"Who needs to get kicked out?"
"Who needs to go back to their unit?"
Those two phrases were like the preaching of the good news on some days at Los Padrinos.
Unlike the comprehensive schools on the outside, I had the backing of a whole team of probation officers walking the corridors of the juvenile court schools.
At Kirby Center, probation staff offered to sit in and watch with me. I made it very clear that I refused to babysit, I refused to be taken advantage of — and it is very important to push juvenile offenders to the wall, or the entire class will run you, and very quickly.
One morning class was really good. I had developed enough of a reputation, sending shockwaves down the halls one afternoon, enough that Ms. V. could call me "Extra with a Capital E."
Two probation staff were assigned to the classroom with me. When two students got out of hand very quickly, I sent them out in rapid succession. One of the probation officers, a tall, set man with calm demeanor, walked in, looked over his clipboard, the bellowed, gesticulating with two fingers:
"Two of my minors have been sent out. That's all that I am going to say."
A quiet shudder went over the class of twelve boys in the morning class.
"Two of my minors have been sent out."
He then strolled around the room briefly, then left the room. That officer, Mr. D, had quiet a command over his unit. He gladly received me, knowing that I had no problem telling him if one or more students had acted up in class that morning.
Because probation officers are instructed not to get involved unless absolutely required to, they welcome any substitute who refuses to hold back any concerns or comments. Sadly, most substitutes have been conditioned to say nothing, lest they upset the full-time teacher or the site administrator and then never get called back. For me, I had come to a point where it was better to the job right and make sure that no one got away with anything than put up with disrespect just to ensure that I could come back to endure more of the same.
The mid-morning class, I had less support in the room, but the probation officer, "Old School" I called him, led the minors in very quietly. Just before Old School left, a shorter man with puffy white hair but a tough, gruff aspect all over, the aged gentleman crossed his arms over his head:
"Sir, there will be no redirects. If a kid is acting up, we will send him right back to his unit."
That vote of confidence assured me plenty, and I loved it. Most of the students kept their mouth shut, but one or two kids took advantage of the relative quiet, just enough to make silly noises and other petty nonsense. Still, those little idiosyncrasies were just enough for me to tell all to the unit leader at the end of class. The three who acted up — they did not eat the special lunch left out for the rest of the minors that afternoon.
The afternoon classes at any school can be a challenge, since most students just cannot wait to go home. Juvenile hall can be a real challenge. Just one probation officer brought them in, then stepped. This group of minors did not get the thorough vetting that the previous classes had gotten. Within five minutes, three students were wandering around the room, trying to get books and papers that they were never authorized to get for themselves. I could tell that this would be an unruly crowd if I did nothing. After I asked everyone, then shouted at everyone to sit down, I sent out three minors.
One of the probation staff, incensed at the outrageous disruptions, ducked his head in fast and shouted:
"Alright, that's it. .. who else needs to get kicked out? Who needs to go back to their unit? This is ridiculous!"
The class settled in after that. It always helped that someone stood by to step in and set things straight as needed.
These kids never got this kind of structure at home. For many of them, they never met their fathers, and their mothers were either imprisoned or dead. Parenting cannot be replaced, someone has to step up and hold youth accountable. Then they can learn something in the classroom.
I have never ceased to appreciate the assistance of the probation staff of Los Padrinos. Some of them chafed at the limitations forced on them, some of them wished that they could do more, but lawsuits and civil rights retaliation has handcuffed security and probation staff all over the country, and definitely in California. In every field, the vast majority of teachers and support staff want the best for the students; there was also always be the remnant of individuals who are there for the pay and get away as soon as they can.
One officers, Mr. G., really helped me out. He understood the trials that I had to overcome in the juvenile court schools. He had learned the hard way that he had to toughen up his approach. "I used to more friendly," he admitted, "but then I realized that I had to put away the smiles. These kids are just not used to it, and they will try to take advantage of it."
He commiserated somewhat my situation, "It's tough for you," he continued. "You don't come here as often as the full-time staff, whom the minors see every day. Don't take it personal."
I kept Mr. G's points in mind after that. I would still step up as much as I could, refuse to hold back if a class got out of control, hold a kid accountable no matter how bad it may get on any day. I did not have to change my approach to things, just as long as I was consistent with what I needed to do. And of course, I knew that I could count on the frustration of any probation officer nearby, who could come by and say:
"Who needs to kicked out?"