At almost any other school this would have been an immediate suspension. But this was an alternate school, and attendance for this high needs kid was more important than a consequence that kept him out of school. He had already been sent home the day before and it was the morning of the next school day. I had the kid in my office with his foster mom. We discussed what was done, the seriousness of it, and laid out future consequences if it were to happen again.
This kid sat silently staring at me the whole time. In the year and a half or so that I’d been principal of the school I think he’d never kept eye contact with me for more than a second, but now his stare was unwavering. His foster mom, whom he had a very good connection with, spoke on his behalf while he sat staring at me, no emotion expressed on his face.
This was a first offence and I didn’t believe it would happen again so I looked at him and said, “All you need to do now is tell me that you won’t do this again and you can head to class.” He sat and stared. In these situations I allow a lot of silent pause time. I don’t get uncomfortable with silence nearly as quickly as others, so I waited. It only took four to five seconds then he moved.
He slowly took his hands out of his pockets, staring at me the whole time. Then looking me right in the eyes he said, “Every time I see your face, my fingers get a boner.” And his hands made fists resting on his legs, with both his middle fingers stick up in the air at me.
His foster mom breathed out a sigh, and said under her breath, “Oh Jesus,” as she turned her head to look out the window. I bit my cheek. I wanted to burst out laughing but that would have been the wrong kind of encouragement for this kid. I bit harder, forcing myself not to laugh, trying to show as little affect as this kid was showing me. He slowly lowered his finger boners and tucked his hands back into his pockets.
Silence.
“All you need to do is tell me that you won’t do this again and you can head to class.”
Silence.
He stared. I waited. The wait time didn’t seem to bother either of us, but his poor step mom looked tortured. It had to be about a 10-12 second pause. An eternity of silence in the moment. Then he spoke up.
“I won’t do it again… can I go now?”
“Yes.”
The only further consequence was that I didn’t get any eye contact from him the rest of the year. At first I would walk in the room and see him turn away, and I wouldn’t address him at all, I gave him space. Later I’d greet him with a ‘good morning’ just as I would any other student, and he’d turn away and ignore me. It took until June before he’d even acknowledge that I was in the room.
He graduated that year without any other incidences.
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