And That's The Truth

Okay:

You ever watch Scrubs?

I always thought it was kind of a stupid show until Gill pointed out that it is the only show that traverses between slapstick, dry wit and heart-wrenching drama effortlessly and effectively. For that, they are to be commended.

But that’s not my point.

I once saw an episode that exposed the rivalry in every hospital between the doctors and the surgeons. The doctors want to medicate everyone and the surgeons want to cut everyone open.

They don’t sit at the same lunch tables.

Very cliquish.

My sister tells me it’s the same way with stock brokers and people in municipal bonds. As I understand it, congressman and senators don’t get along either.

Cops and Firemen.

Wannabes and Jigaboos.

One group thinks they’re better than the other and vice versa.

In a special education school, it’s teachers and therapists.

Bloods and Crips essentially.

There’s an old saying. “When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

See, therapists want to help special kids work through their special issues.

Teachers, on the other hand, want order. They can’t do their jobs if they don’t have order.

People with conflicting goals make natural enemies.

I once saw a therapist. My mother couldn’t figure out why I was failing so horribly in school, so she sent me to some prick downtown. All I remember is his big, stupid ass grin. We only had two sessions. Lord knows what he told my mother but the next year she shipped me off to reform school.

If I catch that smiling prick on the street, it’s gonna be some shit.

Years later I saw a court-ordered shrink (long story). This was also a less than positive experience. We had a thirty minute meeting. She wrote in her notes that I wore too much cologne and I had attachment disorder.

I say all that to say this. I don’t like therapists.

So when one of these over-educated smug assholes tries to tell me I’m not therapeutic enough in my dealings with students, I want to scream. Most of them are a bunch of bleeding hearts who think they can love these kids back to health.

I have a different philosophy. I tell them the truth.

The truth is my hammer.

And all their little issues are nails.

Fear of abandonment? “Get over it. Everyone’s lonely. Read the next paragraph.”

Attention starved? “Get over it. You’re not the center of the world. Now finish your quiz.”

Physically abused? “That’s fucked up, man. Where’s your homework? You don’t wanna be all screwed up and uneducated.”

I tell them when they’re getting on my nerves. I tell them when they’re fucking up. I tell them when they’re coming dangerously close becoming a hopeless loser if they don’t straighten up quick.

Maybe it’s not always textbook positive behavior facilitation but I know it’s the only thing that has ever worked for me. Doesn’t necessarily mean that it will work for every student, but all that back-rubbing, coddling and “How did that make you feel?” bullshit may not work either.

My sister, for example, was a psych major. And she don’t go for none of that shit.

“Claude, you’re fucking up,” she tells me. And I appreciate it. That’s why I make sure I check in with her at least once a week. To make sure I don’t get too far gone. And I can get really far gone if left to my own devices.

See? Therapy is dumb.

The truth is the only thing that has ever saved anyone from anything.

And between me and my big sister, we could heal the world with candor.


Thanks for reading.

GOBAMA!

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Confession: I once sniffed Ritalin in high school. Based on the effects, (I did my homework, cleaned my dorm room and read for an hour) I’m pretty sure I have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.