Critical Incident (but not forever) Lance's Story

He was tall, awkward… almost 5’10’’ and in 6^th grade. Grace was only something amazing he sang about in church. It was as if his body grew two feet overnight and he brain was still under the impression that he was a tiny boy. In class, Lance would raise his hand and smack the head of the child sitting in front of him. He dropped his pencils, fell out of his chair, ripped a hole in his paper erasing a stray mark. In the halls, Lance literally walked a crooked line, his legs very rarely following his torso. His backpack littered its contents all throughout the school as he made his way through his day.

Oh, but he was disorganized too! Lance’s locker contained more mysterious contents than Area 51, and probably twice as many biohazards. Imagine if you will cramming all of your books into your one foot by two and a half feet locker. Now, add some gym clothes, preferably the ones in desperate need of laundering. Next, jam in two or three partially-eaten lunches. Finally, and this step takes awhile, take every paper and assignment ever given to you by your teachers over the course of the school year, you know the ones you never turned in, the ones that your mother got a call about, and shove them in all remaining crannies in your locker. This was Lance’s locker.

After school one day, I was making my rounds: check my mailbox in the office, stop by to reserve the library, visit with my teacher friend Christie… the usual Thursday afternoon routine.

Walking back to my classroom, my last stop before retreating home for the evening, I came upon a parent and child in the otherwise cavernous hallway. Lance and his mother stood amid a minefield of papers, books, clothing, pencils, pens, and broken crayons. Over and over, he reached into his locker to pull out an item from his hoard. The cleaning was systematic. Lance placed things meant to be saved on the floor while trash went in the garbage bag his mother held open in her outstretched hands. Despite his grand size, he looked small, cowering under his mother’s disapproving gaze. His hunched shoulders signaled defeat. His mother lorded over him, letting out sigh after exasperated sigh as he deconstructed the malaise in his locker.

By chance, or perhaps by habit, Lance happened to look up. His almond brown eyes met my pitying countenances. At that moment we had a conversation without saying a word.

“Yep, this is my locker,” Lance said with eyes that feigned shame.

“Oh my GAWD!” my wide eyes said.

“I know, can’t help it. Do n’t want to. This is me now.” Lance’s smiling eyes responded.

My eyes met his smile. “Don’t change a thing,” they directed.

I loved him for his awkward bravado. I encouraged his tangential conversation. I accepted Lance… as no other teacher had before. And, I saw more growth in Lance than any other teacher had before. It taught me a powerful lesson. Don’t try to change your students. Accept their eccentricities and encourage their individuality. Know that a certain lack of coordination goes along with growing up. Give students a place where they feel safe and accepted, and they will calm down enough to give you their best.