The ability to control what you say is something I think we take for granted. I feel that I talk without necessarily thinking about what I'm saying, but I have automatic controls in my brain that prevent me from dropping f-bombs around my grandma, my boss, and the cashier at the local grocery store. These automatic controls were installed by my parents and they give me the reputation and respect that I need to succeed in life. What if I did not have these controls intstalled? How would my life be different from what it is now? One of my students admits to feeling no control over what he says, he gauges his appropriateness by the facial expressions of the people he is talking to. This has huge implications for him out in the community.
Reversing the automatic f-bomb was a major focus in my classroom this month. My aim is not to eliminate this word completely, but to open my student's eyes to when and where this word is approriate and when and where it is not. This is an extremely challenging task for them, most of them do not even realize that they are dropping random f-bombs constantly, and they truely do not realize how much this is negatively affecting their reputation.
The same student who last month slammed the door and left school when I turned off his offensive music, put it on again the other day. However, this time the reaction from my class was completely different. Everybody in the room turned to look at the source of the music. Statements such as, "Uh-uh" and "No way man" were uttered, and everyone smiled and shook their heads. I turned off the song and put on a clean one. Nobody argued or even disagreed. Not one comment at all. This is leaps and bounds from only a short while ago when raging tempers over the right to play offensive music in a classroom was an everyday occurance.
In PE, a student that I have been teaching and supporting for five years brought tears to my eyes. A couple years ago, a basketball game for him meant exploding in rage,being disqualified, and being sent home. During a recent intense game at our local church, this same student became very angry at an out-of-bounds call made by another student. He slammed the basketball into the floor and started to rage. I stepped in front of him and made eye contact. I told him to take a walk. Instead, he bent over and rested his hands on his knees, staring at the ground. Then he held up his hand to signal us to wait. We waited; you could have heard a pin drop...ten seconds passed. Then he stood up straight, clapped his hands together and said "Lets go!" The game resumed and I had to turn around to stop my eyes from welling up with tears of pride.
My job is essentially to make angry kids happy. The invisible bars that define society's demands on each of us seem to disintegrate in the wilderness. The crippling anxiety, fear, and anger that engulfs these teens daily is replaced with a carefree happiness. For this reason, we spend alot of time hiking small mountains, and building fires in the middle of the woods or beside rivers all over our town. As we explore trails, build fires and then huddle around them, we talk. We talk about our dreams, our goals, and our pasts. We work together, we laugh out loud, and we bond. My students don't even realize that they are effortlessly succeeding in group counselling, anger managment and life skills simulataneously.
I really have to hang on tight to every great thing that happens in order to pull myself through the tough times. A few days ago one of my studnets told me he has tried to kill himself before, and wants to kill himself now. Just a couple of hours later I was standing in his home trying to tell his mom through the drone of the vaccuum that her son wants to die. She never once turned off the vaccuum. When I got back in my car, I just sat and stared at my car roof. I slammed my fists into the top of my steering wheel and felt very angry for a moment. There's a certain sense of hopelessness to it all. Then I went and picked up my son, who is exactly the same age, from rugby practise. This is the reality.
