The RANTvocate: When School Suspension Gets Personal

Last week my sixth grader got suspended from school.

Yep, My Kid. Not the kid with the sketchy home life, not the kid who shows up with a bag of Sweet Sixteen Donuts for lunch, not the kid who wears shorts in the winter with the tattered backpack emblazoned with an image of fake televised wrestling. My Kid. My Kid, the one who asks for seconds of broccoli and hangs back to take out the trash at church youth events.

Nevertheless, My Kid did a most stupid thing. He played lookout for another kid who stole a lunch box. Then My Kid ran to the bathroom with the other kid to eat stolen food.

Eeew.

Result: three days suspension.

Wait, what? How the hell am I going to get anything done with him at home?

My Kid was allowed to finish out the day, and he handed me a sealed envelope at carpool. When I cooled off enough to open it, I found it riddled with errors. A veritable clusterf*ck of words on paper. A special kind of sloppy.

When I cooled off some more, I emailed the principal some gently-worded concerns, making sure to use my university-affiliated email address. When you’re working on an advanced degree in education, studying school discipline, and just read up on restorative justice, you don’t just accept your kid’s suspension. Principal agreed to meet with me early the next morning. I was convinced I would get my kid’s suspension reversed on a technicality and researchy yet smooth talking.

That’s not how it went.

Principal stood by his decision. I requested an appeal and followed through in the form of a scathing letter to school board president. I received a formal apology from the board president for the poor communication, but suspension not appealed.

Meeting went something like this:

Me: Suspensions are not effective.

Principal: I know they aren’t. But I saw the video and considered it carefully. What he did was wrong.

Me: I agree that what he did was wrong. I am not defending his actions. But, I see in this paperwork you’re billing me $20 for lost property. How about instead of me paying the money, allow my son to earn the money for a new lunchbox. He can fill it with food and present it to the child whose lunch went missing. We can bring in the other child’s parents too. I would be upset if my child’s lunch were stolen. I believe this will help him understand how his actions affect others.

Principal: We don’t like to double-punish here.

Me (in my head): Are you f*cking kidding me? What in blazes is this bill I’m holding?

Me (out loud): Could you ask his teachers send work home?

Principal: Normally we don’t do that unless the child receives services, but I can make an exception here.

Me (in my head): Nothing. The internal dialogue went silent.

For the next three days My Kid completed assignments in between every household chore. In a parenting style I normally cannot tolerate, I helicoptered over him every second. He wrote a brilliant reflection on The Diary of Anne Frank from Peter’s perspective and titled it The Diary of a Young Boy. He went to class with me and at times he kept up and participated. An administrative assistant saw how well-behaved he was and gave him candy.

Me (scoffingly in my head): School said My Kid can’t learn for three days? Joke’s on you, Mr. Principal. My kid is attending grad school. Hmph.

When I was a teacher, school culture taught me that suspensions are more intended to discipline the parents than the child. It was punishment. Effective punishment. For me. No privacy, no alone time, and no closure.

I performed my last act of defiance the night before he returned to school. I went to Target, bought a gender-neutral lunchbox, and filled it with processed food-like junk that no one would suspect was real food prepared by humans. Instead of dropping off My Kid in carpool the next morning, I marched into the building with him and delivered the lunchbox to the office myself.

I haven’t paid the $20. I never signed anything acknowledging My Kid was suspended. Instead, I created my own restorative justice. I want to think it embarrassed the hell out of My Kid, but I didn’t.

Student whose lunch was stolen, I hope those were the best Ritz Bitz and Fruit Snacks you’ll ever eat. My Kid was being an a-hole and a follower, and I am sorry your lunch went missing. I am more sorry that he can’t say these words to you and your parents. He was sent home.