It was the first day of my first year teaching in my very own classroom. What most people don't realize--I certainly hadn't--is that student teaching doesn't begin until at least a couple weeks after a semester begins. So a first-year teacher has usually had no real experience preparing for or surviving the first first day of school. I had about eight students on my class list--pretty typical of a self-contained special ed classroom.
However, several times that day, my classroom door swung open and another student was ushered in with a brief, "Here's another one for you!" Now, self-contained classrooms aren't like regular classrooms, where the teachers will randomly get a new student based on class-size and determined by administration. No kiddo should cross my threshold without a meeting of the IEP team and an IEP in place. But I was busily involved in first-day activities with my students, while trying to smoothly integrate each newly-delivered 5th or 6th grader into our growing class. Though I desperately wanted to, I didn't think I could say, "Enough! No more! Stay out!" It was my first first day...what did I know?
By the last bell my class size had doubled! I'd had to snag extra desks and chairs from a classroom next door. As soon as the school day was over, I marched to the front office, right up to my new best friend's desk--that is, the principal's secretary--and wailed, "Bea, where'd all these kids come from?!"
I handed her a list of students who had appeared out of somebody's hat that day. She looked them up on her computer, one by one, and found out that most--thank God!--did not actually belong in my class. They were students who received resource services...that is, they were in a regular education classroom, but had special education support one or two periods a day. There was one name on the list, though, that Bea couldn't find. We did some checking around, and there were simply no records on this kiddo. No registration information. No immunization records. No proof of address--heck, no address at all! Therefore, of course, no phone number...and certainly no IEP. Um...it was a little alarming that this kiddo had been on campus all day, in a self-contained special education classroom no less, and we had no clue who he was.
We did solve one mystery. It turns out that as students were streaming onto campus that morning, the school counselor, Mr. Phillips, helpfully directed anyone who asked about 5th/6th grade special education to my classroom. Oy, vey.
So what next? What about this mystery student? It was decided that the next morning, as children were being dropped off at school, we would all keep our eyes peeled; as soon as we saw this kiddo alight from his parents' car, we would make our move! We would have the parents come into the school and get him registered. It was a great plan, but we were lousy operatives. Suddenly the kiddo was on campus, but no one had seen him arrive. Foiled! We had missed our opportunity. Mr. Phillips brought him into the office for a gentle interrogation.
This bewildered 10-year-old provided his name and birthday, but didn't know his telephone number. There was no number listed under his family's name in the phone book or by calling 411. Address? Nope, but, "I can tell you a couple streets by my house, and I could show you how to get there!" No other schools in the district had any information on the little guy; every phone call was a dead-end. After about an hour of head-scratching and hand-wringing and confab by those in the front office, it was finally determined that, since the kiddo was confident he could provide directions in a "this-is-where-we-turn-left" kind of fashion, Mr. Phillips would simply have to run him home in his own car. Unfortunately, it turned out this kiddo lived about 15 miles from our school...way out of district. What were his parents thinking?
The first days of school are brutal for everyone, but the office staff and administration were particularly overwhelmed. There were 800 students on this campus, and the one school counselor really had about 799 other things he needed to take care of. But an unregistered, unidentifiable kiddo on campus is just not okay. So, with no better plan at the ready, Mr. Phillips grabbed his cell phone, threw a defeated look at Bea, and headed out the door with his 10-year-old fare.
Fifteen miles, city traffic the entire way. Fortunately, the drive home was going smoothly. This kiddo was right...he really did seem to know where he was going. Traffic was lousy, it was over 100 degrees, and it was hard not to think of what fires he could be putting out back at the school. But Mr. Phillips would soon put this one out, would let these parents know that their son had to attend school in his own district, and he could cross this task off his list. He was almost home free.
Until, about 10 minutes from the boy's neighborhood, when the kiddo turned to Mr. P and asked curiously, "Who's going to bring my sister home?"
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