School & The Criminal Mind

I had a taste for skipping class in high school. As bad as I knew it was, it was still something I couldn’t seem to shake the thought of. It was an excitement, a chase even of my own, the run of me and my administrators. I was never actually caught in the act exactly and only got in trouble three times in the four years of high school. The last of these unfortunate times was the beginning of my senior year and it just so happened to be my nemesis, Mr. Bishop, that completed the write up.

Mr. Bishop was my tenth grade English teacher. I skipped his class more times than I care to remember. That was at the height of my, let’s say, ‘issue’. So from that time on, he always had an eye on me. The funny thing was, he transferred to my high school just to be an administrator. But after he got there, they told him he’d have to be a teacher for a year before he could move up. Therefore, he hated class and hardly taught. This prompted me to care less about his class and it didn’t really bother me to not go.

The next year he was promoted to senior administrator. During spirit week, someone in my class dressed as him to make fun. It was hilarious! He was a joke to the school of students, especially those who had not hit senior year. Unfortunately, once I hit it myself it was everyday he would talk to me. Every time I passed his office he called me in, even if I didn’t do anything! The one time he actually had something on me, he thought he was really getting me! One week in ISS. I loathed ISS. Last time I had it was in tenth grade, in the farthest room from anyone else on the other side of the school. It was dark and depressing. I was very unhappy with that thought.

But this was to be different. With as hard as senior year was becoming, even this early in October, ISS would serve to be a great respite from the regular class. This was the first year the ISS room was moved out to our ticket booth at our football field. There were windows all the way around and the leaves were changing colors on the trees. Instead of it being a place of horror and melancholy, it was like from the pages of a great poem. I was able to do my difficult work in personal solace at my own pace. It was bliss.

I felt happy knowing Mr. Bishop had sent me there to make me unhappy and it worked against him. Some people have such a warped sense of self. They would much rather torture someone than nurture. He was so into punishment that he never wondered why I did what I did. If he had of done a little research he would have realized that I never got in trouble for anything other than skipping class. I never talked out, didn’t curse, didn’t fight, I didn’t have ugly grades. He didn’t know that skipping class was kind of an escape for me. My home life was wretched. I was very unhappy. Once I was at school, I was in control.

People seemed to be obsessed with punishment. They like seeing people hurt and care not to find out what makes people tick. It’s only recently that psychologists are starting to study the criminal mind. What makes people do the things they do? Does that mean, say for instance, that if a murderer grew up being beaten everyday that he would be pardoned because of it? No, because as much as environment plays a part in development, a person has to take responsibilities for themselves.

But that brings up another point. What if someone like Mr. Bishop saw someone like that in school and just continued to bring them down by getting them in trouble. What if, instead of constant punishment, he sent them to a counselor and upon talking to them, it was uncovered that he was highly abused at home and this student was acting out at school as an unspoken way of being in control? What kind of difference could that have made to a possible criminal? Could that one act of kindness helped reverse the negative thinking that would eventually doom him?

I personally think that school doesn’t do enough for children, especially ones who could use some sort of help. Well, in my experience at least, I had more help as a young child than as a growing one. At the age of nine I was put into the foster care system for two years. When I came home, my life was 100x worse than it had been before I left. I was too afraid to say anything at school because I was scared of what could happen to me if I told and if a visitor came they were lied to and I was left there to continue to deal with the pain.

In school, I talked to no one. I sat alone at lunch and never put my hand up in class. Were the teachers really that blind? I had a couple teachers who worried about me in middle school. Counselors thought I had mental problems and put me through a battery of psychological tests that always turned up empty handed. They would talk to my mom and her ex, that still lived with us, about me and they would lie and say I was anorexic and a bad child.

If anyone took one look at me they would never be able to picture me yelling at anyone. I even once had a teacher who cried asking me why I turned away people who wanted to be my friend. But I couldn’t have friends, I couldn’t let anyone in and let them know what happened at home. I always stayed to myself. Most people older than I wrote me off as a problem child who purposely disregarded school. If any of these people had of actually done any real probing they would have found out I was in foster care and when I was away from home I was on the honor roll and even played an instrument. I had many friends and loved to talk. I was at my highest when I was away from home.

Why don’t more people do actual research? I bet so called ‘bad kids’ could be total opposite if given the opportunity to see what’s really going on. Does that mean that all trouble making students could be turned around by outsiders? No, of course not. But would it be possible to see a major difference in crime rate and prison populations? Certainly! Instead of the school system employing people because of credentials, maybe they should take a look deeper and find people who really CARE. Maybe if there were better people in schools, we’d figure out the problem.

Whether anyone wants to admit it or not, there still is and has always been a problem. It can be helped if there was someone there to do it. I was different. I turned out on the upside because I wanted more for myself, I expected better after I got out of my situation. But what about those who never get out of their situation? Is it ever possible for them to be different if they don’t have the chance to see outside of it? If more people could see this and act on it, I really do believe the world would be a different animal. One that is safer and more understanding, rather than a condemning one.