Critical Incident

Andrea
The 8:00 o'clock bell rang, adrenaline rushed through my whole body. I felt as if tons of tiny butterflies had found their new home in my stomach. It was my first day at E.B. Wedgeworth Elementary. But it wasn't the first day of school it was the last week of October. A feeling of uncertainty suddenly hit me. What are these children going to think of me? What if they don't like me? I was all too concerned about myself. For a split second I forgot the reason why I had decided to teach, -the children-. As I managed to collect myself and looked up, I saw Andrea for the first time. She was the sweetest little girl you can ever imagine but I could have never anticipated all the baggage she carried with her. I noticed her right away. You couldn't miss her. I learned that in spite of her having beautiful dark brown wavy hair, she hated it because it wasn’t stick straight. To me her smile could light up a room but she hated it as well. I knew something wasn't right with Andrea. I started to follow her closely because something seemed odd, I couldn't quite figure it out but I was up for the challenge.

There she was 9-years old and in the 2nd grade. “How sad how miserable, nobody understood her,” she would say. It was so unfair that all the kids her age were either in 3rd grade and some in 4th grade. –“Why me, why me? “ She would ask me with a deep sadness in her trembling voice; the kind of sadness that only comes from a broken soul. I would look at her and think to myself, –there must be something I can do to comfort her-. With a glisten in my eyes from tears that were trying to creep out, gently I placed my hand on her shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze as if trying to tell her that I understood her pain, that I was there for her, that she could count on me.

Every morning as I stood by the classroom door to welcome all my students, I could observe them as they came in walking so quickly and enthusiastically as if they had bolts of energy inside of them that were ready to burst. Not Andrea. Not the first day she walked into my classroom. The day of the field trip to the “Grand Theater”. Or the last day of school. Not Andrea. Not her, not ever. At a distance I could hear the swish of a backpack dragging on the floor; I learned to recognize that distinctive sound after hearing it everyday. If you’d look at her you’d think you were watching a slow motion scene of a movie. It was as if she had her life sucked out of her and moved about as if she was carrying the burden of the entire world on her nine year old tiny shoulders.

She’d come every morning and I greeted her. She would smile and quickly cover her mouth so nobody would look at her teeth. This was just like her, very insecure to the point that she’d cry if she thought someone may have been laughing at her. Once, I gently told her -hurry sweetie, we are all waiting for you- and that was more than enough to make her burst into uncontrollable heaps of tears rolling down her cheeks as if a water dam had been cracked open. It happened so fast that I could not understand what just happened. It took me a while to figure out that my words must have triggered an unpleasant memory for her. With my sweetest smile and softest tone I apologized to her. –Sorry, was it something I said? I can assure you this won’t happen again-. She looked up and the water dam was once again the way it should be, closed. I think I saw a glimpse of a half smile on her face.

The quest began to find resources that could be of benefit to Andrea. First stop, -the counselor, Ms. Morrow- I spoke to her and she gave me some advice as to what I could do at the moment: set up a parent conference to talk about my concerns for Andrea and suggest the school counselor seat at the meeting and try to get parental consent for Andrea to visit with her and from there she’d suggest other interventions to her mother. So, basically I had to take it or leave it! As much as I wanted to do so much more my options were limited and I had to remember that I had fifteen other students that needed my attention as well.

-Piece of cake!- I thought to myself, -I know that as soon as I call this lady and she sees how concerned I am about her daughter she’d jump at the opportunity of coming in and talking to me.- Yeah, right meeting this lady would prove to be a real challenge. I tried to confer with her for at least the entire month of November and part of December; she’d never show up. We never met. I tried to speak to her because I felt it wasn’t appropriate to just send a note home to me it sounded like something along the lines of –your daughter has issues please sign this note so that she can see the school counselor- So, when we come back from the holiday break, I finally mustered up the courage and called her on the phone –better than not talking to her at all- she didn’t seem very interested in what I had to say and just told me that Andrea had always been that way, “she’s not very smart” she added. I couldn’t believe my ears –the nerve of that woman, - I thought. She finally agreed to let the counselor see her but said that she wouldn’t have the time to come and talk to the counselor herself. I sent the permission slip home, I believe about three times and by the end of January I finally got it…signed!

My concerns about Andrea were not only in regards to her social development but her academic growth as well. Academically Andrea wasn’t at the top of the class, she was repeating 2nd grade (she had also repeated kindergarten). The fact that I met Andrea three months into the school year made Andrea reluctant to trust me and made it quite difficult for me to figure her out. Sometimes I wanted to ask her previous teacher, –Why didn’t you keep her? Don’t you know that this child craves reassurance and stability and by taking her out of your class, you did quiet the opposite? Although, I never regretted having her in my class, now I understand that everything happens for a reason. She’ll go through periods where she did really well but it all depended on her mood. She was capable and could do all the work but she just fell that it would not make a difference because she had worked really hard the year before and failed anyway.

As the days passed I always tried to be affirming of her accomplishments, I made sure that she knew that her participation in class did make a difference; I encouraged her to never give up and told her that things would get better. I tried reaching out to her but I could not. I talked to her about keeping a journal in which we’d both talked to each other about anything we wanted to, weekends, family…just to get her to open up to me but to no avail. She wrote a couple of times but lost interest quickly. She was very withdrawn and was always in her own world.

I was at a lost in spite of meeting with the counselor twice a week, no change. Why was this child so withdrawn? I observed her behavior closely and took notes about her of things that I thought would help the counselor. I never saw any visible bruising so I ruled out physical abuse as a cause but I had a gut feeling that there must be something going on at home that affected her deeply. I feel bad because I wish I could have visited her at home but her mom (she didn’t have a dad) was always working. Sometimes I though that I would just drive by her house but was afraid to do so because it seemed very inappropriate.

The end of the school year was coming to a close; I felt I had lost the challenge. Not knowing what troubled Andrea so much made me feel as if I failed her as a teacher. I felt it was my duty to bring some order into the chaos that seemed to be her life. I can't say I made a difference in her life for I don't know the answer. I hope I did touch her life not for me but for her. As I remember her today I ask myself, what could I have done differently? Where did I go wrong? I wonder what’s become of her. This next school year she’s supposed to be in the 4th grade. Maybe I’ll drive up to Waxahachie and pay her a visit.