Lindsay Son

I once asked an elementary school student why he hadn’t completed the math worksheet his teacher had assigned. “Because I’m a bad kid,” he responded with a shrug. I’ve heard similar expressions about other students I’ve tutored or mentored, sometimes softened through euphemisms like “behaviorally-challenged” or “disruptive influence,” but all with a consistent undertone. No matter how subtly these labels are phrased, their implications stay with me, particularly when students are describing themselves.

Although I lack the expertise of an experienced teacher, I spend upwards of five hours weekly in local public schools working with children between the ages of four and 14. Through these enriching experiences, I’ve noticed how early these labels can be assigned.

Preschool students experience higher per-capita rates of suspension and expulsion than students in any other grade from kindergarten through 12th grade. Exclusionary discipline also disproportionately affects boys, children with disabilities and students of color, particularly Black children. Although Black students comprise approximately 18 percent of preschool enrollment, they account for 33 percent of preschool expulsions, while preschoolers served under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) represent 23 percent of preschool students but 74 percent of expulsions. These disparities demand that we examine the assumptions shaping our responses to children’s behavior.

Implicit racial and socioeconomic biases can influence whether educators interpret a student’s actions as developmentally appropriate or deliberately harmful. Assumptions about students’ intentions become particularly troubling when young children are “adultified,” or perceived as older and more culpable than they actually are. Behavior that should invite guidance and support instead becomes a rationale for punishment, as though the child possesses the cognitive processes of an adult.

We might expect disciplinary consequences to reflect students’ maturity and understanding of their behavior. A preschooler may not understand why biting or touching a classmate without permission is wrong, while an older student is expected to be more capable of anticipating the harm and consequences of their actions. Accountability should evolve alongside development, yet disciplinary responses are often inconsistent with this progression.

Beyond disparities in which students are punished and how severely, another question emerges: Whose education do we value, and whose potential do we recognize? When a student perceived as bright and capable breaks a rule, their behavior may be dismissed as an innocent mistake. When a student already labeled troubled, unmanageable or “bad” commits the same infraction, their behavior may instead be interpreted as having malicious intent.

This double standard is equally concerning when older students accused of serious misconduct are defended through appeals to their “promising” futures. Young children can be adultified, expected to demonstrate judgment and self-control they have not yet developed, while older students may be infantilized, their actions excused in the name of unrealized potential. This contradiction reveals how selectively we extend sympathy, accountability and the possibility of change.

For example, when high school student Matthew Fraser was punished for delivering a sexually suggestive speech at a high school assembly in 1987, Justice John Paul Stevens defended him as an “outstanding young man with a fine academic record” and an “intelligent student.” In 2007, Joseph Frederick was suspended for revealing a banner with the words “BONG HiTS 4 JESUS” at a school-supervised event. While the Supreme Court ruled in favor of the principal who suspended him, Frederick was defended by many student press organizations and editorial writers for what was described as a youthful indiscretion.

Both cases illustrate the tension between holding older students accountable and allowing their perceived societal value or potential to determine how their actions are judged. While neither of these students caused immediate harm to their peers, there are many more contemporary cases in which the same protective narrative has been invoked to defend truly reprehensible actions.

Accountability in elementary school should not require reducing a child to their worst behavior. Compassion in higher education should not depend on how bright we imagine someone’s future might be, nor should the promise of a hypothetical future exempt anyone from the responsibility necessary to uphold the safety and integrity of educational environments.

When students tell me that they are “bad,” I wonder what it took for them to internalize that meaning, whether through explicit labels or implicit treatment. It is neither my intention nor my place to criticize those who have inadvertently imposed labels on the students I’m privileged to work with each week. Instead, I ask how we can teach students something new: Their actions matter, their mistakes can be addressed with empathy and potential is not reserved for those who have already earned approval.

All students deserve the opportunity to be seen as capable of   growth, but that belief must coexist with thoughtful accountability. Equity requires that we neither condemn children for mistakes they are still learning to understand nor excuse older students from responsibility when we decide their devastating actions are not reflective of the adults they are becoming.

From preschool classrooms to college campuses, compassion and accountability must be extended consistently, not just according to who we believe deserves a second chance.

Emma Landry is a member of the Class of 2029.