Pastoral Oedipal

He came into the room with a sullen look on his face, barefoot, and clad in shorts and T-shirt, even though it was the middle of November. There was something drowsy, almost panda-like about the way he lumbered into the room. He was short for a sixteen-year-old but his arms were well-built and long. He didn't really know what to do with them and they swung awkwardly by his side. 

'This is David.'

His mum put her arms around the boy but he pulled away. 

'Hi,' I  said. 

David nodded at me and made a grunt. 

'Mum, it's cold down here. Can't you put the heating up.'

His mum ignored him and turned to me. 

'I will fetch his work. David, why don't you make Mr Golding some tea.'

She left the room and for a moment David and I stood there in silence. 

'So David, tell me a bit about what's been going on.'

'I am home schooled now,' he answered. 

I knew that much. I was still unclear as to what exactly happened at the school but it sounded as though he had been asked to leave. He had been suffering from lots of nervous illnesses such as eczema; he had also been getting up to go to the toilet half a dozen times a night according to his mother. 

'You want tea then?'

'Please.'

'What sort?'

'Just regular.'

'What's that?' 

'English breakfast.' 

He threw a bag into a cup and then from a cupboard he pulled out a huge tub of whey protein and creatin powder. 

'Do you go to the gym?'

'Now and then,' I replied. 

'I have to work out or I get this bit of fat on my stomach.' 

He spooned the unappetising powder into a milkshake glass and poured in skimmed milk. 

'How often do you work out?'

'Every day except Sundays.' 

'I suppose you have to eat tonnes?'

'No. I don't eat that much. I don't want any body fat, you see.'

'That can't be healthy.' 

'You have to work out lots when you drink this stuff because if not you get breasts. My older brother got breasts.'

I later found out that creatin can cause water retention. There were probably hundreds of sixteen-year-old boys walking around with a B or C cup.

As he put the protein powder away I noticed that he went to the oven and checked all the gas knobs were turned off. There was something deliberate about the action, as though he were counting them or ticking things off in his head. 

His mother returned. 

'Here is all the work. I sorted it out into files. They are a bit of a mess.'

'I told you not to touch them.'

'I told you days ago to sort them out but you've been staying out all night and sleeping all day sweetheart.'

'Fuck sake.'

His mum let the swearing go by.'

I looked through David's work, although it was perhaps a bit much to call it work. The scrawled half pages of notes, torn paper and doodles of stick men doing rude things to one another seemed to be the bulk of 'work' he had undertaken in history. 

'I see we've got a lot of work to do.' 

The boy and I went up to a study at the top of the house. It was one of those envy-making rooms full of beautiful books, a stunning oak desk with a leather inlay on top, and a view of Hampstead Heath.

I was about to sit down when the boy said:

'No, that's my chair. I'll get you one.'

When he returned I watched as he carefully placed all his work and pens on the desk all in line with each other. 

We started to work on some material about the Weimar Republic but after five minutes I became aware of the extent of his problems. 

'I will turn the pages,' he said. 'I don't let people touch my books.'

'David, can I ask you something? Do you have certain things you need to do to feel safe?'

'What do you mean?'

'Like rituals. Checking things are switched on or off. Cleaning. Things like that.'

'What are you saying?'

'It's just you seem very anxious.'

'I'm fine.'

Later when I spoke to his mum she too seemed to dismiss the issue. 

'He just didn't settle into his last school, that's all.'

'But,' I said.

'I like him being here with me. I can keep an eye on him.'

'And his father?'

'We're divorced. He doesn't see his father. He lives overseas. Please don't worry about him too much. Just teach the subject.'

Over the next few weeks I began to do my best to get them both to see what was going on. David needed to see someone about his OCD issues and anxiety but the mother continued to be reluctant. It turned out that some nights he was so anxious that he slept in his mother's bed. I ended up acting as best I could as some kind of antidote to what seemed like an Oedipal nightmare but there was only so much I could do in the three or fours per week we spent together. The mother finally agreed to take him to a doctor but only after I harassed her about it. 

Teachers and tutors do have a responsibility for pastoral care, but the incident made it clear to me that there were boundaries between teaching and parenting. Teachers can provide stability but they can't provide the answer to the problems of the home. The assumption that neglect happens largely in the homes of the poor is incorrect. The dysfunction that exists in the homes of the comfortable and wealthy can be just as harrowing to see.