School Me: Lessons I Didn't Want to Learn

Duty

Once a week each of the teachers has "duty" (or, as the little kids used to spell it when I taught elementary school, "doody"). We report to our designated locations on campus and spend 20-25 minutes supervising the students at the beginning and end of each school day.

One of our tasks at the beginning of the day is to watch for uniform violations. My school has what I refer to as a "loose" uniform policy. It was instituted a few years before I began working there, in an attempt to minimize the growing problem of gang violence. Students are to wear blue or black pants (including jeans), shorts or skirts and dark blue or white tops. Other items, such as shoes, belts, jewelry and other accoutrements, have a more fluid policy. Our rules for them are continually being refined, since the students seem to have no greater aspiration in life than to find ways to push the boundaries of our uniform policy.

For example, we have had quite a problem with marijuana use by many of our students this year. Using the innate cleverness that is so abundant in 12 year-olds, students began to display their affinity for the evil weed by wearing items that were green, red, black and yellow - so-called "rasta colors." Clearly the grown-ups on campus would have no idea what that stood for, right? We're all far too old and stodgy to know anything about the connection between rasta, reggae and marijuana. Well, much to their surprise, we did make that connection (in fact, we began referring to rasta-wearing students as being members of the "Bob Marley Club"). Consequently "rasta items" were added to the list of things that couldn't be worn at school. Oh, the ensuing furor was not to be believed! They just liked reggae, that's all! The wearing of those colors didn't mean anything! And their cleverness reached new heights as they explored creative ways of skirting the ban, such as donning a red belt, a black and green bracelet and a yellow hair tie. If only they put this much thought and effort into their school work.

The best part, however, was how many parents defended the right of their children to wear these items. Like their children, they too would state that their children just liked the music or liked those colors and that it had nothing to do with marijuana use. Even when we were able to rattle off 58 other reasons why we were concerned that their particular child might be smoking weed, the parents continued to profess their children's innocence. My favorite line came from a parent who said that her child wore rasta stuff because she got it from her older brother. I can state pretty confidently that fashion accessories were not the only thing being shared by the older brother.

So I suppose that I should not have been surprised at what happened when I was on duty one morning last week. My duty station is at the front of the school by the parking lot. On this particular morning, a mother pulled up and dropped off her daughter. As the girl walked toward me, I saw that she had a black shirt on under her white shirt. (Although it's been explained to them a million times, students continue to profess that they didn't know it was wrong to wear a non-uniform shirt under a uniform shirt.) I stopped the girl and pointed out that the black shirt was not uniform, and directed her to the dreaded "Room 400" where students have to remove the offending item and/or don a "loaner" uniform shirt. The girl walked off with nary a whine, but the mother promptly turned off her car, got out and walked toward me. "What were you talking to my daughter about?" she demanded. I explained that her daughter was wearing a black shirt, which was not a uniform color, and that I had sent her to room 400 to remove it. Boy, did that ever set her off! She proceeded to tell me that we always "picked on" her daughter, while "everyone else" got to wear "whatever they want" and no one ever said a thing to them. I stood there trying to keep my jaw from dropping. She was saying exactly what the 12 year-olds say! Luckily, I had recovered by the time she stopped spewing. I explained that with 850 students on campus, there were certainly times that some of them might escape our attention. After all, they frequently went to great lengths to try to hide their uniform violations, only exposing them when adults weren't looking, much to the delight of their peers. But she continued to accuse us of showing favoritism to others while picking on her daughter. Finally, I asked her if she knew what the school dress code was. "Yes!" she replied indignantly. "Well then," I responded, "if you know the dress code, and you want us to quit picking on her, all you have to do is check what she's wearing before you drive her to school each morning. Problem solved." And with that, she turned and stomped away, muttering under her breath.

What hope do we have with the children, when the parents are like this?