Spring Break-Down

Ivan

"My life is bullshit," says the eight-year-old sitting beside me on the park bench. His name is Ivan and he's one of my students. Ivan is short, even for eight, yet he insists on sitting on the bench in an awkward, semi-splayed fashion that allows one of his stubby feet to touch the ground. He wears glasses, and has a blond brush cut that forsakes the current styles, and makes him look like a tiny George Gobel. He is supposed to be in my class again next term when I teach grade four, but the incident a few days ago makes it seem unlikely I'll still be teaching him even after March break.

"Yeah, eight really is the age when it all falls apart," I offer back.

"You get me; Mrs. Farno hates my guts."

"No, she doesn't, she's just a librarian. You don't surround yourself with youth literature, impossibly small bean bag chairs and silence because you love people."

"Please come back."

"It's not up to me, Ivan."

"Then who is it up to?"

"The School Board."

"Are they nice, or are they assholes?"

Oh, god, I hope they don't talk to my students. Would they talk to my students? Crap, they're going to talk to my students.

"Has anyone from the school approached you, Ivan?"

"Does the principal, count?"

"YES... the principal counts more than anyone combined."

"My dad talked to him yesterday when he visited the school."

"Wait, why would your dad be at the school?"

"Mrs. Farno thinks I should go to a doctor."

Ivan really means a paediatric psychologist. That's what good teachers suggest when they have a student that is struggling, and want to assess them in order to find a way of giving them a leg up. It's also what shitty, lazy teachers suggest when they want to pawn off a student to someone else because they don't like them. In crotchety, Farno's case, it's likely the latter.

"My mom seemed sad when my dad told her about it."

Ivan can absolutely be challenging, but that's because he's actually really, really smart. It's the smart ones that can break an educator down, but that usually only happens if the teacher doesn't have the student's best interests at heart. I figured out early on that Ivan wasn't trying to be disruptive because of a need for attention or to challenge my authority. Ivan merely finds the classroom construct a difficult environment to be comfortable in, and would search for alternative methods to learn. Sometimes that meant getting out of his chair and wandering around in the middle of a lesson, or choosing to answer questions while impersonating Erwin Rommel. Now history isn't my specialty, but I think his impersonation of Rommel is probably bang on. I actually started addressing Ivan as The Desert Fox. He liked that. I also let him roam around the class when he needed some space.

"But she still made me my favourite — macaroni on bread. Then my dad opened some mail and called the Governor a knob."

Ivan's parents don't have a lot of money. If I did end up teaching Ivan next year, I would insist he be tested for gifted status. I'm sure he would qualify and then he would be moved to a special school where he could truly develop. It would lead to opportunities that Ivan's family might not be able to afford otherwise. But a teacher that didn't embrace Ivan's quirks, but rather saw them as a threat to their control over the class could be a real problem for someone like Ivan. Those kind of teachers make the classroom all about them — it becomes self-serving. Those kind of teachers would make it a battle of will, and shun Ivan, along with everything that was terrific about him, while limiting his opportunities to excel and learn. I wondered which sort of teacher Farno was.

"Mrs. Farno makes me sit behind an easel."

And there's my answer.

"I'm sorry Ivan, but I have to go to a meeting now. Enjoy your Spring break, okay."

"I will if my brother stops acting like a dick."

Ivan swears a little.