At the conclusion of a school day, Marcus, an eighth-grade student visited my classroom. Marcus looked at the bandage on my forehead just above my right eye, and said, “Mr. Stewart, honest, I wasn’t trying to hit you when I threw the rock at Daniel. I hope you be feelin’ better. I am really sorry.”
“I’m a little sore, but doing okay. You know, I was wondering who threw the rock. I appreciate your apology.”
“After I hit you with the rock, I ran as fast as I could. I hope you’re not mad or anything. I ain’t never gonna’ hurt you. Was there blood?”
“A little blood but I’m glad you didn’t hit Daniel. I thought you guys were friends.”
“We were. Then he be callin’ my girl names and stuff. So I threw the rock at him. He had it comin’ big time. But we be friends again. I said sorry to him.”
After a pause, Marcus said, “Mr. Stewart are they gonna’ kick me out of school?”
Marcus had thrown a rock that could have seriously injured another student. Instead, it struck me. His actions demanded accountability. Yet I knew that sending Marcus home might expose him to circumstances far more troubling than anything he would encounter at school. What was the right thing to do?
The incident happened on the playground as the students were entering the building following the lunch period. I was a second-year teacher and usually spent the lunch period on the playground to monitor student behavior. The lunch period was the best way to connect with students and to know them outside of the classroom. Conversations with them revealed their character and personality, and to learn about their challenges. As I got to know the students, their respect for me grew. And I grew to respect them.
Being new to an at-risk school, I sought to learn more about environmental conditions that could explain their behaviors and tendencies. The nature versus nurture discussion was more than a theory worthy of a debate. It was the light that illuminated and explained the defensive behaviors, impulsive decisions, and survival strategies and choices that characterized many students’ lives.
Prior to targeting Daniel with a rock, Marcus's behavior had become a frequent topic of conversation among faculty members. Teachers were understandably frustrated by his impulsivity and resistance to correction. Yet I wondered how differently we might respond if we better understood the circumstances shaping his daily life.
School offered Marcus something his home environment often could not: a measure of stability. He frequently arrived as early as 7:00 a.m. and remained until after the evening meal served in the cafeteria. At school, even a mild correction could provoke defiance or prolonged silence. Teachers, understandably frustrated by these responses, were often unaware of the circumstances that might have contributed to them. As I learned more about Marcus's circumstances, I began to understand the challenges he faced beyond the classroom. His household included several adults and children of different ages. Structure and predictability were often absent. Arguments were frequent, and domestic violence was part of his daily experience.
I began to wonder whether his responses to authority, criticism, and perceived unfairness reflected survival strategies developed in an unpredictable environment. Marcus's home environment may have contributed to the survival behaviors he carried into school. While at school, Marcus’s inability to manage relationships with his teachers mirrored his home life and fed the teacher-talk in the faculty lounge. Teachers, unaware of Marcus’s home environment were also unaware how he might react to negative feedback, or a mild correction of a classroom procedure. Rather than accepting a teacher’s correction, Marcus might respond with defiance or a prolonged silence.
When Marcus felt inequitable treatment by a teacher, he advocated for himself. But he lost each argument then a detention or suspension ensued. Marcus was advancing towards harsher consequences in the school’s progressive discipline policy. Now, Marcus is faced with suspension or possible expulsion. Either of these two options could intensify the dysfunction at home. Dr. Michael Garanzini, an authority on family dynamics writes, “The harsh disciplinary practices in educational/school systems can be retraumatizing for individuals who already enter these systems with significant histories of trauma.”1
I wasn’t necessarily eager to support and advocate on Marcus’s behalf, yet his apology gave me pause to consider a fair consequence for his misbehavior. I also knew that Marcus’s only chance for mercy was that Daniel had not been hit. Time would run out before the administration, feeling pressure from a few faculty members, would seek to expel Marcus.
My instincts told me that Marcus needed accountability, but accountability did not necessarily require exclusion from school. He needed to understand the seriousness of his actions, accept responsibility, and develop the skills necessary to respond differently when confronted with anger or conflict. While I can’t say how I would have felt if Daniel had been hit or if the rock hit me only a few inches lower. Would an expulsion from school be the appropriate consequence? Following a day of reflection, I decided to advocate for Marcus. This would not be easy. I would be a minority, perhaps of one, among my colleagues.
My belief system was evolving with a philosophy of empathy and compassion. As a second-year teacher, I was still learning the difference between managing student behavior and understanding it. I was beginning to understand that fairness did not always mean identical consequences. It meant considering the seriousness of the behavior, the harm caused, and the circumstances of the student while maintaining accountability. I had entered the profession believing that consistent rules and predictable consequences were essential to an orderly classroom. I still believe that. But Marcus was teaching me that fairness did not always mean treating every student in precisely the same way.
Ultimately, the principal made the decision regarding Marcus's consequences, but not before seeking my perspective. Our conversation reminded me that difficult disciplinary decisions should not be made in isolation. We shared a commitment to maintaining a safe school environment while recognizing Marcus's need for guidance, accountability, and support. Marcus remained enrolled. He spent several days working individually with the dean of students and a counselor and made further amends with Daniel and me.
My experience with Marcus became a defining moment in my teaching career. It prompted me to study the effects of childhood trauma on children's emotional development and deepened my understanding of how family circumstances can influence behavior at school. Years later, I continue to reflect on the lessons Marcus taught me.
For the following months until Marcus’s graduation from middle school, he would frequently stop by my classroom after school. He graciously accepted my offer of a snack while telling me he was trying. “Mr. Stewart,” he said, “Ya’ gotta’ believe me. I’m tryin real hard to be better.”
During one of Marcus’s visits near the end of the school year, he told me, “Mr. Stewart, I’m gonna’ graduate this school just like my friends.” He paused, then continued, “Remember when you told me that you were glad that I didn’t hit Daniel with the rock. I never forgot that. I almost hurt my best friend.”
Often, during my childhood, I heard the old adage “practice what you preach.” During my sophomore year in high school, I took a Catholic theology course titled Do the Right Thing. At the time, the lesson seemed straightforward. We were expected to recognize right from wrong and act accordingly.
Years later, standing in a classroom with a bandage above my eye, I discovered that doing the right thing was not always so simple. Marcus needed to be held accountable for his actions. But he also needed someone willing to see beyond those actions and recognize the young person who was struggling to find his way.
I could not change Marcus's home life. I could not guarantee that he would make better choices. But I could choose how I responded to him.
And sometimes, doing the right thing means having the courage to offer compassion when punishment would be easier.
Author's Note: The students' names have been changed to protect their privacy. Dialogue has been reconstructed from memory.
1 Garanzini, Michael Child-Centered Family-Centered Schools, Washington D.C., National Catholic Education Association, 1995.