Recently, there's been talk in the NYC papers about absenteeism. As always, the first people to be placed at fault are the teachers. It's easy to assume that children don't come to school because their classes are uninteresting. The keyword here is "easy". Think about the subject more closely for a minute: we're talking about children. Five, Seven, Ten even Thirteen year olds. These are not individuals old enough to make the decision about whether they go to school. That decision is in the hands of their parents. I should know.
All through elementary school, I missed 60 days of school a year -- on average. There was no kid in the building who wanted to be there more than I did -- a classic child with Asperger's Syndrome, I felt infinitely more comfortable talking with adults, enjoyed studying subjects in obsessive depth and was not terribly interested in the social world of children. School was my haven -- there I could talk with adults about a range of subjects, whether through the venue of class discussion or during recess or my lunch period. It was also one of the only places I received true praise in my entire life: I wrote with authority and with a precocious vocabulary and was rewarded with esteem from my entire Hebrew School. Though I was awkward, heavy and a physical mess, my intelligence was widely acknowledged and my reputation preceeded me at every juncture and in every grade. Even the principals --secular and Hebrew, gave me special attention. When I got into trouble, as I did often, they had long talks with me about what I had done. Sometimes they saw my point of view. When one teacher persecuted me for my untidyness and we therefore developed a combative relationship, the Hebrew principal stopped admonishing me, but simply instructed me to sit in his office for what seemed like a reasonable period of time and then return to class. He knew the woman didn't like me and was cruel to me and he wasn't going to add to that punishment.
My school was the only place in the world where I was thoroughly understood.
Yet, I could not go there much of the year because my mother kept me home. I wasn't ill. Sometimes she was ill. Sometimes she wanted to take off and go to the theater. Sometimes she thought I had stayed up too late studying and needed to sleep. Did she understand that I couldn't start studying until she went to sleep because she wouldn't stop talking to me about her day and her problems. OR, she couldn't stop fighting with me and my grandmother about
1) Why she had been born in the first place
2) Where the people whom she believed came into our apartment when we were asleep or unaware had put her keys, cigarettes, money, favorite pin, etc.
3) Why I didn't have a right to be on the phone for long conversations
4) Just general sexual/physical frustration
5) What she perceived to be, sometimes rightly, my grandmother's judgement of her tastes
There were other reasons, too, but you get the idea. My mother is mentally ill and she involved the entire household in her disease.
Nonetheless, I called people and got the homework assignments and did them. Paradoxically, she even took me to the library to help me complete my school reports. She wanted me to do well in school. That you have to go to school to do so never occurred to her.
And, I did well, even though I didn't go. Whenever I took a test, be it on the given day or the day I returned to school, I did exceptionally well. My reading comprehension was at college level by the sixth grade. I wrote powerfully, however disorganizedly. Moreover, I wrote with passion and always with evidence for my opinions. More than one teacher suggested I go to law school.
Fortunately for me, I did not attend a public school. At a public school, no one would have paid any attention to my reading levels or my academic success. Just being absent would have caused me to be held back. My elementary school wanted to once because of fear of scrutiny by the school system, but gave me provisional rights to go on to the next grade after my mother called and asked how they could keep a child with an 87 average back a grade. Surely there were kids with lower averages being advanced? They saw her point -- they would have seen it anyway. No one at my school thought for a moment that the solution to my problems rested in being retained in a grade.
They knew the solution to my problems was far more complicated. Having watched my mother's mental illness progress over the years, they knew too well that she was out of control. Although as part of my scholarship she was supposed to help out at the school's fundraising bingo nights, they did not press her into service. People preferred when she didn't show up, I suspect. I came to school unwashed and redolent, though wrapped in nice clothes. My bookbag carried roaches as did my coat. My scalp was covered with sebhorreic dermatitis so bad it took me until about a year ago to get it under control. As I got older, I became difficult and angry and acted out irrationally and desperately. My classmates knew I wanted attention and they forgave me all sorts of imbecilic actions. The few who knew my mother or had seen the apartment in which I lived had told the others how bad things were. I retained my academic credibility and had a few close friends. And despite it all, I got into Stuyvesant High School where I maintained my usual B+ average -- the best I could do under the circumstances.
At Stuyvesant, I had a lot of support from my teachers, counselors, the SPARK program -- the family that was my school. Once again, I was exceedingly lucky to be understood.
It wasn't until I got to Barnard College that I enjoyed the pleasure of not being absent from school unless I was furiously ill.
Most students in NYC are not as lucky as I was. But, I'll tell you one thing we have in common: we are not absent because our classrooms are not welcoming. We are absent because the world outside our schools is chaotic. The overage and under-credited students whom I taught at Brooklyn Comprehensive Night High School all pointed to difficulties in their lives which precipitated and aggravated their failure at school. Yes, many of them also pointed to the school's lack of concern for their well-being. No one said that they left school because it was boring. They didn't make it to school because of obstacles out of their control. They may have fought less and less to stay in school because they felt no one cared. No one took the time to find out the whole of their situations.
Most public schools don't have the number of counselors that I had at Stuyvesant and none are as small as the Hebrew school I attended in grades K-8.
When a kid is absent, it's a signal that something is wrong at home. Perhaps the child is legitimately ill. But, persistent absence doesn't happen without neglect and abuse. That's a hard reality to face because it means that those kids who are chronically absent need much more than just an entertaining lesson. They need social workers, counselors and dramatic intervention.
I'd bet that, given the proper care and a safe and secure home environment, most of those absent students could manage through an occasionally boring day. I'd've given my front teeth for a day in which my biggest problem was that I was bored.
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