My burn out briefly subsided today when I had what felt like my first true success handeling a bullying situation. 

 This morning I received an email from the Assistant Principal (who I really respect for his decorum, integrity, and moderation), which described a possible “harrassment” situation between two girls, both my 5th period students.  I hadn’t seen any bullying taking place between them, but as I described in my previous entry on Bullying, these things often go unnoticed.

As is partial to my character, I sided with the underdog before really investigating the situation.  When the alleged bully asked to sit in the Reading Corner (some bean bag chairs and kindegarten nap mats I have set up in my room), I told her I need her to stay in her seat so that I could better patrol her behavior and monitor her for possible bullying.  She was furious.  I interpreted this as probable guilt, and let it go for the moment.

Later in the period, as I was circling the students busily working on their Reviews, I saw her head down.  “Megan, what are you working on?” 

“Nothing,” she said pointedly.  I called her up to the front of the room.  She looked so upset, I asked her if she needed to speak to me in the hallway.  She started crying right then, in front of the entire class.  A rarity - usually they can keep it together until we’re in our “safe space” as a matter of pride.

We walked out to the hall and I gave stern looks at the others as though to say: don’t you dare say anything to her.  They were respectful.

Out in the hall, she sobbed.  And let me just clarify, this girl is not a crybaby.  Some kids cry when they lose their homework or when you ask them to stop horseplaying.  Not Megan; she’s mature.  I asked her what was going on with the other child, Courtney. 

Megan insisted that she hadn’t been bullying anyone except another girl, Abby, and she was really trying to stop even though Abby really gets on her nerves when she “runs her mouth too much,” etc.  Okay, we’re working on the Abby situation.  What about Courtney?  She said she hadn’t done anything since last year, and she was trying to change, and her stomach was hurting she was so upset over the false accusations.

I asked her if I could call out Courtney - a precarious move.  She shrugged, which I knew meant she did and she didn’t want to say so.

Out came Courtney and the girls faced off.  Courtney vehemently raddled off accusations, many having to do with the year before in sixth grade.  I focused her on what Megan had done to her this year.  Courtney only noted an incident in the gym in which she had been talking to her friend and Megan had told her to be quiet and threatened her, saying, “You better not be rolling your eyes; you don’t know who you’re messin’ with.” (Or something close to that effect.) 

I gave Megan the chance to respond.  She remembered the situation as this: Courtney and her friend had been talking; the principal had been shooting looks in their direction; Megan thought she was about to get “hollered at.”  Megan told the girls to be quiet; the other kids told her Courtney rolled her eyes; Megan responded angrily with something close to the above comment.

Okay.  Somehow I had a flashback to a peer mediation technique I had heard somewhere: repeat back what the student says, to buy time for interpretation and to cool the nerves.  I repeated what I had heard the situation to be.  Courtney started to say she hadn’t been talking, but I reminded her she had said she was talking first, in her rendition of the story.  Slowly the girls nodded at my version of what they had said.

Megan said: “I’m not like I was last year; I think back and I’m sick about the way I was to people.” 

I said: “That sounds like an apology.”

Megan nodded and said, crying still:  “I’m sorry for what I did to you last year, but I swear, I haven’t been picking on you this year.”

Courtney said:  “I’m sorry I snitched on you, Megan.  Don’t cry,” and gave her a hug.  It was the first time I actually felt successful in resolving a bullying situation, and I shivered at the cliche goosebumps.

I emailed the team and my adminstrators about what had happened and that Courtney had promised to relay the experience to her mom.  My AP and counselor responded that they had tried, but without luck.  My AP joked about sending me to the middle east for diplomacy.

One of the hardest things about teaching is the lack of recognition and feedback.  It’s such an isolating profession.  You work your heart out for very little thanks or even notice; the criticism never seems to be in short supply, however.  That’s why this small victory and my AP’s email have left me feeling so proud:  I needed the success, however small, like a shot of motivation esspresso.