ABSTRACT
Six-year-old Dougie's acute distress was located for the moment in his teacher, who was, as she put it, "losing her marbles." "Oh, he's fine," she laughed ruefully on the phone, "it's me that's going out of my gourd. Every time I turn around, Dougie's someplace else. Today I passed out scissors and paper for a little multisensory exercise on the letter of the day-and before I'd finished Dougie's paper was cut up in little bits on the floor. Then at cracker time he still had his scissors, and he cut up the crackers all over the floor! If I send him to the nurse, he goes to the playground. If I send him to the office he goes to the nurse, and spends the day there. He does love the nurse, and she loves him, so that's good. Everybody loves Dougie, but what's going to become of him? And I have 24 other first-graders. Honestly, they should have kept him in kindergarten!"
