Urban ACEs

How to Reach and Teach Students Traumatized by Adverse Childhood Experiences

Marcus L Matthews

• Publisher: Koehler Books
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781633939868
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Behavioural Management

In Urban ACEs, Matthews uses his personal testimony as a troubled urban student in Memphis along with strategies gained from trauma-informed training to illustrate how a youth struggling with adverse childhood experiences can graduate high school and college when supported by using a trauma-informed approach. Urban ACEs is a guidebook written by a Doctor of Education with a documented history of success as a teacher and administrator in urban schools. His personal testimony, academic credentials, and professional results come together to form the ultimate guidebook for educators and parents.

CHAPTER 1

DEVELOP A STRONG WORK ETHIC

The nature of “work ethic” is grounded in the cliché “Hard work pays off.” That saying is most definitely true. In my nearly forty years on this earth, I have not known anyone who has dedicated himself or herself to working toward a goal and not seen results. While I cannot say that every student will attain every desire of their heart just because they try, I can say that if anyone wants to receive the desires of their heart, then hard work is required. A traumatic experience should not keep any individual from being as successful as they want to be.

As an adult supporting a traumatized child, you are helping a young person who might not always be motivated. Sometimes it might take a second for the student to “get things going.” As a result, you might need to drop your personal mirror, give the youth some time, listen to what’s wrong, use a regulation strategy, and provide a fitting consequence before guiding him or her back to their task. It will take effort, but the results will be plentiful. One of your goals will be to show them why staying on task is critical to achieving goals. The following story from my life shows how having a tireless work ethic led me to positive results. It can be used as an example for your students to show them why it is necessary to engage in hard work to achieve dreams.

VARSITY BASKETBALL

I fantasized about the day I could finally play with the big boys. Watching them run, defend, make shots, and dunk the basketball awed me. The only thing more amazing than watching the pros on television or my older brothers in the backyard was playing the game of basketball with my own friends. Basketball was all I cared about; it was all I thought about. The routine never changed for me—I went to school, I finished my homework, and I watched or played basketball. In the summer, I was in the backyard putting up shots as soon as the sun rose. Basketball helped me relieve stress. When I was about eight years old, it became an outlet to help me navigate troublesome times.

At ten years old, I was the best basketball player in my fifth-grade class. I could have tried to sound humble and say I was “one of the best,” but I have the evidence to prove that I was the best in my grade. Back in my time, Westside Elementary School combined a fifth and sixth grade class due to low enrollment and teacher positions. Classes were consolidated and one teacher, Mrs. Clark, ended up with a classroom made up of fifth- and sixth-grade students. I was one of them.

Mrs. Clark’s split class consisted of children who were considered capable of performing at a high academic level without as much instructional time as some other students. For example, all the CLUE kids were part of the split class. CLUE stood for Creative Learning in a Unique Environment and was a program for those whose test scores were on the academically gifted level. The split classroom setup was unique. The fifth graders sat with their desks facing a chalkboard on one of the classroom walls, and the sixth graders sat with their desks facing a chalkboard in another direction in the room. Mrs. Clark would deliver instruction to one grade level, issue an assignment, then head over to the other grade level, deliver instruction, then issue an assignment to those students. I didn’t realize how much of a challenge Mrs. Clark’s job must have been until I became an educator myself about fifteen years later.

As far as basketball, my game improved when, as a fifth grader, I attended recess with the sixth graders from my class. Often, I was the only fifth grader to play with and against the sixth-grade boys. Some of my fellow fifth-grade classmates would play games other than basketball while others would attempt to play but would not get picked for a team. I was proud of the fact that the bigger, taller, stronger sixth graders respected my game enough to choose me to play. Although I was not the best player on the court when I was going up against them, I was satisfied with contributing and playing my best.

My love for basketball continued to grow through elementary school and into junior high school, where, as a seventh grader, I earned a spot on the seventh- through ninth-grade junior high squad. My twelve-year-old body was significantly more underdeveloped than my teammates’ bodies, who were as old as fifteen. I stood about five foot six and weighed just over 100 pounds, while some teammates were taller than six feet and easily outweighed me by fifty pounds or more.

I remember hearing the announcement for basketball tryouts. I was excited and nervous. I had never played organized ball before junior high. I had played with my neighborhood friends in my backyard, on the blacktop during elementary school recess, and with family in Tipton County when we visited my grandparents; but I had never played for a team with jerseys, referees, and a game clock. Still, as excited as I was, my mom nearly deflated my hoop dreams before I ever donned a Wildcat jersey.

My mother got baptized as a Jehovah’s Witness when I was two years old, and according to her religious beliefs, joining the school team was unacceptable because I would be willfully subjecting myself to bad associates. Momma tried her best to shelter her sons from any sort of temptation that could lead to misconduct or immoral behavior. She knew that many of the boys on the basketball team used profanity and were sexually active. She would often ask the neighborhood boys to leave our backyard for cursing or making inappropriate remarks. Her reputation was so well known in the neighborhood that the most troublesome young men in the community would shush each other and avoid foul language in her presence.

Momma did not want me on that basketball team. In fact, she forbade me to join. She told me no when I asked for permission to stay after school for tryouts, but I didn’t obey her. I put my basketball shoes in my backpack along with my hooping shorts, and I stayed after school to try to get on the team.

I hustled my hardest, and I shot my shots. I couldn’t just let the chance to play the game I loved so dearly pass me by. I had to go for it no matter what, even if it meant disobeying Momma.

That day, when I arrived home late, Momma was livid, fussing and screaming about what I’d done. For the most part, I was an obedient child. I fully understood that her yes meant yes and her no meant no, and most of the time I listened. But this was the basketball team! This is my first step to the NBA, I thought. I might have been an honor roll student who tested intellectually gifted and went to worship three times a week with his mother, but I was also a kid with dreams of playing in the NBA just like millions of kids around the world. Now, as Momma asked me where I had been, I was honest. I wasn’t ashamed or afraid, and I didn’t feel like I had done anything wrong. I hadn’t been out stealing. I hadn’t been selling or using drugs. I hadn’t been loitering or using profanity around my elders. All I had done was try out for basketball. I was willing to endure whatever punishment Momma would mete out.

After I told Momma where I’d been that afternoon, she broke my heart when she told me I wouldn’t be able to join the team even if I made the final cut. And I did make the team. I was the only seventh grader selected to play with eighth and ninth graders. I don’t remember how long it took Coach Moore to provide the final list, but when I saw my name on the Westside Junior High School Boys’ basketball team roster, I shot my fists up in the air and smiled. Momma didn’t care one bit though. All she was concerned with was keeping me safe from the wicked influences of the world.

Later, Momma would be diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. I truly believe that that mental illness played a serious role in her desire to keep me sheltered. She was in a constant state of distrust during those times and kept her word by trying to prevent me from playing basketball at school. But thank goodness for my father. He interceded on my behalf to allow me to join the team. He saw no problem with me playing. In fact, he was proud of me. I come from a family of athletes, on both of my parents’ sides. My older brothers played football, basketball, and ran track in school too.

Meanwhile, Momma made it clear that I would be allowed to play basketball because of my dad only. She said that I “went over” her head and got my father’s approval and she had to comply because he was the head of the household. For Momma, this was a catch-22. On the one hand, her religious convictions had influenced her decision to forbid me to join the team. On the other hand, those same convictions caused her to yield to my father’s authority as the leader of our home. My main concern as a twelve-year-old was simply being able to play the game I loved for the school I loved. I played my seventh-grade year, and I made the junior high team again in my eighth-grade year—great training. Then, in my ninth-grade year, I was primed and ready to be the primary player, but a change in the educational system put a big dent in my plans.

For years, elementary school in Memphis was from kindergarten through sixth grade; junior high, from seventh through ninth grade; and high school, from tenth through twelfth grade—at least that’s the way my schools were set up. My ninth-grade year, the landscape changed. Now, elementary school spanned from kindergarten through fifth grade; junior high, from sixth through eighth grade; and high school, from ninth through twelfth grade. What did all that mean for me? It meant that instead of being the most experienced player on my junior high team as a ninth grader, I was forced, once again, to be the youngest player among a group of bigger, stronger, older, and more experienced players. My only choice as a high school freshman was to earn a spot on our varsity basketball team. My only thirteen-year-old choice was to compete with and against eighteen- and nineteen-year-old students for the opportunity to make that team. I was not happy about this news at all.

I had spent two years playing behind bigger, stronger, and older players—paying my dues and earning my stripes. After two years of working my tail off and waiting my turn, I was ready to be “the man.” But then I showed up to school my freshman year to find myself at the back of the pack all over again.

My only choice: Meet the new challenge. The decision to abandon the junior high format and move the ninth grade to the high schools was far beyond my control. I had to rise to the challenge of once again competing with the big boys if I wanted to play basketball at Westside High. With no time to cry about my situation, I worked hard in the offseason and at tryouts to earn a spot on our varsity basketball team.

I was the youngest player on the team. I was the shortest player on the team. I was the thinnest player on the team, but despite all of that, I was on the team.

THE TAKEAWAY

I had worked tirelessly to get what I wanted despite the fact that my parents were at odds throughout the majority of my childhood, even separating at times. Basketball gave me a goal to aspire to and achieve. I did not let my age, physical stature, lack of experience, or any other factor—including my mother’s efforts to prevent me from playing—stop me from working toward what I wanted. In fact, the work ethic I developed from pursuing my dream to play basketball helped me become the hard worker I am today. Although developing as a basketball player was ultimately a personal decision, I knew that keeping my grades up and displaying appropriate behavior were required for me to play. Not only did my desire to play basketball fuel my work ethic, it also helped me manage my ACEs.

The moral of this story: Steer traumatized students toward activities that may help them focus and develop a high-quality work ethic. Additionally, if a student displays a passion for a healthy activity, whethe...