Jed Dearybury - The Courageous Classroom

Around 1:30pm that day, some three-and-a-half hours after the first alarm, schools began to dismiss early. The amount of debris on the roads scattered all around the county was concerning enough to school officials that they decided to release early so bus drivers would have extra time to navigate the cluttered roads safely before it started to get dark. No need to stay the last hour or two anyway. No learning was going to happen. The fear and trauma of the day had surely closed down all brain receptors.

Fear, while paralyzing, can also present as anger. In threat or protective mode, every ounce of your being puffs up to be louder, larger, and more of a threat to your adversary. The mentality of “I'm going to get you before you get me” results in destructive patterns, lashing out and hurting others without any clear sense or end goal other than to hurt someone. Fear can also make you withdraw inside yourself, hiding at the slightest sound, trying to not be seen or heard, a false sense of safety that appears to work because you are ignored but not being seen, doesn't lessen internal, psychic pain. Unresolved trauma can lead to anxiety, resentment, and sadness filling a space primed for confidence but replaced with anxiety, anger, or a low mood.

We are born with the capacity for fear. Like other emotional responses, fear can be activated by exposure to different stimuli like a moving snake or the black onset of darkness. There is an evolutionary component of fear that goes back to dangerous events, animals, or people that our ancestors had to avoid in order to stay alive. That fear response is sensory and primal.

Keanon Lowe wasn't paralyzed that day. He didn't run away from his student when he felt fear. His lizard brain was not in control. Flight, fight, or freeze was not in command. He ran to the student with the gun. Perhaps, it was Lowe's underlying personality as a compassionate helper, selfless and committed to excellence. Maybe in his training as a competitive athlete, he learned how to push through pain and fear to achieve a goal or outcome. The ability to control and self-regulate fear is an important component of self-awareness. You have to recognize that you are afraid and fearful but still in control. Some see pushing through fear towards heroic action as courage. We expect our firemen, soldiers, and police officers to be brave and achieve extraordinary feats because they trained to be that way.

When Keanon Lowe responded, his life experiences proved his mental and physical toughness. But he didn't respond to his fear with aggression; he responded with compassion. Abigail March, in The Fear Factor , writes that some individuals when placed in fearful situations see the fear in their adversary and respond with compassion or altruism. Their amygdala responds with nurturing or caring. Keanon Lowe's actions exemplified both courage and goodness. He did the “good work” that is the goal of many educators entering the field.

Wherever you are when you get to this portion of the book, take a pause, breathe deeply, and know that the story you are about to read is factual. It is a true account, like all of the stories of my (Jed) students that you will read in this work.

It was about 9:30am on a mid-October morning. Halloween's approaching arrival was looming over the school, and my second graders were borderline chaotic at the mere thought of the impending sugar rush. While I was standing across the room talking with a student about a book, there was a knock at the door. Per the safety protocols for my school, a student peeked out of the rectangular window to let me know who was there and asked if he should open the door. It was the guidance counselor, the principal, and some kid he didn't know. I immediately knew it was a new student. My gut reaction at that moment was, “Nope, don't open the door, our room is full.” I feel very vulnerable telling you all that, but if you are an educator and claim you have never let out a deep sigh about a new student arriving mid-year, you are lying. It is not that we don't love our students, but two-and-half months into the year and most classroom routines are clicking along nicely, and a new face can often send ripples through an otherwise calm pond.

I walked to the door and stepped outside to get the news of my new student. The moment my feet entered the hallway, the kid screamed to the top of her lungs, tears flooded her rosy red cheeks, and she took off running down the hall and darted into the bathroom. Stunned and concerned, I looked at my principal with a very confused look. The guidance counselor hurried after her leaving the principal and me alone.

I closed the door to give us privacy because you know the screams of the new kid had alerted every student in the class, and their wandering eyes and nosey ears were straining to see and hear everything they could! Can you blame them? All of us would have done the same thing.

“Cindy,” I said, “What in the world is going on? What was that all about?”

“Jed, it's so tragic. It's very complicated. I will tell you more after school, but right now we just need to get her into your room to try to have a normal day.”

Thinking back on it … the “normal” for this student was nothing of the normal we all hope for. Coming to my classroom was anything but normal for her.

The guidance counselor convinced her to walk back to the room fairly quickly, but as she approached for the second time, her tears continued to flood her face, her strawberry hair was matted to the side of her face because of the cry induced runny nose, and her body trembled as she neared.

“Kimmie, this is Mr. Dearybury. He is your teacher, and he's the best,” said the guidance counselor. Kimmie wouldn't look at me. She buried her head into her own arms and clung to Paula as if her life depended on it.

The administrative duo started to move her into the room and she stiffened like a board. She was not entering the room. I knelt down to be eye level with her and she screamed again. She became very combative and resisted all movement towards the classroom. She ran away down the hall for the second time.

“She's been abused Jed,” the principal said. “Not physically, but sexually.”

My heart sank. I had two nieces at the time and the thought of anyone hurting them enraged me. Now, right in front of me was the first student I had ever had, that I knew of, who had been molested. My principal proceeded to tell me the whole story as she was told by a caseworker. Kimmie had been sexually abused by her father. She was removed from the home and placed with her grandparents. She was then sexually abused by her grandfather. She had been removed from all contact with either side of the family and placed two counties away in a foster home. This particular morning that she arrived at my classroom was the first morning she had awakened in a new home with complete strangers shuffling her from place to place. No wonder she screamed, cried, and snotted all over herself. No wonder she ran to hide in the bathroom. Wouldn't you?

I stopped my principal from telling me more. I didn't need to know much more. The only question I had for her … “Why in the world would you put her in my class?” I was the only male classroom teacher in the building. Surely she would've felt safer in another space. All the men she had ever known had hurt her and now she had to come see a strange man at school every day? It just didn't make sense to me.

“If anyone can help her, you can, Jed,” my principal told me.

I had more than a few doubts in my ability. I had more than a few concerns about my emotional strength to meet the needs of this moment. I had more than one worry about how the arrival of Kimmie would have a ripple effect across the classroom. I had never been trained for this type of trauma. There were no professional development offerings in my district for these kinds of students. All I had was Google. I took a deep breath. I smiled at Kimmie. And eventually, she walked into my room.