The Special Pass
The “Special Pass” hung on a hook by the door of Mrs.
Applegate’s fifth grade classroom. The policy was that anyone was allowed to
use it, one person at a time, pretty-much as needed. Lord knows, everybody
needs a mental-health moment from time to time. The expectation was that no
one, except in exceptional circumstances known to the teacher, should need to
use it more than several times a week. It was a great system — appreciated and
respected by all.
The thing about the Special Pass was that it was, indeed,
very, very special. You put it around your neck, stepped out the classroom door
and into a very real place that was “somewhere else.” You took the time you
needed and, when you were ready, you just walked back through the door, which
waited for you, upright on the floor, or ground, or beach — wherever you had
gone. And, the best part was that nobody had to wait for you to come back
because, however long you spent in your somewhere else, it seemed to everyone back
in the classroom as if you had just turned around and walked back in, except in
a better mood.
Experience had demonstrated that the “somewhere else” was
both flexible and invariably safe. You were always alone, you were anywhere you
could imagine that would give a satisfactory time-out, and nothing bad ever
happened there. Never. Ever.
