The kids you’re scared of: Working in SEN

                So I’m sure your imagination has been piqued by the thoughts of SEN(Special Educational Needs) and PRU(Pupil Referral Unit) kids. For those not familiar, I’ll give you a little primer, if your kid has autism/behavioural problems/ADHD/Angelman’s etc… they’ll likely end up in an SEN school, if your kid is expelled repeatedly because of frequently attacking their parents, other pupils, and/or teaching staff, they end up in a PRU. Of course PRU kids can also have emotional/behavioural/mental problems, but it’s how they manifest it that generally decides where they end up, if you’re lucky, your kid will stay mainstream and the school with have the funding to give them a touch more support to help them through their day. If you kid is unlucky, they’ll wind up in an SEN, and it’s pot luck as to how well they are staffed. If your kid is VERY unlucky they are left to rot in a PRU, which will has the same problem prisons do, which is when you put a bunch of violent people in the same place and expect them to learn, the first thing they learn is how to be better at being violent.

                The kids themselves can be a varied bunch, calling them just “special needs kids” does them a massive disservice, they’re just kids like the ones you’re likely the parents of or the sibling of. Yeah sure they’ll have times they flip out and try and stab other pupils with a pencil, or throw chairs at people, but they also like My Little Pony/The Flash/ Power Rangers, laugh when you say “bum” and enjoy playing tag in the playground. Each set of problems they try and deal with is as unique as the person themselves, and there is no “catch all” way of schooling them, let alone helping them manage their behaviours. I’ve had kids try and bite me down to the bone, leaving two very nasty horse-shoe shaped bruises on my arm, I’ve had kids leave scars on the back of my hands where they’ve tried to claw my skin off with their fingernails, I’ve had kids who have tried to break my toes by slamming doors or stamping down on my feet. But I’ve also had the same kids laugh when I’ve pulled a face at them, or told a dumb joke. I’ve watched them beam with pride when they’ve been given praise for doing work they never thought they could do. I’ve watched normally hostile and violent kids show sympathy and comfort to smaller kids when they start crying or having their own meltdowns.  People say “badly behaved kids” and assume the kids want to be that way, and yeah, sometimes they do. But the thing is that is sometimes; MOST of the time they want to be good, to make you proud, to get positive feedback and enjoy their school life instead of fighting it constantly.  And it’s my job to bring out the latter, and curb the former.

               

                The most frustrating thing can be watching the work you do get undone as soon as the kid leaves the school, back to their parents, who have no idea how to be parents. I’ve had dads proudly tell me that they encourage their already violent 6yr old son to be more aggressive at school because “he doesn’t want him growing up a faggot.” I’ve had drunk, hysterical mothers loudly scream that her 7yr old girl has been sexually servicing other children in a 1:2 staff ratio PRU and the staff there are somehow not seeing it, and the ADHD kids are somehow silent about it… screaming all this in graphic detail in front of her daughter. I’ve watched parents calling their kids foul names, only to scream louder at the kids when they use those same words back at them. I’ve had children matter-of-factly tell me that they don’t want to get a £5 book voucher from the school for their hard work, because their mother will be angry she can’t use it to buy cigarettes. I spend so long trying to help these kids put themselves together again, only to watch them disintegrate over the course of a weekend. There is very little I can do about it, I write up the paperwork, I let the correct people know, but in reality as long as a parent is not physically harming their child, their parents behaviour often isn’t considered bad enough to warrant an intervention. Such is life.

                Every day I collect more snap-shots of these kids’ lives, and a lot of it makes it hard for me to sleep at night. Part of the reason for this entry is to try and feel like I’m getting SOME of it out of my head and onto the screen. I’d be here all day if I were to try and recount all the things that make me feel myself die a little every time I recall them, so instead I’ll tell you  just one story.
                When working in a PRU I encountered a young boy, we’ll call him “Terry”. Terry’s parents maintained the attitude of “I feed and clothe my children, that is enough, I am a good parent.” and so when Terry started school he had zero emotional vocabulary, unsurprisingly when faced with emotional overstimulation anger/frustration/excitement, he found himself lashing out as he simply couldn’t control his feelings, he’d had no practice or real experience of dealing with them, and nobody to guide him through that.  Terry was a vicious fighter, with a very common habit among kids with his sort of problems of scratching and biting adults when they try and restrain him from attacking other pupils. I meet him for the first time when he’s in a group of his peers, one staff member for every two pupils, bordering on unsafe ratio’s but they don’t have enough money to hire anyone else.

I’m quite the rarity in schools, being male, so when I start in a place I’m sometimes a minor celebrity, and Terry was so excited that I’d be working with him first that he tried his level best to be on his best behaviour, because for the first time a male was talking to him and not to shout at him, or try and force him to do things that he didn’t want to do. I’d keep my voice modulated; only giving gentle emotional prompts to him over the course of our work, being sure to allow him time to process his feelings and then giving him subtle outlets for them. After a week, Terry’s incidents dropped to zero, after two months he was being phased into mainstream school again. Terry’s little face lit up whenever he saw me, he’d move to sit with me in the canteen, he’d beg to be allowed to do his work with me, he’d get so frustrated when other kids would target me for abuse, but would always cope well with those feelings because he knew that I’d be proud of him if he did. I’d always take the time to praise him for that, and he’d walk around with a face full of kindness and smiles for everybody, pupil and teacher alike when I explained to him how he’d done well, and why he should be happy.

                My time at the school came to a close and Terry had already tearfully told me that he wanted to stay in the “Naughty boy’s school” because he didn’t want to lose me as a teacher, and I explained to him that he was a clever and special little guy, and he deserved a chance to get the best learning he could, and that I was so very proud of him for the hard work he’d done. Terry hugged me, and I returned it with those awkward reluctant-side-back-patting hugs we’re trained to give, to demonstrate that we’re not molesting the child, and I tell him I’ll miss him.

                My radio barks out, Terry’s mother is in the car park, she can’t be bothered to come and collect her kid and asks that we just send him out into the traffic unsupervised to make his way to her car, with all his 5years of experience at road navigation. We of course inform her that this is not happening.  After a brief and verbally violent discussion she comes in. We don’t hand the kid over, because she’s clearly drunk, and had driven here, and planned to drive her kid home while intoxicated. The head teacher and his staff are still talking calmly to the woman as she screams at them, I’m trying to distract Terry but he’s not phased, he’s seen it before, to him, this is normal. The Deputy-head sighs and takes Terry’s hand, she knows that my time is up and it may cost them more if I have to stick around longer, they simply can’t afford it, they’ve already got a shoe-string budget as it is. She thanks me for staying and asks me to have a good holiday, I look down at Terry’s who’s still got red eyes from crying and tell him that I’ll remember him in my new school, he just smiles and waves, telling me goodbye.
                I go home.
                Terry’s going to grow up now, and I’ll never see him again.
                But I know I’ll never forget him, or the other kids who I work with, even though sometimes when I’m at my lowest, I wish I could.