The recent news story concerning young
Zachary the Cub Scout versus the Christina School District in Newark, Delaware hit close to home for me.
When I was a young girl - about Zachary's age - I was called into the principal's office for bringing something dangerous to school: Explosives. Really. It sounds pretty bad when I think about it. I was eight or nine years old and a teacher discovered gunpowder-packed explosives in my pencil bag.
Here's the story:
Back then my family and I spent most of my summer vacation at our 'cabin' out in what was then mostly woods. It was a gorgeous place on a lake. There were few people and plenty of wildlife and those summers brought some of the best memories of my entire life. One of the highlights was our annual 4th of July celebration. Dwelling out in a rural county meant there were no codes restricting fireworks -- so we would buy big boxes full of them and my father would put on a show for all of us. By the time I was eight - Dad had taken to letting me 'organize' all the pyrotechnics for him... Although I still wasn't able to light them myself -- that was Dad's job. And he did. Often upside down. But that's another story for another time....
Anyway - taking my organization job seriously (as I always did) I searched for a logical solution that year when I discovered that a the box that had contained a bunch of firecrackers had fallen apart and was spilling the little tiny firecrackers all over the place. I selected a zippered plastic
pencil bag from my room. Perfect! Not only were the firecrackers all in one place - but they were protected from the damp July air and the heavy dew in the grass near the lake.
Weeks of summer bliss passed until it was time to return to school. I was returning for fifth grade at St. John Elementary School and excited as always. I loved school. I loved school supplies and books and blackboards and all of those other school trappings... And I loved the good sisters who taught us.
A few days into the school year - we were coloring a back-to-school picture for the hallway. As Sister made her rounds through the classroom ... she stopped at my desk long enough to cause me to look up into her face. She looked puzzled as she asked me to grab my pencil case and follow her. She took me to Sister Michael's office - the principal. I suppose I should have been afraid... Sister Michael certainly didn't have a reputation as a warm and cuddly sort of nun -- but I personally liked her. She had never been anything but kind to me despite the gruff exterior. Every time I ran into her in the hallways on one of my errands for the teachers she would glare at me menacingly at first - then hand me a scapular or medal or holy card and pat me on the head before sending me on my way. And so - I had no real reason to be afraid. I simply wondered what the unexpected meeting could be about.
My teacher had entered the office ahead of me so that when I arrived and sat down as instructed, Sister Michael was holding my pencil bag out in front of her like it was a stinky dead fish. She demanded to know why I had brought something so dangerous to school. I suppose the completely clueless look on my face seemed sincere enough - so she then reached into the pencil bag and produced a single crayon-stained firecracker! Mystery solved. I happily explained that I must have missed it when cleaning out my pencil bag for school.
It was apparently not the best explanation. She then asked me to explain how I went about acquiring such a thing in the first place which I also explained - though not so happily this time.... I could tell by her tone and her expression that I had done something terribly wrong that I didn't quite understand. She asked me if I knew it was against the rules to bring this dangerous thing to school. It wasn't an easy question to answer. In theory I did - in reality I didn't think of the thing as dangerous. It was just a thing left in my pencil case. It wasn't in anyone's hands... it was nowhere near an open flame... Besides - it was missing its fuse which might have explained how it ended up left behind in the pencil bag after the 4th of July. Most importantly, I had no idea I had brought this dangerous thing to school. Certainly I had no intention of
doing anything with it.
None of this thought process was shared with Sister Michael, however. Instead I simply answered that I didn't know it was there and I didn't realize how dangerous it was. She softened only a little as she read the rules to me from some book in her office. The rules were full of big words that I didn't understand but she took the time to explain that this little firecracker was an explosive - which was specifically mentioned in those serious-sounding rules. With that an enormous light went off. It
was an explosive. I never thought about it as an explosive. I thought explosives were bombs like on
Starsky and Hutch. Realizing that I had inadvertently brought a bomb to school... I was sure my life was over.
But my life wasn't over. Sister Michael took the firecracker and asked that I very, very carefully check my school things in the future and that I never bring anything like that firecracker into the school again. I assured her that I wouldn't and apologized whole-heartedly. With that - I was sent back to class. It was over. I don't even know if my parents were ever officially notified of the incident... I just know that I never forgot what happened and my shock and embarrassment that day.
I also know that I had an enormous amount of love and respect for Sister Michael and my teacher from that day on. I knew for sure that they were reasonable people. I felt that they could be trusted with the decisions they made - because they took the time to listen and use their judgment. Those are some complex conclusions for an eight or nine year old to draw - especially for an eight or nine year old who previously was unaware that a firecracker was an explosive... But I was a pretty complex kid.
That's my story. That's the story I think about when I read stories like Zachary's. How different would my life be today had St. John's implemented a zero-tolerance policy when I was in school? Would that firecracker have led to reform school and the associated trauma and stigma? Would my entire educational career have bottomed out as a result of that firecracker?
Terrifying thought.
Oh - and yet another reason why we homeschool.
