Your Child Is Not ADHD, He's Just An Asshole.

The jolly, white-bearded man across the hall quit. This is his last week. He has taught for 30 years. He has been to Vietnam. And he has quit. "I think," he says, "I’d prefer working at Home Depot."

There is a certain emotional complexity to dealing with kids who never learned how to behave. Behavior, after all, is why any teacher at my school quits. Also, there is an emotional complexity to teaching in general, which, as of now, I can't properly describe in broad terms, but I can give you a specific example: this morning I felt like teaching could be my career. But after 3rd period, I felt like taking a cue from my jolly, white-bearded (almost former) co-worker. After 6th period, I felt like I could definately teach the rest of the year... hell, I still might make a career of it yet. Then I contemplated all the certification requirements, half of which are a complete waste of time, and thought, maybe I don't want to do this.

But to return to the immediate problem... I’ve never had to discpline anyone before in my life, however, in the past four weeks, I’ve written about 10 referrals, meaning the student has gone so far as to force me to send him/her (usually him) to the Dean of Discipline for punishment.

It is a perverse, almost fascist feeling, writing a referral, because if you’re like me, you don’t want to have to discipline. In fact, you’re whole approach is very laid-back and friendly, and you tell the students on the first day, “This should be a nice, easy-going environment, so there’s no reason to break any of these simple and reasonable rules.”

And then they break the simple and reasonable rules. They cannot be peaceful. They cannot sit quietly or speak to anyone with respect. Then you wonder, Why do these students insist on breaking the simplest and most reasonable of rules? Why is it that when it comes time to face the consequences, and you utter the word “detention,” or “referral,” the student only digs a deeper grave.

For example:

This kid has been misbehaving (a word I still feel weird saying) all period. He has been warned, he has earned one detention, two detentions, but none of this is enough. He has done nothing severely wrong, but his talking has disrupted the class too many times, to the point where learning is significantly inhibited, and no one can concentrate. You try to explain in calm, rational terms that it is not polite to interrupt. You also try to give him a dictionary definition of talking back and respect. A few minutes of silence pass before you notice him. He is now officially fucking with you, staring all bug-eyed at you on purpose—

~Interlude~

At this point, you, the teacher, are wishing the student had the ability to empathize, to put himself in another person’s shoes. But this student cannot place himself in the shoes of his own peers, let alone an adult teacher. But if this were possible, this empathy, then that disruptive student might, at this point, use his buggy third eye to see what was going on in his teacher’s head. He would not like what he sees. What he sees is a vivid, horrifying scene. He sees his head being slammed repeatedly into the wall, blood and red, dry-erase marker indistinguishable from one another. He hears his professional, well-dressed teacher say, ‘You cocky fucking prick. You’re never going to learn anything at this rate, so why don’t you go flip some fucking burgers—but not for me because I’m not the stupid son-of-a-bitch who patronizes the kind of establishment you’re barely qualified to work at—and continue to disenfranchise yourself while blaming everyone else. Please, kindly, I do say, go on.” And because it’s your worst nightmare, he responds, “What do disenfrenchfries mean?”

~~~

—so he’s looking at you all bug-eyed and, if you say something, class is bound to be disrupted again, but you have to say something because the kid is trying you. So you calmly say, “B--, I’m giving you a referral.” What happens next, do you think?

As previously mentioned, they do not like to face consequences, especially ones, unlike detention, which require their immediate removal and public shaming. The shaming, however, is solely the fault of the student, that’s right, the bug-eyed one, who has now stood up and started to yell in a whiny voice about how unfair this all is—though you must imagine his pleas in broken English—and about how he’s going to tackle you. He now drops his books on the floor and rips up the pass to see the Dean. He's stomping out of the room with that pained look of defiance he always wears on his face, trying to act hard but actually looking more like he’s holding in a perpetual sneeze. Goodbye, poor student, farewell, you say. Adieu, adieu, adieu, you say, as you’ve just been given, by his little performance, more fuel for the fire, more bullets with which he can shoot himself in the foot, and all because no one ever taught him how to be respectful.

But you’re still steaming. And while you’re sitting there, writing quite the literary referral, pressing the pen down extra hard to keep your hand from shaking, you think about how all the teachers who’ve been at this school a long time tell you, “B--? Oh, he likes to play. He’s got the ADHD.” And you think of what you’ll say next time you see them. You’ll say, “I may not know much about ADHD, because I’m from the pre-ADHD generation, but just because he’s got it doesn’t mean he has to be an asshole.” And this statement makes you feel good. This referral makes you feel great. The kid is gone and out of your hair, at least for now, with five minutes left in class. But as far as you’re concerned he’s gone for the next 24 hours. It all feels good. Your blood is boiling and it feels good. You are taking pleasure in the misfortune of another. Not just in writing the referral, but the fact that you actually have nothing to be mad about. Your life is in order. The bug-eyed kid is the one who’s really fucked. He probably has a horrible home life. His parents have not returned your calls. He can barely read and write, and the fact that he can’t behave only bodes disaster for his future as a productive member of society. It is likely he’ll end up in place much worse than lifting boxes or scrubbing shit from toilets, and this is not a good thing for anyone, because the felon next door is everyone’s problem, and this is not what you wanted for anyone in your class, not what you planned, not what you expected. And yet this kid fucked with you all period, he exploded your patience and ideals, and you tried and tried and tried to warn him but he kept on fucking away, fucking himself, and while everything about the entire situation is completely depressing and hopeless, you are sitting at your desk with a huge smile, you’re warm all over, and you’ve never felt better in your life.