Beautiful Child – Torey L Hayden

And she keeps thinking it’s right.” A pause. “And then I think, ‘This isn’t human. How much rage are you swallowing?’ ‘How terrible will it be when it comes out?’ ‘Will you be a really scary person then?’” “Do you think the children feel this way?”

Bob asked. “I dunno. They seem to relate to her all right. They play her up. She isn’t very good with discipline and they know it, so they can get really obnoxious. But maybe it’s only me who thinks she’s scary. Maybe I’m sensitized by this point.” And then silence. “So, what shall we do?” Bob asked. “How do you want me to handle this?” “Get me another aide?” I said quietly, more as a wish than a question. “I don’t think that’s possible.

Not if she’s not doing anything really wrong.” “No, I realize that. But she’s not any happier about all this than I am, I’m sure. If she could have a quieter, more predictable classroom and I could have a plain, old, ordinary person. Not a saint …” Bob smiled. “What if I just talk to her, for a start? Get everything out in the open. See where she stands. See if she can alter her behavior a little. And maybe you can alter yours.”

“As in?” “As in being a little more tolerant of a different approach.” I nodded. “From the sounds of things, I can hear where you’re coming from on this. And I have faith in whatever methods you are using. So, it does sound like Julie has some problems and I will talk to her about them. But there are a million ways of interacting with people. If she isn’t actually hurting the children, if she isn’t upsetting them or interfering with their progress, then we may simply have to accept that this is a way different from our own, but it isn’t wrong.

And so we’ll need to adjust too.” 1kitap1.com/en Chapter Since Venus had returned at the beginning of December, her behavior on the playground had been more controlled. This was due in part to the fact that she was being so closely supervised. She still had her own aide at lunchtime. Julie watched her at morning recess, and I kept her in at afternoon recess. So there was much less chance of her attacking other children.

The first time I saw her, she was atop a stone wall that ran along the west side of the playground. Lolling back with one leg outstretched, one drawn up, her dark hair tumbling opulently down behind her, she had her eyes closed, her face turned to the sun. The pose gave her the aura of some long- forgotten Hollywood glamour queen and that’s what caught my attention, because she could, in fact, have only been six or seven.

I went on past her and up the walk to the school. Seeing me coming, the principal, Bob Christianson, came out from the school office. “Hey, darned good!” he cried heartily and clapped me on the shoulder. “Great to see you. Just great. I’ve been so looking forward to this. We’re going to have good fun this year, hey? Great times!” In the face of such enthusiasm I could only laugh. Bob and I had a long history together.

When I was just a struggling beginner, Bob had given me one of my first jobs. In those days he was director of a program researching learning disabilities, and his noisy, casual, hippy-inspired approach to dealing with the deprived, difficult children in his care had alarmed many in our rather conservative community at the time. Admittedly, it had alarmed me a little in the beginning too, because I was newly out of teacher training and not too accustomed to thinking for myself.

Bob had provided me with just the right amount of encouragement and direction while bullishly refusing to believe anything I claimed to have learned from my university course work. As a consequence, I spent a heady, rather wild couple of years learning to defend myself and finding my own style in the classroom along the way. At the time it was an almost ideal working environment for me, and Bob almost single-handedly molded me into the kind of teacher I would become, but in the end he was too successful.

I learned not only to question the precepts and practicalities of the theories I was taught in the university, but I also began to question Bob’s. There was too much insubstantial pop psychology in his approach to satisfy me; so when I felt I’d grown as much as I could in that setting, I moved on. A lot of time had passed for both of us in the interim. I’d worked in other schools, other states, other countries, even. I’d branched out into clinical psychology and research, as well as special education.

I’d even taken a couple of years away from education altogether.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 3601c2c3d664fc47
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 2,372,118 bytes (2.262 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 316
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 528.0 minutes
• Total Words: 105,601
• Total Characters: 579,069
• Average Words per Page: 334.18
• Average Characters per Page: 1832.5

Most Frequent Words

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