Elizabeth

We knew as we watched him get off the bus that his day was already on that slippery downhill slope; his body was in constant motion, feet moonwalking, arms gyrating, lips moving as he belted out the words to Michael Jackson's "Thriller." Mania had a firm grip on his shirt collar and we were all in for a good shaking that day.

In my developmental classroom Fridays are meant to be that day that we unwind from the rigors of the week. We spend the first hour of the day wrapping up the business of the week -- quick assessments of progress towards meeting IEP goals. This particular morning the students were expected to complete independent work at their workstations while awaiting their turn for spelling and dictation assessments at the computer. He balanced his chair on two legs, occasionally 1, complaining loudly, "Mrs. W, why do I have to do this stupid work?"  When it was his turn to work with me at the computer, he came bouncing over, sat down a moment then jumped up and spat something into a nearby wastebasket. I'd remember that event several hours later. Of the 4 students taking spelling tests that morning, he was the only one to spell each of his words correctly (hurray!) and the only one to type his dictation sentences with all the words run together iamafraidofthedark, iputmytoysaway, mydadsaidno, icancatchtheball, westandforthepledge, ialwaystrytodomybest, didyouaskforacookie, iateallmydinnerlastnight -- his mind was racing as fast as his body. I went to his desk to check the status of his independent work and it was there I discovered THE PENCIL, gnawed into 2 pieces with the pink eraser scattered in crumbs across the floor. Aha, I thought; he was chewing a bit of eraser and spit it out, knowing that he would be in trouble. Destruction of work materials is one of the behaviors which earns him a pass to the PASS room (a very structured, more restrictive environment than my developmental classroom; so, off he went.

It was about 2 hours later, as we sat in the cafeteria eating lunch, that a scary thought crossed my mind -- where was the silvery band that cupped the pink eraser to the end of the yellow pencil? I returned to the classroom and began to sift through the several wastebaskets scattered around the room. No, not in the basket by his desk, but YES, nestled in the wads of discarded tissue in the wastebasket near the computer was a small piece of crushed metal, molar stamped and crumbling. It was the band of metal that held that pink eraser to the yellow pencil. I carried the evidence to the PASS teacher and discussed with him my concerns that perhaps he had cut his mouth or swallowed some of the metal that would later irritate his intestines. The nurse came and examined his mouth and tongue; she collected the remnants of the chewed pencil and metal band and placed them in a small plastic bag and left to call his mother. In the midst of singing, "So, you've had a bad day," he stopped. A look of panic crossed his face and he whispered, "Can I go to the nurse? I have to know, did I break my testicles?"

So what does a gnawed pencil and chewed metal eraser band have to do with mammaries and ovaries you ask? I have three girls in my classroom this year.  One of them has developed a phobia about one of my classroom assistants who is rather well-endowed, if you get my drift. This particular young lady glances at the assistant and then immediately cups her hands under her own small breasts and pushes them up. Just several weeks ago, this assistant was her favorite person in the classroom and now she cannot and will not come near her. This same child will not look at her own face in a mirror, but has begun to search the room for reflective surfaces where she can catch glimpses of her chest. So, with him (he of the "broken testicles) absent from the classroom, it seemed to be the perfect time for "The Girl Talk." We sat around the table and talked about how when we become teenagers our bodies change, we grow hair in private places, we begin to have funny feelings in our private parts and we begin to grow breasts and they might hurt sometimes or feel funny but it's not okay to touch them at school, we start having periods when blood will come from our bodies, but it's okay, it's happened to me and to my assistants and their own mothers and will happen to all of their girlfriends too, that growing up to be a woman is cool. And what do you think was the one thing they really wanted to know about all of this  -- will HE (of the broken testicles) have periods too.