The Tard Blog


12/4: Even Riti Sped can be immature

I had quite an incident with one of my kiddos, Tom today. He has severe behavior problems, and is on major medication. He also constantly picks at things. Anything that can be picked at, he will pick. 

Today he came to school and he had what appeared to be an adhesive like substance on multiple places on his body (face, hands, arms, chest). He could focus on nothing but the sticky shit all over him. I was getting so angry, nothing was fazing him. I was putting zeroes on his behavior chart, threatening to take away his snack, call his mom, etc. He just didn't give a shit today. I kept asking him what the fuck was all over his body, and he kept responding to me, but I think in Russian or something. He has a severe speech impediment, you can barely understand the kid. 

All I knew was that he was covered with shit, and smelled like Denny's or something. We were not getting anything accomplished, so when recess rolled around, I told him that because he wasted my time, I will waste his recess time. He had to finish his work during recess (his work consists of tracing letters, cutting out shapes, coloring pictures IN THE LINES, and putting a series of 3 pictures in the correct order--its not as if I was teaching him algebra or anything). When his little tard brain figured out that he wasn't going outside with the other kids, he absolutely fucking lost it. He starts kicking anything he can, pushing over chairs, breaking crayons, spitting. 

I immediately hit the button on the wall to summon the principal. Now he really freaks out, and proceeds to strip naked. Absolutely fucking naked. He then plants his naked ass in the indoor classroom sandbox that has rice grains in it instead of sand, and is screaming out one word that I cannot, for the life of me decipher, and kicking rice all over the place. At this point, I refuse to be within 20 feet of him. Our principal walks in the room and asks "What is the problem?"

At this question, I can only wonder if the naked, screaming retard in the rice box is a figment of my imagination.

Our principal puts on his principal voice, grabs Tom's arm, and pulls him out of the ricebox. He then asks Tom why he keeps yelling "syrup".

He demands Tom put his clothes on. He puts on his underwear and pants, and refuses to put on anything else. The principal grabs his shoes, socks, shirt, and starts walking out. Tom freaks out. "Give my shirt" and "Not for yours" is all he is yelling as he follows the principal up to the office. 

About 3 minutes later, as I am straightening the displaced furniture, one of my autistic kids comes in to do math with me. He is obsessed with staples, and fixates on looking for staples in carpets. He actually gets rewarded when he goes one day without crawling around on the carpet looking for staples. Anyway, he comes in my room and sees the rice grains all over the place. He freaks out. He then spends the next 15 minutes of instructional time picking up rice- grain by grain- and putting then in his pockets. He gets all the rice picked up, also cuts the shit out of his hand digging a staple out of the carpet. I walk him up to the health room so he can clean up his scraped up hand. Tom's mom is in the office, picking up Tom. She was pissed too because she had to leave work to come get him. I say something to her about Tom picking at sticky stuff on his body. She tells me he had pancakes for breakfast, and offers no other explanation. 

Welcome to the world of special ed. 

Her and Tom start walking out to the parking lot, I walk back to my room, following behind them like 50 yards. Tom turns around and sees me (his mom is still facing forward) and I stick my tongue out at him. (I know, very immature, but geez I am 24, ok?) He belts out the loudest fucking screech, and his mom whacked his ass so fucking hard, picks him up, and carries him, kicking and screaming, to the car. She also is screaming at him that we do not yell at our teachers.

I was so pleased with myself for the tongue stick out.

So, here I sit, Dave Letterman on the TV, Tucker Max on the computer, and a stack of papers full of scribbled names and backward fives and twos.

Thank God tomorrow is a half day. Drinks will begin promptly at noon.


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