The Worst Valentine's Day Ever

And What I Learned From It

We had great Valentine’s Day parties in our K-2 special day class.

Starting on February 1st, we celebrated friendship and love by reading books, singing songs, and making Valentine art to decorate the classroom. The calendar numbers were red and pink hearts, and string lights with sparkling hearts and Hello Kitty lit up circle time. When the Big Day of love and friendship arrived, we were ready to party.

In our world, a party meant that we would get in the mood by reading a Valentine theme book and singing some songs.

At each student’s desk, the Valentine mail bag they had decorated was ready and waiting. They proudly delivered their Valentines to their classmates. We would eat a special treat, and then we’d go out to recess.

It was a great party format for our students. It was short and sweet, joyful, and structured, and it segued into the opportunity to run around outside and work off any excess accumulation of energy. After recess, we would line up and return to our usual schedule.

It worked well for years, until the regrettable day that I lost control of the structure that made Valentine’s Day successful, and we had the Worst Valentine’s Day Ever.

Aiden Moore was a tall, handsome 7-year-old on the autism spectrum. He enjoyed music and books, and he was an ace at circle time. He was not only up to date on special events and services at school (Library, Garden, Speech Therapy, Assembly, etc.); if anyone needed to know the time and channel where they could catch Judge Judy on tv, Aiden was your guy. He was an anxious child, but sweet and eager to please.

Aiden lived in foster care. His father had passed away suddenly, and his mother, Vivian, had subsequently experienced a mental health crisis that resulted in her loss of Aiden’s custody. She was in recovery and had visitation rights, and there was no order preventing her from coming to his school.

I had already had a few uncomfortable interactions with Vivian. She once called to complain that Aiden had used the word “penis.” She demanded to know where he could have heard that word.

“Probably in the restroom,” I replied, “where the staff has been reminding Aiden to direct his urine into the toilet by aiming his penis at it. Otherwise he sprays the room. Peeing IN the toilet is an important life skill.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Vivian said. “But why did you have to use THAT word? Why couldn’t you call it his wee-wee?”

So I already knew Vivian and I weren’t necessarily on the same page when she showed up, unannounced, at our Valentine’s Day party.

It might have been different if our assistant Miss C had been at school that day. One of her many talents was the ability to be blunt and direct with adults who couldn’t take a hint.

But the sub we had for Miss C was experienced and capable, and we were having a fine day so far. Everything was going according to plan. Until Vivian Moore walked through the door.

Although the staff at Aiden’s foster home had sent him with Valentines for his classmates and teachers, Vivian conspicuously outdid them. She arrived with chocolates and extravagant gifts for everyone.

We had already completed our Valentine deliveries, had a cupcake as a special treat, and were getting ready to go to the playground.

Vivian scowled when I prompted the students to thank her and Aiden, and told her that they would put their boxes of chocolates in their backpacks to enjoy at home.

She had also given each child a wooden toy, of a rather complicated design. Most of the kids were unimpressed and just wanted to go out to recess. Vivian pleaded, “It’s OK if they don’t get to eat their candy right now, even though it is Valentine’s Day. But it would mean so much to me if I could have the pleasure of seeing them playing with their toys.”

Trying to be a gracious party host to our uninvited guest, and not wishing to push the limits of either our shaky relationship or her mental health, I acquiesced. I told the students they would have 5 minutes to enjoy the lovely gifts that Mrs. Moore had given us, and then we would put them in our backpacks and go to recess.

When the 5 minutes was over, the students were glad to put the toys in their backpacks and line up for recess. I prompted everyone to say a hearty “Thank you! Good-bye!” to Mrs. Moore, and we headed to the playground.

And Vivian followed us.

She stalked her son at recess, ultimately coercing him to cuddle with her on a bench. Aiden didn’t seem enthused, but he wasn’t struggling to escape, so I figured we would just tolerate this disturbance in the force until the recess ended. Then Vivian would go away and we could return to the comfort of our routine.

The bell rang, we lined up to go into the classroom, and again, we thanked Vivian and bid her a fond farewell.

She followed us into the classroom.

If Miss C had been at school that day, I suspect that she would have handed Vivian her purse and sweater and shown her to the door, and this would not have become the Worst Valentine’s Day Ever.

Instead, Vivian proceeded to undermine our comfortably structured routines, and I let my students down by allowing it.

Before it was over, Vivian had encouraged students to ignore classroom rules and expectations, interrupted lessons with irrelevant questions and comments, and questioned our curriculum.

At this point, I should have demanded that she leave, and enlisted campus administrators to back me up. But I didn’t. And things didn’t get any better.

In the lunch line, I turned around to see that Aiden and his classmate Jacob each had a hand in one of Vivian’s back pants pockets.

“Jacob!” I said. “Take your hand out of Mrs. Moore’s pocket!”

“No, it’s OK,” Vivian responded. “I put it there! I’ve been told that having a child put his hand in your pocket is a good way to keep track of them when you have to wait in line.”

As calmly as I could, I explained to Vivian that it is not OK for Jacob’s hand to be on another person’s bottom, and that the students have been taught that touching other people’s private parts (defined as areas that are covered by a swimsuit) is inappropriate.

She replied, “Well, maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve been touched inappropriately.”

Finally, Vivian sat Aiden on her lap and began to feed him as if he was an infant.

I coached Aiden to tell his mother that he is a big boy and feeds himself, but she ignored it. I told her that I knew she was didn’t want to embarrass her son, so she needed to just let him eat lunch like he did every day.

Vivian emotionally declared that she had only been feeding Aiden because he was too ill to do it himself, and that she intended to take him to the emergency room immediately. And she did, taking poor Aiden and her creepy and negative energy with her.

It had been one of the worst days of my teaching career.

When the rest of the kids went home, the adults sat stunned and traumatized by the damage caused by Hurricane Vivian. We felt like survivors of a disaster. Which was kind of true.

It was the Worst Valentine’s Day ever.

I learned that I owe it to all my students to protect them from the forces of chaos, even if the source of the chaos gave birth to one of them.

After that day, Vivian’s visitation rights were amended, and she was no longer able to visit Aiden except at his foster home. She never came to campus again, and we were relieved and grateful.

A few weeks later, we were doing an activity with a box of small toys whose names began with the letter C. I asked the students to listen to my clues, and raise their hand if they could guess what I was describing.

“This is something you can ride in. It has 4 wheels…”. “A car!”

This is a mammal, so we know it has hair or fur. It’s a pet that many families have…”. “A cat!’

“I’m thinking about a Muppet. He’s blue, and he has a favorite food that he absolutely loves…” “Cookie Monster!”

After each correct answer, I removed that toy from the box and put it on the table in front of them.

The students were briefly stumped when I gave the clues, “This is a character from the movie 101 Dalmatians. She wants to kidnap puppies. She’s a villain, and she’s mean and cruel…”

Nobody had guessed the answer, so I pulled the figure of Cruella De Vil from the box. Aiden gasped and shouted triumphantly, “It’s MOMMY!!!!”