Don’t say “Pumpkin”

There is a skill I don’t always have a strong grasp of. The ‘think and edit before you let words come out of your head and potentially stick your size 6 1/2 foot in your mouth” skill. Sometimes I feel like I have it sorted and in those moments I revel in a little rationality, a little patronising “I’m so grown up, calm and wise” moment. Other – more manic - times, there is just free-flow, a vomit of words and ideas pouring forth. Rabid in their intensity. The fella was kind enough to point out when this was happening the other day, I was talking about something (that was really interesting, insightful and entertaining, all at the same time) when I turned around and noticed not the gaze of admiration, respect, devotion and interest I was expecting but the eyes-wide-open, mouth agape, stunned bunny in the headlights confused look (which I may have seen once or twice before).
“What?”
“I just can’t believe how many words are coming out of your head. They just keep coming and coming and coming.”
Pause.
I was wishing there was a little more admiration and little less bunny in his reaction to my word-spew.
Then I decided – in the spirit of female partners world over, to ignore him and go back to what I was saying – in the off chance any of it might sink in.

Anyway…


It’s not that I don’t try, I have to practice this skill all the time in my job as a teacher. The “Don’t tell him he is an insensitive, ignorant pain in my ring” or “Don’t say for fuck’s sake” skill all day. But sometimes, in moments of distraction or tiredness, it switches off. And doesn’t warn me. You know like the empty petrol light in the car. That would be useful. And distraction and tiredness tends to be more prominent when teaching Special Education. They just wear me down to the bare, fragile, crumbly minimum. So many, many needs, all bunched together in little over-heated rooms feeding off each other’s needs like little, needy parasites that grow fatter with each;
“Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssss” I can’t find the ‘on’ switch for my computer!”
“Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssssss I’ve lost all of my books”
“Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssssssssssssssssss why does he (the autistic boy) get to sleep on his desk and I can’t?”
“Huh?”


There’s a chance that the only reason I got my Masters In Education – Special Education is not just because I made the mistake of choosing too many subjects in Special Ed but that it was an online course and therefore no one actually met me or, particularly, saw me in action in the classroom.

Because sometimes, my “think before you speak tank” hits empty.

Pre- special ed qualifications I taught a boy in mainstream English who quite clearly, was not your “run of the milll” year 9 student. Whatever that is. Instead of slapping his neighbour over the head with his diary or aiming spit-balls at the ceiling he was sitting up the front of the room (voluntarily) putting his hand up to ask for clarification (before I’d actually explained anything), rocking to an internal beat in his chair. One day, after explaining/directing/re-explaining the writing task I asked them to start their work. He preferred to start banging his head on the desk, like some kind of arse-about Metallica fan.

I wasn’t expecting that at all, and it actually gave me quite a fright. Apparently my natural reaction to a bit of a fright is to act defensively and aggressively. And yellingly.

“STOP! THAT! IMMEDIATELY!”

Insensitive, but it did shock him into stopping.

“I will NOT have that sort of behaviour in my class.“Do it again and you’ll get DETENTION!”
Insensitive, but he never did it again.

I taught the same kid again three years later and tried to be a little more sensitive with a little more experience it was quite clear he had Aspergers, although not diagnosed. In preparing for his exams, we were discussing the difficulties he had with anxiety and behaviour in exam situations.

“It’s useless. I’ve always been like this, I can’t change.”
I was packing up my stuff and not practicing the very useful skill of think before you open your big fat mouth.
“No you weren’t, you used to bang your head on the desk, remember? “

Awkward, awkward, fucking awkward- I’ve insulted the Asperger’s student –pause.

Then: “Oh yeah”.

“Well…you don’t do that any more, so you have changed..”

Phew.

Sometimes, I have to makes sure I do heaps of swearing at recess and lunchtime – away from the students - to make sure I’ve used up my swear-word quota for the day and one doesn’t sneeze out of my head when my defences are down in class.

(This actually seems to work).

It’s always hard at the beginning of the year with a new class of modified English and you have to pick and sort through the behavioural issues, health issues, learning difficulty issues and “I hate this fucking place” issues. Using all patience while trying to establish relationships, motivate, engage and support students who I haven’t taught for a while, if ever. Being patient enough to get them on side knowing we have a whole year ahead full of inane questions and absent punctuation.

At the end of a class two weeks into term 1 where positive reinforcement seemed to be working on a particularly Emo 15 year old, I thought I’d take the opportunity to tell him I had recognised and appreciated an improvement in his attitude and work efforts. At least that’s what I should’ve said, but after a full day ending with 100 minutes of modified English, our little meeting aimed at developing a solid working partnership went more like;

You know how you were a total pain last week in class?
Ahhh..
It made me want to stab you in the eye with my pen.
Oh.
But you’ve been heaps better today, so let’s keep going with that.
Um..

That night the fella said he hoped the kid had a sense of humour otherwise I’d be out of a job.


More recently, my skills (or lack of) in shut upping have been tested even more. At the beginning of the year I unfortunately decided to read the background notes on my students. Experience has shown that really, this is either a waste of time as the “information” says something really useful like;
“has a literacy difficulties” Ah! I know exactly how to attend to this young man’s specific, unique and individual needs!
Or something that will mess with your mind for the entire year like:
"has autism…generally subdued (to the point of sleeping on his desk for most of the lesson) however will react physically and aggressively to the word “pumpkin”.

“Pumpkin”. I am totally serious.

Now, forget that some of the students know this and would set him off like a rocket last year for a bit of light hearted fun. Now I know his trigger word. I know the word that will turn him from a sweet, sleepy Special Education behavioural dream into a pumpkin-hating ball of autistic adolescent fury.

So now, even after 100 minutes of all patience and energy being sapped into the void of Year 10 Modified English, I HAVE to remain on the ball. Alert. In control. I can’t afford to let my foot-in-mouth guard slip. I have to spend 400minutes a week for the whole year saying to myself:

Don’t say “pumpkin”.

“Pumpkin”, “ pumpkin”, don’t say “pumpkin”..

Because of course that would be a real danger in this class;

“Don’t forget the capital letters in your pumpkin.”

“Open your diaries to write in your pumpkin.”

“How is the main pumpkin in the novel feeling at this point?”

“Remember to log off your pumpkins.”

Fucking arsehole pumpkins.

Only 5 months to go.