Abstract:

Laura Reasoner Jones says, "Teachers don't ever talk about the weighty responsibility we have to recognize and report child abuse, but it is with us every day of our lives."

Jones, L.R. (2004). Dirty little secrets. Teacher Leaders Network diaries. Retrieved from the Teacher Leaders Network 10 Apr 2008. Link: http://www.teacherleaders.org/old_site/diaries/LRJ01.html

Full Text:

Dirty Little Secrets

As school opens and the kids return to the school building where my office is located, I am surprised to see so many new teachers. Over the summer, many people have left, mostly for good reasons: promotions to Technology Specialists after increased funding was provided, well-deserved retirements, and moves to schools closer to home-wise decisions with our sky-rocketing gas prices. We did suffer one loss that makes me sick: the fabulous art teacher who pulled more art out of these kids than I have ever seen missed the passing score on the Praxis for his third and last try and had to move to another state. Definitely their gain and our loss.

I move down the hall on the fourth day of school as the buses disgorge the kids. And I watch a little scene take place that gives me pause and takes me crashing back to my teaching days.

The students line up in the hallway ready to enter their classrooms. Their teachers stand at the open doorways, greeting every child by name. I watch one of the new teachers gently cup a little girl's face in her hand and I see what she sees: a large green and blue bruise on the student's cheek. I hear her say gently, "Tell me about this." I am instantly back in my past, remembering that sick feeling in my stomach, dreading what may happen next.

Teachers don't ever talk about the weighty responsibility we have to recognize and report child abuse, but it is with us every day of our lives. And for me, it was a responsibility that I absolutely hated and would have preferred to hide my head in the sand about. Some things never get easier. I had hoped that this issue would go away for me when I stopped having direct responsibility for children, but it doesn't look good.

To recertify as a teacher in the Commonwealth of Virginia, all teachers now must complete an online course about child abuse and neglect—how to recognize the signs and what to do about them when you identify them. I took this class at home, watching the small video clips and answering the questions. But I kept incorrectly marking examples on the clips as neglect—the law and I do not agree. It was the mother in me vs. the law. I felt that children should come to school in clean clothes and with a decent breakfast. I guess I kept answering the questions with an emotional reaction rather than a technical one—it is not unlawful, abusive or neglectful to send your child to school with a dirty face.

As I took the test, however, I started to remember that there were a few years in my children's lives when their teachers definitely cut our family some slack. There was the year, I think it was first or second grade, when Julie refused to have her hair washed or brushed at all. We finally compromised on tearful Sunday nights, but by Friday she was looking pretty bad. That was the same year that she would only wear the same three outfits—pink and purple sweatsuit outfits that were threadbare and faded by the time spring rolled around. As I look back now, I can identify this as a sensory integration problem that somehow resolved itself through neurological maturation, but an overzealous teacher could have easily slammed me for what looked like neglect.

And then there were the three successive spring-times when Christie went to preschool and kindergarten with huge self-induced bruises on her arms and legs, culminating in the year that she raced through the kitchen and sliced her face open on the corner of the kitchen counter. That was when we finally saw the pattern of spring tree-pollen allergies that were quickly alleviated with medication. But again, a teacher who didn't know us, or who was quick to judge, would have had a case, on the surface.

That decision—to call Child Protective Services or not—is such a tough one. I was lucky in my old job of home visits. I had Madelyn our social worker to discuss my concerns with. Although the decision to report was ultimately my responsibility, I could talk things over with her and decide how to proceed. But it is such a heavy decision. If a teacher makes a call, investigators are sent out to the home or school, files are opened and lives are changed forever. It is not a decision to be made lightly.

I will never forget a home visit I made a few years ago. One Friday afternoon, I walked in to find a mother with her face black and blue from a beating. Her little boy, who was the object of my home visit, was curled up in the corner whimpering, and she was hunched over the kitchen table, her head in her hands. All I could say was, "I have to call, you know." And she nodded. And I had to use her phone, and I didn't know what else to do or say.

I'm older now, and I hope that if I found myself in the same position again, I could be more of a comfort; but at that time I was just afraid of her husband and ashamed for her being in that condition. It changed everything. It changed our relationship and it made me hate myself and my inability to help.

The Quaker Meeting my wonderful husband attends is in the process of formulating guidelines for protecting the children in the Sunday School. As a public school teacher, I am always mindful of my legal responsibility to report anything suspicious, and was frustrated at the layers of reporting they placed in these guidelines. This issue became the subject of many after-dinner discussions with him as he sat on the committee to draft the guidelines for formal approval by the Meeting, the group struggling over the ethics of background checks. This hasn't been resolved yet, but I don't think anyone is going to be very happy with the results.

Some of my former teaching colleagues can deal with this in a much less emotional way; they don't get physically sick or lie awake at night like I do. They know they are doing the 'right' thing, and they do what they feel is right without looking back. It is much more grey for me and I don't know why. It has always been hard for me to separate the parent from the teacher, and I don't want to leap to judgment. And yet, I would never want to ignore or overlook a child who is in danger or being hurt in any way.

I remember the hard times with my own children and think, "How could I have proved that we weren't beating up on Christie during her annual six weeks of craziness?" "How could I have shown a social worker that I was doing my best to keep Julie clean?" There is no solution for this-there is only doing the best we can do.

I think about that teacher and that little girl every day as I walk down my school's hallway. And I wonder what happened-did she report this? Did the little girl have a satisfactory explanation of the bruise? Who does this teacher have to talk this over with? Who supports her? Does she get this sickening feeling in her stomach too, or is this just my little problem?

This is just one of those things about teaching that no one ever talks about, and no one prepares you for in college. Sure, you can review the laws and the regulations, but when it's you and the telephone, it boils down to you and that family's future. And it is one of the toughest calls you can make.

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