This month has been a rollercoaster. We ended up transferring our seventh grade child to a new school.  Yes, the school year is more than ¾ over, but it had to be done. I share this story with you from the parent lens and I think it has implications for us in the field, too.

There were small warning signs all year that things were not going well at school.  He came home with bruises, he was on edge at home and could only share stories of how stupid, mean and terrible everyone was. For a kid who is pretty empathetic, the negative and unstable energy was really taking a toll.  “Kids curse all the time. Even in class. And teachers don’t say anything. At all.  Kids use the f-word. They even use the N-word. Teachers don’t care. They don’t do anything.” 

We said, “Hey, 7th grade is hard. Nobody really enjoys 7th grade. This is just something to get through and you will.”

In retrospect, why did we say that? We checked in with other parents and it seemed like their kids also didn’t like school, but nothing indicated that our kid’s experience was wildly different than anyone else’s. 

After months of harassment by another student and ongoing communication with the teachers and social worker asking for support, our child finally struck out and hit the other student. That day, I got to talk with the new assistant principal, “Your child will be removed from community.”  

The two kids were placed in separate classes and that stress subsided. But, our child was still coming home miserable. Exploding at us each afternoon. Refusing to leave the house in the morning. It came out at bedtime: “The other day, this kid walked in to the classroom and said: What’s up mother-f**ers? Today we’re throwing [our son] out the window.” [Students snicker; teacher remains silent].

Well, not okay to say stuff like that, but also squarely seventh grade behavior. The issue for us, again, was less about what students were doing and saying and more about what teachers and administrators were not doing and saying. Pre-COVID, I would have thought that a primary role for adults would be reinforcing the creation of a physically and emotionally safe space. And they were not doing it. Why not?

Our child then was going through each day on constant defense. Looking over his shoulder. Waiting to be ridiculed, targeted, kicked in the shins, punched in the face. Meanwhile, we’re telling him to muscle through. Really helpful 🙄

The turning point for me was an email from a teacher that praised our child because he chose not to throw her materials around the classroom. Instead, he “stepped up and volunteered” to clean up the other students’ mess. 

The fact that not throwing the teacher’s stuff around the room was remarkable and helping clean up was commendable really concerned me. To me, that indicated a very very basic lack of respect for self, others and community within the class culture. Moving kids in or out of each other’s classrooms will not change much. Critical foundational pieces are missing for the adults–namely, care, support, humane work environments.

Until there is healing, care and support for the adults, young people’s needs cannot be met.

We made a plan to find a better school fit for our child. Resigned, our son said, “I don’t want you to have to pay for me to go to another school. It’s fine. I can deal with it. It doesn’t matter. Really, it’s only just one and a half more years. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Alarms, alarms. As he spoke, what I heard was: I don’t matter enough for you to make that kind of investment in me. 

Where did that idea come from? Did we communicate that to him? Is that an idea pervading the adult culture in our school systems, youth-serving organizations and community-focused nonprofits–that we are not worth the investment? Do we not believe we are worth the investment? Do we believe we have to “make do” and “muscle through”? Put up with threats, abuse, unstable culture just because “we can deal with it”? And if we believe that about our own lives/work, how does that show up with the young people we are here to empower?

Last week, he started at a different school.  They prioritize relationships, community, opportunities to enjoy nature. This is a place where, according to our son, “The teachers smiled while they were teaching and they aren’t even faking it.”  Our child has come home each afternoon eager to complete his homework.  He hangs out in his room, whistling.  Seriously, whistling. He’s still dealing with seventh grade drama, but the safety net now feels more firmly in place.

Yes, we recognize the various levels of privilege at play in this situation and I can’t say I’m happy that this was the solution.  But to support his mental health and belief in his own self worth, we couldn’t wait one more second.  Changing a system takes a lot more time than my kid will be in middle school. We had to act now. 

Continuing to reflect on this experience, I keep returning to the lobster in the pot story where the lobster does nothing as the heat slowly increases and then it’s too late. It’s like our child’s negative experiences at school were slowly, gradually shutting him down, changing his personality, diminishing his trust in adults, lessening his interest in learning.  We pulled him out just before he was done.

And I’m wondering if this story touches a nerve for you.  As leaders in school districts and youth-serving organizations are you and your team in a slow boil? As a caring community, how do we ensure that adults are getting out of the pot fast enough so they can thrive and flourish? 

❤️ Do you know that you are worth the investment? 

❤️ Does your team know they are worth the investment?  

Because you are.

You are worth the investment. 

We all are.