The narrative I want to share reflects a common experience for teachers: witnessing practices that seem unjust while feeling compelled to align with administrative policies. In the ever-evolving landscape of education, teachers often find themselves expected to conform to popular theories, even when they contradict their observations. Many younger educators might cite “logical consequences” and “relationship building” as core tenets of their classroom management strategies. There's a prevalent belief that strong student-teacher relationships lead to compliance, a notion echoed throughout entire schools. While this approach may resonate with some students, it leaves many, like CJ, still in need of support.

My current school, typical of under-resourced institutions, benefits from additional funding for an after-school tutoring initiative. I signed up to tutor twice a week, a commitment that can be exhausting after a full day, but this time I was assigned to my preferred grade and subject: 5th-grade Reading. On my first day, I was unfamiliar with most of the students, with only two from my regular class. However, I had heard about CJ.

My initial encounter with CJ occurred even before he entered my classroom. During the first two tutoring sessions focused on math, I observed him from a distance. At the second session, while Ms. Bailey led the lesson, I realized I needed something from the desk CJ was occupying.

As I approached, I found CJ resting with his head on his arms. His regular teacher, Mrs. Sykes, had mentioned that he often slept during class, and I hoped he was merely resting this time.

“CJ!” I called out, leaning closer. The room buzzed with discussion, and I repeated his name, giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder. He stirred but remained unresponsive.

“Nooooo,” he replied, still not lifting his head.

Though I refrained from reprimanding him, knowing Ms. Bailey had addressed the issue before, I still needed him to move.

“Come on, CJ, just for a moment,” I coaxed, but he continued to ignore me.

“CJ always sleeps, Mrs. Kirkman! He’s up all night playing video games!” shouted Manuel, another student.

I chose to overlook Manuel's comment while considering my next steps. My typical strategy with defiant students involves offering them a choice.

“CJ, I really need you to get up for a moment. Your options are to comply or to step outside for a brief conversation. Take a minute to decide.” I walked away, hoping to give him space.

This approach usually fosters compliance by allowing students to feel in control. After a brief interval, I returned to CJ and inquired about his choice. In response, he merely shifted.

Exchanging glances with Ms. Bailey, who shrugged in uncertainty, I inhaled deeply and began to gently push his desk aside. As the leg of the desk brushed against his leg, he groaned, “Owwwww, that hurt!” He finally sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“I apologize, CJ, but I truly need this folder,” I explained, holding up a red folder filled with assignments awaiting grading.

CJ grunted, repositioned the desk, and returned to his previous posture. I then left the classroom to attend Mrs. Rodriguez’s baby shower with a bag of Marvel-themed gifts in hand.

After the event, I discussed the incident with Mrs. Hoffman, the assistant principal, to ensure transparency before any potential parental inquiries.

“I suggest reaching out to his mother to clarify what transpired,” she advised. “But be aware that CJ has been a challenge since 3rd grade. His mother allows him to stay up all night gaming, resulting in his frequent sleepiness in class. We've communicated with her multiple times, but she rarely attends meetings or takes action.”

I nodded, returning to my classroom as the tutoring group began to pack up. I gestured for CJ to come over. He approached slowly, towering over me in my chair, his eyes appearing vacant.

“I apologize for earlier, CJ. I didn’t intend to bump into you with the desk. I'm excited to work with you as your reading tutor and hope we can establish a positive relationship,” I said.

CJ offered a noncommittal nod, his gaze distant.

As the dismissal bell rang, students filed out, and I wished CJ a pleasant rest of the day.

“My nose hurts,” he muttered, rubbing it.

I remain unsure if he recalls the incident; he never mentioned it again, and his mother did not respond to my email.

In the weeks that followed, I became better acquainted with CJ. I found him likable, especially when discussing comic books and superheroes. However, as a student, he posed challenges. During our daily meetings, he often made sarcastic remarks while others shared. I quickly realized that pairing him with another student was counterproductive; his partner invariably ended up doing the work. On occasions when the class operated independently, I could work one-on-one with CJ, encouraging him to complete assignments. Yet, far too often, his tutoring sessions were unproductive. If assigned independent work, he would either stall, refuse outright, or simply disengage. Frequently, his mother would pick him up early, causing him to miss essential practice assignments. Although she responded politely to my communications about his behavior, I couldn't ascertain whether she truly addressed these matters with him. His behavior showed no signs of improvement.

At my previous schools, tutoring program admission was contingent on academic need; only students with low benchmark scores were invited. In contrast, my current institution has no such criteria, allowing anyone to sign up. Many high-achieving students participate, driven by parents wishing for their success to soar even higher. Some view the tutoring program merely as free childcare. Although I didn't have access to CJ's test scores, it was evident that his primary challenge was lack of effort rather than ability. I often felt that students on our extensive waiting list, who possessed good work habits but lower abilities, would benefit more from the program than CJ.

Despite my concerns, CJ's behavior did not warrant expulsion from the tutoring program. Mrs. Woods, the tutoring coordinator, even observed one of my lessons and praised my ability to work with him. I only wished I could have addressed his bullying tendencies more effectively.

A few weeks later, Mrs. Woods informed me that one of my students, Jason, would be transferred to another tutoring class.

“Why?” I inquired, struggling to recall any issues Jason might be facing. To be honest, I barely knew him; he had missed many sessions.

“Well, Ms. Bailey reported that CJ has been teasing him quite a bit,” Mrs. Woods explained. “He’s made comments about Jason’s weight and his socially awkward demeanor. This bullying has contributed to Jason's absences; his parents have difficulty getting him to attend.”

I felt disappointed to see a student leave. It saddened me to think a student was unhappy or unsuccessful in my class. Yet, considering we were only a few weeks into the program and Jason had been frequently absent, I believed his transition would not hinder his learning. Unfortunately, he was not the first to leave.

Amanda was one of the few tutoring students also in my regular class. She was kind, diligent, and eager to please. Their friendship seemed unlikely given their differences, yet they often chatted, stood together in line, and sat together during car-rider pickups. When Mrs. Woods informed me a month after Jason's departure that Amanda would also be switching classes, I was surprised to learn that CJ was once again the cause.

Mrs. Woods detailed an incident reported by Ms. Payne, the new math tutor, which had been confirmed through security footage. After a bathroom break, students lined up outside the classroom when CJ tapped Amanda on the shoulder. When she ignored him, he turned to the student behind him, shrugged, and gestured in disbelief before punching Amanda in the back.

“Additionally, Amanda mentioned that CJ has been teasing her about her height,” Mrs. Woods remarked.

“I never noticed that behavior — he teased her occasionally, but I thought they were friends. She never seemed upset about it,” I replied.

“Perhaps Amanda is not the type to voice her discomfort,” Mrs. Woods, who also taught art, suggested.

“True,” I admitted, feeling guilt for not realizing what was happening.

“Nevertheless, I believe she’ll adapt well to her new class,” Mrs. Woods said, lightening the mood. “She enjoys your teaching and was hesitant to move, but I assured her that she’d see you daily at school.”

“And CJ?” I asked.

“I documented the incident and contacted his mother,” Mrs. Woods replied without elaborating further.

For the first time, I felt genuine anger towards CJ. However, that feeling was fleeting, as I recognized that he wasn’t solely to blame for the absence of consequences or the need for his victims to “adjust” because of him. Jason had to change, while Amanda faced repercussions.

I want to clarify my stance on bullying in schools: it’s often more complex than outsiders perceive. As unjust as it may seem, relocating a bullying victim away from the perpetrator can sometimes be the most viable solution. In CJ's case, he was not only failing to benefit from the tutoring program, but he was also alienating his peers. Ms. Bailey had been replaced by Ms. Payne due to her inability to manage the class’s behavior. It appeared that neither Ms. Payne nor I had the capacity to handle the situation. The waiting list for tutoring was not getting shorter.

“You just need to try harder.” “Build a better relationship with him.” “You can’t change his mother…so how…?” “You can’t alter the fact that the school doesn’t enforce consequences, not even a simple loss of Dojo points…then what…?” “I don’t know…just…be understanding! Show compassion!”

These thoughts circulated in my mind repeatedly over the next few weeks. I refrained from voicing concerns to administration; no teacher would dare in my position for fear of being labeled “uncompassionate” or, even worse, “not committed to the students’ well-being.”

Having spent the previous three years in a private institution, I struggled to comprehend when the emphasis on clear rules and consistent consequences shifted to merely “building relationships” without specifics. My classroom management strategies in Florida public schools relied on established procedures, rules, and predictable rewards and consequences — but those schools were high-performing. My current one is not. I hope I’m making the difference I intended when I joined this school; I have established good relationships with my students, including CJ. Yet, according to current teaching paradigms, he should be thriving.

The final week before winter break is always challenging. Both teachers and students are fatigued and excited, but there's still much to accomplish. Tensions run high, especially in 2021 amid the pandemic. On just the second day of that week, CJ was involved in yet another altercation with a fellow student, this time from a different class, during our transit to the cafeteria.

“CJ will be eating lunch with me for the next two days,” Mrs. Hoffman, the assistant principal, informed us via email. “We will require an adult to supervise him in line, as these incidents typically occur when the teacher's attention is diverted. CJ needs additional support to manage his impulses when he feels disrespected.”

Throughout the years, I’ve encountered students with ADHD or volatile tempers who genuinely required “extra support.” These students struggled to control their impulses, irrespective of supervision. I admit, Mrs. Hoffman’s email incited anger in me, prompting a strongly worded response:

“I agree that CJ requires additional support. However, I believe he needs guidance in areas such as adhering to the golden rule. He must also learn that feelings don’t equate to facts; just because he feels ‘disrespected’ doesn’t mean he was, nor does it justify physical aggression. I perceive CJ as somewhat egocentric, even for a 5th grader, and he needs to develop empathy towards others.”

Mrs. Hoffman’s terse reply thanked me for my perspective, affirming CJ’s right to feel disrespected whenever he chooses. She concluded with a vague statement about “collaborating to support him in making better choices.”

Mrs. Woods echoed a similar sentiment, urging patience and understanding due to “the challenges occurring in CJ’s home life.” When I probed for details to better comprehend CJ's situation, she evaded the question. Mrs. Sykes, his regular teacher, also seemed unaware of any issues at home.

Now in 2022, tutoring is set to resume this week. I look forward to reconnecting with my students, including CJ. However, I can’t deny my apprehension about his potential to alienate other students with his bullying behavior. While it’s possible he is facing difficulties at home—further complicated by his mother’s permissiveness—what about the other students who may also be grappling with hardships but do not exhibit disruptive behavior?

I never advocated for CJ’s removal from the tutoring program; it wouldn't be fair to do so without first implementing a lesser consequence like detention or study hall during recess. For now, CJ and I are stuck together. I will continue to encourage him, striving to engage him in our shared interests like comic books and theories about upcoming movies. We will persist in “building our relationship.” I just hope I don’t lose any more connections with my other students.