War Diary

In comparison to the high dropout rate of U.S. high school students, the turnover of teachers is more shocking.  On average, a third of new teachers leave after three years; almost half have quit the profession during their first five years.  The reasons include overloaded work, low payment, and poor working conditions.

I deserve champagne to celebrate surviving for more than five years, though matter-of-factly I have encountered many obstacles in this field. But none of these could make me feel more frustrated than dealing with the boy with Asperger’s syndrome. He has taught me a unique lesson that makes me reflect the essence of teaching. Looking back, it was just like a war. The phone call was the first gunshot. A war had begun.

In 2010, I decided to move back to my hometown in the north of Taiwan, where it is relatively humid and cold in winter. While I still had ambivalent feelings about the difficult decision, I got a call from the administrator of my new school. After welcoming me enthusiastically, she came up with a query, “Mr. Tang, would you like to accommodate a kid with special needs in your classroom?” It did not take me too long to say yes since it seemed that other seven grade teachers had refused her. Unlike America, the homeroom teacher system is implemented from elementary to high school in my country.

I moved back to home in August and started working in the new school. Not long after that, the fall semester began. I met the boy on the first day of school, and I noticed that he had extremely pale white skin. He was taller than average for boys of his age. He wore a very clean uniform and was well-mannered. After consulting a school counselor, I knew that he had Asperger’s syndrome, a high functioning form of autism. People always hold romantic imagination toward people with Asperger’s disorder or autism and regard them as superior geniuses such as Dustin Hoffman in the movieRain Man.

As the days passed by, the more I understood him, the more I had sympathy for him. Since elementary school, he got bullied and teased a lot. He came from a single parent family, whose jobless father refused to recognize his disorder. According to his aunt, the grandma and father of the boy had the same emotional and behavioral problem, but they lacked the insight and never saw the doctor. He had bad breath due to lack of adequate family care, and his poor health resulted from his anxiety.  Lacking social interaction skills, he had difficulty finding company. Not surprisingly, he was alone most of the time. For me, he was a polite, sweet and kindhearted boy. He strictly obeyed the school codes of conduct and had a sense of justice and humor, though sometimes his jokes seemed odd. Aside from encouraging him, I would give him some cookies, books or souvenirs to show I cared as a teacher.

My ideal vision was to create harmony and a warm environment for him. The school counselor and I tried many ways to make non-special needs students appreciate their differences, which was the most important thing to do in an inclusive classroom. However, the conflicts between the students and him were never alleviated; there was no sign of ceasefire. Some naughty students always messed with him. Bedsides, being extremely sensitive to the noise, he easily got annoyed and irritated in a classroom that was impossible to make absolutely silent.  Teachers began to discipline other students more in order to not upset him. Nevertheless, he also verbally attacked teachers. He liked that things were organized like the order of the universe, so he would be anxious if a teacher changed the class schedule or a substitute teacher showed up unexpectedly.

 When he was furious, he would rub his head, holding his fist. Next, he would lower his head, glowering fiercely at people. His compulsory threatening behavior would surface, and he flung his hatred towards some peers and threatened to kill them several times.

In the spring semester of 2011, the situation progressively got worse. Many other students complained about many of their teachers, mostly me, their homeroom teacher, for favoring him, and the boy accused me of protecting other students.

The last battle was on a sunny day in May. He came to my office, saying, “You always help them, but not me. You believe them if they say they didn’t mess with me.”

I replied,” I did deal with your every complaint, didn’t I? ”

“I want you to kill all of my classmates!” he yelled at me.

“Killing is a crime. That is against the law. I cannot do that.”

“You’re a piece of crap. The worst teacher I have ever met!”

Losing my control, I struck my desk and shouted at him,” Say that again!”

“It’s all your fault!”  He grabbed a chair, threatening to throw it at me.

“Put it down!” I lashed out at him.

The chair still hung in the air. He was hesitant about his next move. Other teachers stopped him and took him away to the Office of Student Affairs. He cried and continued shouting there.

All I wanted to do was to be alone, so I left the office. Standing in a balcony, I felt like I was facing an abyss. The icy wind from every direction pierced through my body under the burning sun. I felt nothing but desperately devastated and hurt. I was totally defeated; I kept questioning myself if I had done anything wrong.  After the incident, he became angry and aggressive toward me. Nevertheless, he seemed to have less difficulty getting along with his classmates.The Special Education teacher told me that he had transferred his anger on me now.

 I have never seen him after I came to the U.S., but I dream of him very few times. In my dreams, he is complaining of being bullied, and the usual expression on his face still makes me uneasy.

I have learned my lessons. Rather than quitting, I am filling up my supply, waiting to win a victory in the next war.