Hell-Bound: "Because I said."

Most of you are aware that I have a very special class this year. It is even MORE special than the class I had last year. I seem to get the special classes every year. How I manage this I do not know. It's like I lost a bet with God or something.

There are days when stars align just right and ALL of my "issue" children will act up at the same time. That would have been yesterday. Then there are days that some "issue" children lay lower than usual and one or two get to shine and show off their talents. Today would have been that day.

Today, the stars only aligned partially and they took turns having meltdowns, temper tantrums, kick boxing matches, and other problems. I guess I am making progress in that regard. It is GOOD to take turns. If they could take turns with tricycles, I could get the trikes out of the shed again. (Sigh.)

One of my boys was in rare form today. This was the day he needed to rock, repeat phrases, talk to himself, and periodically scream out loud. No, he never answers himself, but this is because he can't get a word in edgewise. His weekly allocated "bathroom screaming fit" ("I AM ANGRY! I AM ANGRY! I AM ANGRY....!") occurred on Monday, so I didn't need to worry about THAT one. Today being Thursday and all.

So he gets louder and louder as the day progresses. At 10:50 we gathered on the rug for our Math Lesson - using clipboards. This was very exciting. We are learning procedures for passing things out and I quietly gave jobs to several students. He began calling out, "What about ME? What about ME? What about ME?" This continued until everything was passed out.

A few minutes later I realized that one of the kids was missing a pencil and asked a middle school helper to get her one. Immediately, D began caterwauling, "Pick ME! Pick ME! Pick ME! Pick ME! Pick ME! Pick ME! Pick ME!"

The children next to him began covering their ears and diving between their knees.

So help me, friends, I know I am going to Hell. I KNOW that messing with a borderline autistic kid is wrong on so many levels. I KNOW that it is NEVER good to mess with such a kid. But you have to understand that I have HAD IT UP TO HERE at this point, my stomach is really gurgling and growling and cramping up, my one last nerve is quivering in the corner, and I need a haircut. And this behavior is just one more in a string of behaviors that are turning my gray hair whiter by the minute.

So there he goes. "Pick ME! Pick ME! Pick ME!"

I looked at him. I opened my mouth. And I asked the question.

"Why?" I deadpanned.

The class went silent, looking at him expectantly (except for the two now smacking each other with clipboards. And the two trying to find the tonsils of a third one. And the one who has pulled all the pennies out of his pocket and is spreading them out on the floor).

He didn't miss a beat. "Pick ME! Pick ME! ..... BECAUSE I SAID."

I stayed quiet.

"I SAID SO! YOU HAVE TO! YOU HAVE TO! I SAID SO! YOU HAVE TO!" "Okay, D... I pick you.... to SIT QUIETLY! YAY!"

The newly arrived pencil is handed to the pencil-less child and D immediately notices that it is shorter than all the others. This makes it attractive.

"I WANT IT! I WANT IT! I WANT IT! I WANT IT!"

And I did it again.

"I want to lose 20 pounds! I want to lose 20 pounds! I want to lose 20 pounds!"

"I WANT IT! I WANT IT! I WANT IT!" (My weight loss issues apparently do not concern him.)

"I want it too! I want it too! I have a stack of pants I can't get into!" (Good lord, I think the devil is sharpening his pitchfork.)

I started the math lesson anyway. It was about ordinal numbers. I had 4 of the children closest to me stand up to demonstrate who is standing first, second, third, and fourth.

"PICK ME! PICK ME! PICK ME!"

I reached down to the very core of my being and gathered the strength and enthusiasm to continue the lesson, despite the screaming, caterwauling, clipboard fighting, penny counting, and the one nerve jangling in the corner. We used math language. We practiced. We used more math language. We completed the practice sheet together. We followed procedures.

The lesson goes well. But then Jason, the class Police Officer and Arbitor of All That is Wrong, shouts out, "TEACHER! D and A traded pencils! They traded pencils!" The tone of voice he uses suggest they might have slit their fingers, exchanged blood, and swore an oath to be blood brothers or something.

So now I am thinking that I am not only going to hell but that the flames will eternally lick my feet.

I put my hands to my face in mock shock and hysteria. I take on the countenance of a shocked and crazy person. This isn't hard to do.

"OH MY GOODNESS! NO! NO! They TRADED PENCILS? Dear Lord in heaven... they traded pencils!"
The children begin laughing. My mock-hysteria comes off as funny to them. Go figure.

They laugh. I continue the lesson. We finish. All is well.

Until the end when we are cleaning up.

There D sits, rocking back and forth on the rug, long past the "pick me!" frenzy and now muttering quietly to himself, as he holds his head in the perfect mirror image of his hell-bound teacher, "I traded the pencil. I traded the pencil. Oh my goodness. I traded the pencil."

I had to carefully pick up the quivering nerve and put in in a lined shoebox. Maybe I can take it with me to the bowels of hell.