I killed my best friend

A new student was supposed to start at the school. We had recieved the preliminary information, seemed like the usual troubled teen. It was arranged for him to come and look around, with his parents, then usually the start date was set for the following week.

Then the awful information came through.

He had an argument with his friend at the weekend. Apparently, it was over a girl. rumour was that the girl had cheated on him with his best friend, so he went to challenge him about it. Somehow an argument ensued, who knows how the knife became involved, but all we know is that he stabbed him to death.

Now, he is in prison for murder. Aged 14.

I expect he didnt mean to kill him, but then, with a knife on your person, what else do you mean to do with it?

Knife crime is a massive teen problem. I just simply can't understand the logic behind 'I needed it to protect myself' I wish someone in that kind of situation would explain it to me because when you carry a knife, as far as i can see it there can only be one possible outcome.

Don't give up

The head teacher came into my tutor group the other day. 'Can I have a word? I have a new student for you; you're good with the naughty ones aren't you? I'm giving you Ben. He starts next week, but I wouldn't worry about him, I'll have him out by Christmas'

And thus started my journey into Special needs. Ben had a marked and moving effect on me. He, single handed, is the reason why I am now a special needs teacher. When I tell his story, even to this day it upsets me.

He was your typical 'naughty boy'. A bit unkempt, extremely thick school file and a long list of 'previous schools'.  Ben's life at home was rather complex. He was the oldest of several siblings who lived with their mother. Social services knew the family well.

It was the small signs that spoke volumes. He would turn up to school with only some of his uniform, sometimes wearing girls socks, often had no lunch, and whenever he was anywhere near the deputy head's office ALL the complimentary biscuits were gone in a flash.

But, he loved his mother dearly and would do ANYTHING for her. In fact I think he did most things for her. He knew far too much for his age, and before very long some of his siblings were no longer allowed to live at home.

School was the least of his worries.  He was an extremely intelligent boy, and sadly Teachers didn't have time for him. All they saw was the answering back, disruptive behaviour and violent outbursts. He was regularly sent out of lessons and this concerned me. I was NOT going to allow the head to determine his future based on a reputation that preceded him.

Ben and I struck up a deal. If he was ever in trouble in school he agreed he would come to me, work and all. This happened extremely regularly indeed.  But, he was coping, amongst the hell that was his life. I fought against exclusion when he broke a fire door; I regularly defended him to the head teacher and rescued him from several more exclusions, becoming his rock, his shoulder to cry on.

We talked at length about all sorts. He would often ask about his rights, talked about his father, and the anger he felt for the fact that he left the family when he was young. He missed his younger brothers, there was only him and his sister at home now, and when social services went round it had been very ugly.

I knew things were still tough though. I heard from the police that his absence one day was because he was in the police cells. All sorts of things spun through my head. But in the end I was deeply saddened to discover that he had been arrested for stealing food.

Some details I feel are even too sad to share, but this was just the tip of the ice berg.

Disaster struck the day I heard the news from the hospital about my long awaited major knee operation. It was on the first day of the autumn term. I feared this was the opportunity the head was looking for. I was distraught. What would Ben do without me? I honestly worried that he would not cope.

We arranged a support Network involving staff he preferred, and I thought I had everything covered. Even though I was only a teacher, I felt I had become his social worker.

I bid him farewell, reassured him he would be ok, and departed for the summer break.

The news reached me shortly after I got out of hospital. On the third day back after the summer break, Ben has been caught trying to start a fire in a classroom. The head permanently expelled him. That goodbye in July had been the last time I would see Ben.

I was inconsolable. I had deserted him. He needed me and I was not there. I felt truly awful, words cannot describe my distress. I tried to find out what had happened to him next. Data protection prevented me from finding out anything more.

A message to Ben if I could talk to him now would be thus:

'I am truly sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me but you must understand that my heart was with you. I hope life has been kind to you. You are never far from my thoughts and I want to thank you for helping me find my own path in special needs teaching, one I wouldn't have found without you'

A tear on a mothers face

My first experience of teaching troubled teenagers... the task: GCSE Expressive Arts, in less than a year, from scratch, to non musicians. Meet Bradley. He was no ordinary young man, and this was no ordinary new job. I had already told the head teacher that a GCSE in half a year would be impossible, but Bradley was on a mission. He was just looking for a light and the light for him was music, plain and simple. So the decision was made, in February that Bradley wanted to give it a go. Three pieces of major coursework to be completed in 3 months, followed by an exam, meant Bradley was going to be busy.

It’s amazing how much a student responds to a teacher that simply gives that little bit of extra time. He learned how to use music software programs, write lyrics, MC, digital design, and much more. His reward was an interview on local radio, and his music on air.

The sheer excitement on his face when I took him down to the studios was unforgettable. But the real reward was still to come, in three short months, Bradley earned himself a B Grade in GCSE expressive arts. I am so so proud that I was able to facilitate such creative genius. From no hope, to great achievements, I hope Bradley went on to build on the much needed confidence this brought him.

I’ll leave the words to Bradley. Here are his lyrics.

Young boy sitting alone in a cell

Knows all the ones in, out, oh well,

3 months 6 months and then a year,

Yeah, robbing and mugging seemed a great idea.

Someone’s brother, someone’s son,

Caught like an animal cause he carried a gun,

Only thing was a life’s gone to waste

Seeing a tear on a mothers face.

In cities all over this world, everybody knows a gangster or a ho

Carrying a gun doesn’t make you big,

It’s just another grave for someone to dig

Listen to someone that knows,

I aint preaching to you man, I’m just someone that knows

Yeah it’s happening in all kindsa places

Always tears on mothers faces.

Young girl stands on a dirty street,

Selling her body like a butcher sells meat,

Doing time on her back to pay for the crack,

She says this is the last time but she’ll be back.

Her body tells a story of fists and blades.

What it doesn’t tell her is she’s dying of aids,

Only one thing worse than a life gone to waste,

Are the tears on a mothers face.

In cities all over this world, everybody knows a gangster or a ho

Carrying a gun doesn’t make you big,

It’s just another grave for someone to dig

Listen to someone that knows,

Not preaching to you man, I’m just someone that knows

Yeah it’s happening in all kindsa places

Always tears on mothers faces.