Open Writing

'Declan, that's enough. Oliver, are you listening?' The usual suspects are clustered at the far edge of the carpet, doing just enough whispering, pinching and squirming to distract and annoy everyone else. This part of the lesson is drawing to a close. We need to recap, tidy up and move on to the next tasks.

'Ross, Declan, Sky, sit down.' Their misbehaviour is escalating. Three of them have bounced to their feet engrossed in an argument. I'd split them up, named them, tried to draw them into the activity but they're lost to me now, in their own little battle. My classroom support assistant, Sue, has done what she can to settle them but to no effect. With a sigh, I stand up and wade through the sensible children, sitting patiently and eager to learn.

'You sit next to Jonathan and he'll show you how to listen carefully.' I gently turn Declan and point him toward one corner of the carpet away from the other trouble makers. Then I repeat the procedure with Sky, sending her to an opposite corner.

Reaching down I grab the knees of Oliver, an easily distracted little boy who wears glasses and doesn't listen or concentrate well, sitting at the furthest edge of the carpet in the midst of this challenging crowd. I look up and speak to the group, whilst I gently pull this child forward to a place in the centre of the carpet where I hope he'll be able to see and concentrate better. Because I'm trying to make eye contact with each child, I don't notice that Oliver has flopped backwards, like a rag doll. When my gaze sweeps down to take him in, I realise he has a tiny carpet burn, the size of a 5p, on his back and a smaller one on his wrist.

I'm devastated. I've devoted my working life to helping children and am appalled to have inadvertently hurt this boy. Immediately, I ask Sue to supervise and rush Oliver to first aid and record the details in the accident book. And I pray.

Back in the classroom, I'm given the peace to remain calm and normal for the children, despite the chills shivering through me from the shock. Oliver doesn't seem to be upset at all and works quite happily next to me. At the first opportunity, I ask Sue if she felt I'd over-reacted to the situation or behaved heavy-handedly. But she tells me that she's comfortable that it had merely been an unfortunate accident. I inform my headteacher and my union, fully aware of the litigious culture we live in.

Sweating, my hands trembling, I speak to Oliver's mum when she comes to collect him at the end of the day. When I've told her what happened, I explain that if she's in any way unhappy she's welcome to speak with the headteacher and/or the other adult who was present.

A strange cat's-got-the-cream smile slides over her face. She collects her son without a glance at the marks and sweeps out the door.

I know I'm in trouble. Two years earlier, I'd taught Oliver in his first year of full time education and had problems with the family then. The father had been instructing his four-year-old son to hit other children when they hurt him. We had several discussions, in which I tried to explain that 95% of the time, bumps and knocks were entirely accidental with children crashing into each other due to undeveloped gross motor skills. I also patiently went through our behaviour and bullying policies and strategies, trying to reassure him that all incidents were dealt with carefully and fully. He wouldn't accept any of it.

More recently, we discovered that the father had been telling him to hit a younger, autistic child. Oliver was observed, on more than one occasion by more than one person, chasing and taunting the autistic child. When his victim lashed out in frustration, Oliver would inform his parents that he was being bullied.

The most telling incident was when Oliver had been caught throwing ice and snow at other children in the playground. The rule was he would have to miss his playtimes the next day. He came into school in the morning, screaming the place down. When I went out to see if I could help, the father told me Oliver was upset about missing playtime. I looked at the child and explained, for the father's sake, that I was sure his dad would want us to keep children in, if they had thrown ice at him. We could not allow children to hurt others and he had known what the rules were before he went out to play.

When I offered to take Oliver into the classroom, he screamed even louder and the father informed me that he wasn't having his son upset like this so I left them to it and returned to the classroom. About twenty minutes later, the child sauntered in with a big grin on his face and accepted his punishment quite happily. In the afternoon, I asked him what had changed his mind and was told he'd been given a large quantity of sweets. This was possibly one of the worst families to fall foul of.