Yeah. The ‘Zero Tolerance Policy’ is working just fine….so fine in fact, that a twelve year old girl got arrested (arrested!!) for writing on her desk at school in New York. What she wrote wasn’t even remotely hateful or anything. Just professing her love for her friends and making it known that ‘Lex was here’. And-it’s not like she carved it in the desk-she used a marker, one that could easily have been washed off.

Still, she got arrested for it, taken out of the classroom in handcuffs and escorted by the police.

Now, hang on. What happened to a visit to the principal’s office? Detention? What has happened that doodling on your desk warrants handcuffs and a trip to jail for a 12-year-old?

….the case of the doodling preteen is raising concerns about the use of zero tolerance policies in schools.

Critics say schools and police have gone too far, overreacting and using well-intended rules for incidents involving nonviolent offenses such as drawing on desks, writing on other school property or talking back to teachers.

“We are arresting them at younger and younger ages [in cases] that used to be covered with a trip to the principal’s office, not sending children to jail,” said Emma Jordan-Simpson, executive director of the Children’s Defense Fund, a national children’s advocacy group.

Apparently, this isn’t the first case of arrest. There was another not too long ago in New York and one in Chicago:

One of the first cases to gain national notoriety was that of Chelsea Fraser. In 2007, the 13-year-old wrote “Okay” on her desk, and police handcuffed and arrested her. She was one of several students arrested in the class that day; the others were accused of plastering the walls with stickers.

At schools across the country, police are being asked to step in. In November, a food fight at a middle school in Chicago, Illinois, resulted in the arrests of 25 children, some as young as 11, according to the Chicago Police Department.

Really? You have to call in the police to stop a food fight? No, you (teachers, principal, etc.) step up and tell them to stop and move on. Throw in a detention if necessary, but not the handcuffs.

Is ‘Zero Tolerance’ giving schools an excuse to not take responsibility for their students? Just let someone else handle the situation?

Towards the end of the article, juvenile court judge Steven Teske is quoted as saying:

“There is zero intelligence when you start applying zero tolerance across the board,” he said. “Stupid and ridiculous things start happening.”

That’s the most sane thing I’ve heard about Zero Tolerance.

“Dear 4^th grade parents …” says the latest letter. This has become a theme lately. “Dear 4^th Grade Parents there will be a 4^th Grade Graduation on …” “Dear 4^th Grade Parents … there will be a farewell picnic on …” “Dear 4^th Grade Parents there will be a middle school orientation on …” This might seem sweet - even thoughtful - on the outside. Do not be fooled. They send these to me, a “Dear 4^th Grade Parent,” because they want to RIP MY HEART OUT AND TEAR IT INTO A MILLION LITTLE PIECES.

 You see, despite my repeated attempts to make them listen to reason, our otherwise excellent school district suffers one fatal flaw: they think that ten year olds belong in middle school. In my day, “middle school” (also quaintly known as “junior high”) didn’t begin until 7^th grade. By then I was 13 years old and so deeply in the throes of puberty that they could have enrolled me in a Russian prison or Disneyworld interchangeably and I would have been none the wiser. At that age, I rarely noticed anything beyond my own navel-gazing obsession with myself.

 By the time I entered the hallowed halls of middle school where PEOPLE OLDER THAN YOU ARE LYING IN WAIT TO BEAT YOU (AND YOUR SELF-ESTEEM) TO A NUB I was armed, at the very least, with a sense of self-preservation and some strawberry lip gloss. I also had a comb in my back-pocket that could easily have doubled as a weapon.

 My son, however, knows nothing of the mean streets of middle school. In elementary everything is soft, fuzzy, and sweet. He has been led to expect that people should be kind and thoughtful. He has been taught that bullying and making others feel badly about themselves is not to be tolerated. He believes with his whole heart that to be different is to be celebrated.

 In short, he’s been sold a load of goods.

 Orientation. Last night we parents all filed into the middle school auditorium to learn how our lives would change. Notice I said “our lives?” Sure, the kids are probably uncertain, unsure, and nervous about this brave new world, but really, isn’t what happens to my kids really all about me? How can I be the parent of a middle-school child? I have friends with children in 5^th grade in other districts and they still get to be elementary parents. Why was I not given a vote on this academic super-sizing of my child from “little” to “middle?”

 As we toured the middle school (which, curiously, shares a building with the high school) We were repeatedly assured that a variety of double doors and sentry staff would keep those ever-present high-school students at bay. After a time, I became more concerned – not less. I’m not entirely sure what those high school students are up to down the hall, but apparently, they bear carefully watching lest they escape and cause mayhem in the middle school.

 I find the security ironic since in my day a high school student wouldn’t have gone within arms length of a middle school kid unless he or she was being paid to do so. And even then  - just barely.

 My son seems enthralled with the idea of finally having a locker and the ability to walk the halls between classes. Lunchtime (where for the first time ever they get to sit with anyone they wish rather than assigned seating) sounds enticing rather than terrifying. Then again, he’s always been far more confident than I was at his age. Lest you get the wrong idea, I attended a very safe public school system myself. Nonetheless, it was just habit to glance at those long-awaited lockers on the tour and instantly assess whether your average ten year old (or mine) would fit in one.

 Tagged. It seems only yesterday my letters read “Dear Kindergarten parent …” and I fastened a plastic nametag to his shirt and sent him off into his future. The nametag was very important and clearly far more for my security than his. It said who he was (and who he belonged to); where he was going (which teacher would meet him); and what he would need to assist in his journey along the way (bus number, lunch number, class number). I don’t know about him, but I certainly felt safer having it there.

 Now there is no nametag (because a middle schooler would die of shame). Yet, if he had one it would tell you who he is (my whole world); where he is going (wherever his dreams take him as long as we don’t break him first); and what he will need to assist in his journey (a lot of hope, a dash of dreams, and a boatload of guidance. See also: please don’t break).

 “Dear 4^th Grade Parents” they write yet again, to which I can only sigh, pray, and reply:

 “Dear 5^th Grade … I beg of you, please handle with care.“