Triumph Over Adversity 3-in-1 Collection. Casey Watson

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СКАЧАТЬ “strategy” should be? Give her a dose of whatever it is you’ve got. Not too much, mind,’ he added, moving prudently out of punching range. ‘Or the poor kid won’t know when to shut up!’

      Kieron, who was sitting in the lounge, ‘apparently’ watching telly, hooted with laughter. ‘Nice one, Dad,’ he called.

      ‘Nice one, my foot!’ I said. ‘This is important!’

      ‘Love, I know it is,’ Mike said more seriously. ‘And I’m happy that you’ve had a good day. But all this bringing your work home malarkey – I thought you said you were going to try not to do it? Not quite so much, at any rate. What about just sitting down and watching EastEnders for a change? You know, like we used to. In the olden days.’

      ‘Yeah, Mum,’ Kieron chipped in. ‘What about us? We’ll be neglected children soon. Officially.’

      ‘Oh, give over,’ I told them. ‘And you’re hardly children any more. And it’s not like I’m doing it all the time, is it? It’s just that this is a complicated case and I really want to crack it.’

      Riley, also home from work and dishing up stew and dumplings from the slow cooker, snorted in a derogatory fashion. ‘Case to crack! Mum, who d’you think you are – Columbo? Honestly!’

      Suitably chastised, I accepted my bowl of stew and began to eat it. It tasted surprisingly like humble pie. I knew they were mostly just ribbing me but perhaps I was taking my job just a little bit too seriously. Or maybe I wasn’t – maybe taking it seriously was what was needed, but perhaps I should try to shut up a bit more about it once I was home. I watched Kieron and Riley laughing with their dad about something they’d all been watching last night on the telly with mixed feelings. I’d been doing paperwork, and perhaps I should have taken a break from it, but, actually, parts of my job were quite serious. And none of it would get done by itself. So perhaps I just needed to manage my time better. Stay a little later after school, perhaps, so that once I did get home finally, I could sit down with them all and watch EastEnders.

      Which, once tea was out of the way, I duly did.

      I did manage to sneak an hour in later, however, so when I got to school the following morning I was raring to go – I just hoped there would be less in the way of soap-opera style drama when I got there. The big thing that I’d learned, amid all the medical terminology and jargon, was that I had actually been going about things all wrong, and actually unwittingly reinforcing Imogen’s refusal – or, more accurately – her perceived inability to speak. By allowing her to retreat and not encouraging her to interact better with her peers and with myself, I had given her the green light to remain silent.

      It had seemed logical to me, of course. I was used to using a softly-softly approach with a child who was traumatised and self-conscious; giving them time to get used to their new environment and settle themselves into it a little before expecting them to come out of their shells. According to Mr Gregory, however, this wasn’t helping at all. I needed to use behavioural therapy techniques to show Imogen that remaining silent wasn’t an option – well, not for that much longer, anyway. Her silence wasn’t to be rewarded – that would just reinforce the behaviour; instead I must lavish praise at any and all attempts at communication; this would help retrain her unconscious mind so that speaking stopped being a source of fear.

      First off, I took a couple of days to orient myself, watching her various strategies for responding to attempts to communicate with her, both by myself and by the others in the group. With her fellow pupils, it tended to be a case of ignoring her – which was isolating, obviously – or over-compensating, allowing her to get away with not speaking, much as an older sibling often did with a younger child.

      With me, it was a case of mostly winging it. If I drew attention to her in class, she would habitually hang her head and look downwards, with the sort of ‘If I can’t see you, you can’t see me’ logic a much younger child would use. She’d blush as well – perhaps part of the reason why it worked, because, anxious not to further stress an already stressed and bullied child, I would ‘let her off’ by moving swiftly on.

      But now it was time for some tough love. Not an abrupt about-turn – that really would stress her too much, I judged – just a slow shift towards a more robust strategy. Now, if I called her name in class, I kept the spotlight firmly on her for as long as it took to get some sort of reaction, even if it wasn’t speech itself. It could be a nod or a head shake, an action, such as getting something for me, or passing something to someone else. The main thing was to make her a more dynamic part of the group, so she couldn’t retreat into herself.

      And by the Thursday I was already seeing progress. So much so that by the time Friday morning came around I thought I’d try something more radical that I’d read about.

      We were doing work on emotions; something that cropped up in the unit often, for obvious reasons. I’d had the children cut out a giant paper firework the previous afternoon, which we were going to use in the exercise this morning. It would be Firework Night before long, after all. That said, this was more about empathy than Guy Fawkes. Unlike the hapless gunpowder plotter, empathy was a perennial.

      ‘Right,’ I told the children, having pinned up the rocket and grabbed a pen, ‘what I want you to do is tell me words that describe negative emotions, okay? I’ll call out names and I want you to shout out a word, then I’ll write them all on this magnificent rocket, ready for us to whoosh off into space. Got that?’

      Heads nodded.

      ‘Yeah,’ said Ben. ‘But what about the tree?’

      I’d also had the children cut out and paint a big tree, plus a pile of apples, all ready to be written on as well. ‘We’re going to do that next, Ben,’ I explained. ‘Once we’ve got rid of all the negative feelings we’re going to accentuate the positive. And “accentuate” means what? Does anybody know?’

      ‘Make more of it, Miss,’ Shona supplied quietly.

      ‘Exactly, Shona,’ I said, turning round to face the rocket. This part – facing away from them – was key. ‘Right, then,’ I said, pen poised, ‘um … let me see … Ben. You can start. Let’s have a word, please.’

      ‘Um, angry, Miss?’ he suggested.

      ‘Very good, Ben,’ I said. ‘That’s a great word to send off to space.’ I then wrote it down, and remained facing the wall. ‘So … Shona. You can be next. A word, please?’

      ‘Lonely, Miss,’ Shona supplied.

      I wrote that one down too. ‘Henry, next. Can you come up with a word for me, Henry?’

      ‘I was going to say angry, Miss, but Ben already pinched it.’

      ‘I didn’t pinch it. I just thought of it!’

      ‘Yeah, well, fighting, then, Miss,’ he sniffed. ‘My word’s going to be fighting.’

      I resisted the urge to turn back round and check that they weren’t actually doing any. ‘You’re on the right lines, Henry,’ I said, ‘but it needs to be a word that describes how you might feel. Not so much do, as feel, you know? Can you think of one like that?’

      ‘How about scared, Miss?’ he said eventually.

      ‘Scared is excellent, Henry. Thank you.’ I added it to the rocket. ‘Okay, so now it’s … let me see. СКАЧАТЬ