The elementary teachers in my building used to complain and worry about a student I shall call Alucard. Alucard was violent and disruptive and disobedient. Alucard tore up the turf on a regular basis. Alucard hit and kicked and bit and cut and stole and pulled hair out by the roots and stuck pins into kids and destroyed their artwork and threw things. Alucard used profanities that would melt the paint off the walls. Alucard’s mother never once came to a conference. Alucard’s mother refused to come and get her son when the school called her about the day’s violence. Alucard spent a lot of his time in the sickroom, tearing posters off the walls and pulling the pipes out of sinks. Everything else had been removed from the sickroom, because Alucard was always in there. It was safer for the other children when he was in there. When he was in the sickroom, he couldn’t hurt his classmates or tear up their stuff. The school did its best but a little country school just doesn’t have the resources to handle an Alucard.

Child Protective Services said that since Alucard wasn’t being abused, they couldn’t do anything. Alucard’s mother, who shall hereafter be referred to as Mucs, gave orders to the school that her son was never to be punished, deprived of privileges, spanked (it was Indiana and it was the dark ages) physically restrained, or reprimanded in a ‘loud tone of voice.’ Mucs claimed that Alucard was sensitive and had a fragile ego. Mucs threatened lawsuit every two or three days, based on Alucard’s version of his day. This had been going on since, yes, you knew I was going to say it, kindergarten.

The other children were terrified of Alucard. Every day, in every way, he spoiled everything for them.

Mucs blamed the school. She blamed the teachers. She blamed the other children. She blamed the other parents. She blamed everyone and everything except Alucard.

Alucard used to laugh and brag about how he had the system twisted ’round his little finger.

He was in the fourth grade. He never did any work and failed everything year after year, and yet he was promoted. Mucs insisted on that.

Alucard was tested and scored an average intelligence. Mucs would never allow a psychological evaluation of any kind. She claimed that the only thing wrong with Alucard was his environment.

On the upper level, we used to hear the stories about Alucard and dread the day when he was finally promoted to secondary status. We never figured we’d have to deal with him before that. And the way he was headed, we hoped it would be a while before we saw him on our floor.

I had to deal with him anyway.

When Belle and Zappa were in elementary school, they used to come up to my classroom after school to ‘check in,’ and then they would scamper off to play on the playground till I was ready to leave for home. There were several other teacher’s kids, who were older, who were always out there and who loved to watch over the younger children.

When Zappa was in the second grade, I couldn’t help but notice that he was coming upstairs after school with a black eye on occasion, and so were his little friends.

Well, when your little boy is feisty and adventurous, the occasional black eye is only to be expected. He never made a big deal about it, and neither did the other little boys, so after making sure it wasn’t a serious wound, I kept my big mouth shut about it, too, and didn’t nag.

Then he started talking about the big scary boy in the restroom after school, who stuck pins through his lips and got mad when a little boy had to use the restroom for ‘other ‘ purposes.

“Is that the boy who gave you those black eyes?” asked his naive mother.

“Yes, but don’t tell anybody. He said if anybody ever did, he’d throw us off the slide and laugh at our bloody bones.” replied my little son. His friends nodded agreement.

I’d had no idea. Almost every afternoon, my little son and a lot of other precious little boys had been watching Alucard stand in front of the mirror in the boy’s restroom and stick pins through his lips, threaten them, and occasionally punch one in the eye.

I reported it, but since “no adult had seen this” nothing was done. However, the principal did post a ‘guard’ in the hall by the restroom.

Not long after that, Alucard went berserk over being told not to eat paste, and kicked his teacher so hard she fell to the ground, where he proceeded to kick her some more.

Mucs tried to make excuses, and then she tried to make trouble, but this time it didn’t work.

When the Child Protective people came to investigate, Alucard ran out into the parking lot and keyed all their cars. And finally, FINALLY, someone called the police. It was a great day.

The last we saw of him, he was riding in the back of a patrol car, screaming and yelling and trying to break through the windows.

If he’d been handcuffed, at least a few other people might have been spared some bruises.

Duct tape would have been a step in the right direction.

And when people say that a child couldn’t possibly pose a threat to an adult, they haven’t been in the schools lately and seen the likes of Alucard. He was a real kid, and his clones are marching two by two through the hallways of every school in the world.

I say, make sure they know who’s boss before they ever hit the kindergarten, and maybe then they won’t hit the kindergarten students. Or the teacher, or the principal, or anyone else who tells them not to eat the paste.

Mess with my little boy, or anybody else’s little boy, Alucard, and you’re going to get busted. That’s a promise.