rachel's school environ­ ment, he'd said.

One morning, a few days after the phone call, Rachel came to school in a soiled, crumpled dress. Her hair was dirty and uncombed; her eyes were little more than slits in

4 A DAY IN THE LIFE

her pale face. She dropped into her chair, put a book on her desk as a pillow and fell asleep in minutes.

Three hours later, my class went to lunch, and I gently roused her, determined to find out what was going on.

me," she said in almost a reverent whisper. "Used to?" I knew I was in forbidden territory, but it

was the first time in months Rachel had mentioned her mother.

She twisted her belt with one hand and tried to cover a quivering chin with the other. -"Mom can't do anything now. She's ... she's ... "

"Away? Or sick, perhaps?" I probed. "Yes. I mean, no!" she began to sob. "I can't tell you. I

want to. But Dad made me promise never to tell anyone at school. I can't break my promise, can I?" Her eyes begged me to say "yes."

Forcing myself to stay calm, I handed Rachel a tissue

"Sometimes I stay awake at night so I don't 'have bad dreams," she said softly, rubbing her eyes.

'Want some fruit salad?" I asked, opening my lunch bag. She looked away. "My mother used to make that for

and began spooning fruit onto a paper plate. I wondered how I could help lift her awful burdens of anxiety and isolation.

I leaned forward, facing Rachel squarely and, as I often did to start students writing, began a sentence, "Once

' IIupon a promise ....

Instantly, Rachel's back straightened. She shot me a knowing look. "Once upon a promise . .. " she repeated, scrambling for her pencil.

Less than half an hour later, I held Rachel's creative­ writing "assignment " in my hands.

Once upon a promise, in the Kingdom of Misery, a young princess lived alone with her father-the-king. Although their

A DAY IN THE LIFE 5

palace was beautiful and they had many riches, the king and princess were sad. This is because they missed (very very much) the queen who could not live with them. You see, she was terribly sick and the court doctor had put her in the hos:..

pital for a royal rest. But the queen's sickness ·was in her mind. Rest did not make her any. better.

One day the doctor let her return to the palace for a visit. He thought she would feel better if she saw.her daughter and husband. But this only made a royal mess because when the queen was home she swallowed too many pills (on purpose) and almost died!!!

The queen went back to the hospital (of course), and the king was sadder than ever. He was so sad that he stopped caring about the princess who was now SCARED OF EVERYTHING (even of going to the dungeons if she told anyone about her mother's sickness).

Mostly the princess was scared because she knew she would never live happily ever after. THE END!!!

Rachel's story didn't astonish me. But I was amazed at how easily she had unburdened herself now that she knew she could. Of course, I needed to verify the "facts," but I was sure I'd found the key to some very real dun­ geons in Rachel's world. Her mother's mental illness and suicide attempt were serious enough threats to Rachel's security and peace of mind. But her father's inability to support her emotionally and his insistence that she keep all the pain to herself were even more devastating.

Reluctantly, Rachel's father agreed to a private meeting with me and the school psychologist. When I handed him the lined yellow paper filled with his child's handwriting, he stiffened. As he read his daughter's story, he nodded with tears in his eyes.

He didn't have to insist anymore that their home situa­ tion wasn't affecting Rachel's behavior at school. And he

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didn't have to blame me, or anyone, for her academic and social problems. He was finally seeing his daughter's problems for what they really were: cries for help.

Rachel's mother remained hospitalized, with little hope for recovery. But her father now recognized that Rachel shouldn't have to cope with that reality on her own.

I couldn't help wondering: If Rachel had written a fairy tale just after that, how might she have begun? Perhaps with "Once upon a promise, in the Kingdom of Hope ... "

Joan Cozzi Campbell