When the Fire Starters Still Have Charm
Teaching difficult students in special education is never simple. Most have layers that take some understanding-some even have redeeming qualities…but not all.
Terry set a fire in the boys’ bathroom?
Well, he loves having a classroom job and takes that responsibility seriously.
Johnny called his ELA teacher a c*nt?
Well, he’s always the first to help a classmate in need.
(Plus… was it warranted? I’m just saying.)
Sometimes you have to dig deep—real deep.
Carter didn’t throw a desk at me today, so that’s growth. Because believe me, I could see in his eyes that he really wanted to.
But then… there are the ones with zero XP in likeability.
The ones who drain your energy bar just by walking into the room.
But Then There Was Henry…
Henry was dropped into my classroom mid-year like a cursed random event I couldn’t dismiss.
No reward. No XP. Just pure chaos and regret.
I had the only ED (Emotional Disabilities) classroom in the district, so when his little rural school finally rage-quit, they fast-traveled him to me.
Because my room?
It’s the last safe zone before the school district sends you to the wilderness—a.k.a. out the door.
A Cursed Random Event I Couldn’t Dismiss
Henry arrived with a full K/D ratio of dysfunction.
Years of bullying teachers and classmates.
Name-calling, fighting, cussing—your standard “combat style: verbal chaos and power trip.”
Before day one, he made it known:
“I’m not scared of anything.”
Didn’t care about switching schools.
Didn’t care about starting over.
Didn’t care about me.
Day one?
He cried.
Like a freshly PK’d level 3 who just lost their bronze sword, 100 coins, and their pride.
The. Entire. Day.
From Fake Tough Guy to Full-On Breakdown
First semester? Barely showed up.
Said the kids in my room were criminals.
Said the building was too big.
Said he was being bullied.
His clothes, his hair, his weight—everything about him was a target (in his mind).
Henry was used to being the big fish in a swampy, safe little pond.
Now he was just another undergeared noob in the Grand Exchange with no charisma stat, no party invites, and no clue how to read the room.
Then one day, he mouthed off to the wrong kid and nearly got his account wiped.
It took five adults to separate them.
(No damage done, other than a hard hit to Henry’s self-image and a full logout from school.)
He didn’t return the next year.
When the Real PvP Hits
In my line of work, difficult students in special education don’t usually surprise me.
They have emotional disabilities, after all.
But I usually make progress with them during the years I have them.
Not Henry.
I wonder if he ever figured it out…
That bullying isn’t strength.
That when you’re used to dishing out damage unchecked, eventually someone hits back harder.
He used to scream at his own mother like she was a low-level NPC.
Punch her car. Cuss her out. Threaten her.
And what did his parents do?
Blamed it all on the diagnosis list:
“ODD. BD. ADHD.”
(Or in teacher terms: Over it. Burned out. And Definitely had it.)
I wonder if he ever figured it out…
That bullying isn’t strength.
That when you’re used to dishing out damage unchecked, eventually someone hits back harder.
He used to scream at his own mother like she was a low-level NPC.
Punch her car. Cuss her out. Threaten her.
And what did his parents do?
Blamed it all on the diagnosis list:
“ODD. BD. ADHD.”
(Or in teacher terms: Over it. Burned out. And Definitely had it.)
There’s No IEP for Being a Jerk
But here’s the deal:
Henry wasn’t difficult because of his disorders.
He was difficult because he was a jerk.
And there’s no IEP checkbox for that.