Had to refer a student to the assistant principal today for plagiarizing whole sections of his quarter project. I don't enjoy that, but it had to be done.
Happened to meet the kid and mom in the corridor as they were exiting the office. She asked me if there was any way he could re-submit the work, and declared that the kid's penalty, a two-day suspension from school, was harsh.
So many things about that encounter is causing my head to spin. Let me count the ways:
First, it's PLAGIARISM, not throwing spitballs. You know, academic dishonesty. Intellectual theft. This is a pretty serious offense, and a violation of the state's Educational Code. The point here is that we're trying to hold students to a standard of honesty, integrity and dilligence. It's about the kind of person he will grow up to be. What's that word our culture used to use pretty regularly? Oh, yeah: character.
Second, Mom tries to get me to let him do the project all over again and submit it for credit, to save the kid's grade. Part of the penalty for any cheating is an "F" on the assignment in question. Officially, it's not discretionary. I can't allow him to re-submit work that will nullify that part of the penalty. It would be both illogical and rather dishonest of me. The grade has to take a hit. Turns out even with the "F" he passes the quarter, barely. It could have been worse.
Third, the two-day suspension is at the lower end of the Discipline Matrix (the "sentencing guidlines" the administration uses to, well, administer punishment for naughty boys and girls). Other acceptable consequences in the Matrix for this violation include up to a 5-day suspension, placement in an alternative environment (change of schools) or expulsion from the district. For all I know this was the kid's first offense, but it was the quarter project, not merely a piece of homework, so I think he got off rather lightly. I was thinking he'd get three days. It definitely was not "harsh."
Mom cries in front of me, trying to get me to make this go away. I tell her that considering the nature of the situation, I'm not willing to accept replacement work, both from a standpoint of the intent of the "F" policy for cheating, and my personal policy. Then she tries to get me to lighten the consequence. I explain that I have nothing to do with deciding what happens to him; that's the assistant principal's decision, and they've just come out of his office.
She cries. He cries. I offer my sympathies, wondering to myself how she has the chutzpah to stand there trying to get him off the hook. She repeats her plea, and I, my condolences and explanation of why her request cannot be entertained, and my heartfelt desire that the boy be the kind of person who turns in his own, honest work. Mom is unrelenting, so finally, the assistant principal comes out to pry her loose and shoo her away. She wanted to take it to the principal to try to persuade her, but she (the principal) was off campus today. So they left. Not that Mom would have gotten anywhere with that, anyway.
Later I found out why Mom was so tenacious. Seems the boy is in the marching band, and the two-day suspension, which takes effect immediately, means he won't be wearing his uniform and playiing his instrument for tonight's CIF play-off football game, or tomorrow's field show (battle of the marching bands competition). Two lousy events that will be missed. All the needling, pressuring, tears, for that.
Let me contrast against that what my life would be like if I had been in a similar situation during my high school career:
My parent, likely my Depression generation, Okie, grew up poor-but-proud, stay-at-home mother, would have come into the assistant principal's office, heard about my behavior, viewed the plagiarized project with all the grace and dignity of a queen at a state reception. She would have agreed that this evidence was damning, and told the assistant principal that cheating is certainly not a value with which I was being raised. She would tell him that not only was the academic punishment acceptable, but that my punishment would continue at home. She would give him her word that nothing like this would ever happen again, turn to me and ask, "Will it?," to which I would be expected to agree, with head hung. I woudn't dare look her in the eye. She would then stand, thank the assistant principal for his time, shake his hand, and march me out, with me longing for the protection of the afore-said administrator's office. Head held high, stride dignified, all the way to the car. The ride home would be unbearably quiet.
Later, the lecture from both my parents would communicate how disappointed they were in me, and it would be worse than a restriction, loss of privilege, or any other punishment I could imagine. The knowledge that I'd let them down would burn through my teenage facade of detachment and stir my soul. I would be, in a word, ashamed. And it would cause me to vow to never cheat at my schoolwork again. Altogether a good and proper punishment by itself, but that would only be the half of it. I couldn't spend two days out of school watching television; those hours would be spent doing chores, specially selected for me: pulling weeds, cleaning out the dusty garage, or splitting wood: some physical labor that would engage my body and allow me the opportunity to meditate on my dishonest actions and the unanticipated embarrassment they'd brought upon my family. The calluses would be merely the outward sign of the better person I was becomming.
Maybe that's why I'm so dismayed today. Not a shred of dignity, just tears and pleading for exceptions, reductions in penalty, and the reestablishment of priviledge. Sigh.
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