Teaching on the South Side: Breaking Up My First In-Class Fight
NOTE: All student names have been changed.
You might think, given the dearth of entries in here as of late, that nothing much has been going on in my little corner of Chicago’s South Side. I wish that were true. Some days I leave my apartment at 7 a.m. and don’t get back until 8 that night. I’m a first-year teacher: I always have a mountain of prep work to do. My mantra: next year this will be so much easier.
Truth to tell, though, eight years teaching writing in college, not to mention an MA in English, gives me more than a little edge this year. Thirteen years in the martial arts doesn’t hurt, either. Mrs. Grossett, one of the instructional support specialists for the program I’m teaching in, paid me a very high compliment last week when she said that me and two of the other older teachers were, “the strongest teachers we have up here.” She went on to praise what she called my God-given talents for teaching and leadership. I just nodded and smiled, all the while thinking that it’s not God (whom I doubt exists, anyway) that I have to thank, but every Boy Scout leader I ever had, every karate instructor I ever had, and every teacher who ever challenged me to do better than I was. I’m 31—I have plenty of experience to help me through the trials and travails of teaching in this unique and challenging environment.
And today it got just a little more challenging when a fight, an actual “I want to physically kick you ass” kind of fight, broke out between two students in my classroom.
Actually, as I look back on it now, handling the fight was actually easier than getting my classes, as a whole, to stay on task. The former only requires a willingness to step between two students who want to kill each other and the thought to send another student out into the hall for security. The latter requires a myriad of much more subtle skills, not to mention a hell of a lot more energy.
Perhaps I set the tone for frustration early in the class when, out of frustration that some students kept asking me the same question over and over, when I had clearly explained today’s schedule change at least twice, I put on my “I’m extremely annoyed act” (OK, those of you who know me know it wasn’t an act) and gave the whole class my “I’m not putting up with this foolishness today” lecture. Shortly thereafter, I got into a disagreement with Danny over a dog tag he had been playing with, passing around to other students when he should have been listening to me, and basically sent him to talk to the student advocate (a cross between a counselor and a disciplinarian). I hate getting angry with my kids, but sometimes it’s the most effective and efficient way to get and hold their attention.
Until the fight broke out at the end of the class period, the middle part of the class went exceedingly well. I read them a short story while they followed along, I got them talking about the story in small groups, and then we had a mostly productive whole-class discussion for about 15 minutes.
Then Lora and Kara decided to start trading insults.
“Bitch,” I heard one of them say.
“You’re the bitch. I’m not afraid of you,” the other replied (or something very much like it).
“Listen to me, I’m not afraid of you, bring it on, bitch!”
I tried diplomacy: “You should both be listening to me!” I said with as much easygoing firmness as I could muster without shouting at them. But the rest of the room had disappeared for these girls. All that was real to them was each other, and the insults they were hurling back and forth.
When Lora stood up I did too, walking over to them, still trying to get their attention by saying “Ladies, ladies,” over and over again, more firmly each time. But they didn’t hear me.
As Lora moved around the desks that separated her from Kara, Kara decided to get up, and she kept hurling insults, variations on “Bring it on, bitch, I ain’t afraid of you.”
Luckily, Carl got there first and stepped between the two girls just long enough to stop them from taking swings at each other. Hoping to avoid getting Carl mixed up in this fight, I thanked him for his help and asked him to sit back down, even as I interposed myself between the two girls and told them to sit down and calm down.
But Kara made to move around me, and I moved to keep myself between her and Lora. The insults were still flying, and all these girls wanted was each other’s blood. Kara moved again, and so did I, this time moving to face Kara, arms spread wide, keenly aware, as only someone who has been kicked in the groin many times can be, of how vulnerable I was if either girl decided to take her frustrations out on me.
It was Lora, whom I had my back to, that decided the issue for me. She kicked past me at Kara, striking her in the hip. I’m proud to say that I stayed exactly where I was, stayed calm, and had the presence of mind to tell John to go get security. I’m less proud to say that in a tiny little corner of my mind, I heard a voice say “terrible round kick form, and it hit the hip—no point.” You can take the man out of the dojo . . .
When Lora landed a second kick I decided it was time to move Kara out of the room as quickly as possible. I ushered her out of the room, and she kept spouting insults the whole way. By that time, Ms. B, the counselor, had come into my class and was taking care of Lora. Both girls were escorted to different rooms to talk about the incident with either the counselor or the advocate. I went back to a room that was more than a little riled up.
Luckily, there were only five minutes left of class.
So there it is, the story of the first in-class fight I broke up between two students. It’s probably not as exciting as you were hoping for, but it certainly gives you a little taste of how interesting things can get down here from time to time.
You might think, given the dearth of entries in here as of late, that nothing much has been going on in my little corner of Chicago’s South Side. I wish that were true. Some days I leave my apartment at 7 a.m. and don’t get back until 8 that night. I’m a first-year teacher: I always have a mountain of prep work to do. My mantra: next year this will be so much easier.
Truth to tell, though, eight years teaching writing in college, not to mention an MA in English, gives me more than a little edge this year. Thirteen years in the martial arts doesn’t hurt, either. Mrs. Grossett, one of the instructional support specialists for the program I’m teaching in, paid me a very high compliment last week when she said that me and two of the other older teachers were, “the strongest teachers we have up here.” She went on to praise what she called my God-given talents for teaching and leadership. I just nodded and smiled, all the while thinking that it’s not God (whom I doubt exists, anyway) that I have to thank, but every Boy Scout leader I ever had, every karate instructor I ever had, and every teacher who ever challenged me to do better than I was. I’m 31—I have plenty of experience to help me through the trials and travails of teaching in this unique and challenging environment.
And today it got just a little more challenging when a fight, an actual “I want to physically kick you ass” kind of fight, broke out between two students in my classroom.
Actually, as I look back on it now, handling the fight was actually easier than getting my classes, as a whole, to stay on task. The former only requires a willingness to step between two students who want to kill each other and the thought to send another student out into the hall for security. The latter requires a myriad of much more subtle skills, not to mention a hell of a lot more energy.
Perhaps I set the tone for frustration early in the class when, out of frustration that some students kept asking me the same question over and over, when I had clearly explained today’s schedule change at least twice, I put on my “I’m extremely annoyed act” (OK, those of you who know me know it wasn’t an act) and gave the whole class my “I’m not putting up with this foolishness today” lecture. Shortly thereafter, I got into a disagreement with Danny over a dog tag he had been playing with, passing around to other students when he should have been listening to me, and basically sent him to talk to the student advocate (a cross between a counselor and a disciplinarian). I hate getting angry with my kids, but sometimes it’s the most effective and efficient way to get and hold their attention.
Until the fight broke out at the end of the class period, the middle part of the class went exceedingly well. I read them a short story while they followed along, I got them talking about the story in small groups, and then we had a mostly productive whole-class discussion for about 15 minutes.
Then Lora and Kara decided to start trading insults.
“Bitch,” I heard one of them say.
“You’re the bitch. I’m not afraid of you,” the other replied (or something very much like it).
“Listen to me, I’m not afraid of you, bring it on, bitch!”
I tried diplomacy: “You should both be listening to me!” I said with as much easygoing firmness as I could muster without shouting at them. But the rest of the room had disappeared for these girls. All that was real to them was each other, and the insults they were hurling back and forth.
When Lora stood up I did too, walking over to them, still trying to get their attention by saying “Ladies, ladies,” over and over again, more firmly each time. But they didn’t hear me.
As Lora moved around the desks that separated her from Kara, Kara decided to get up, and she kept hurling insults, variations on “Bring it on, bitch, I ain’t afraid of you.”
Luckily, Carl got there first and stepped between the two girls just long enough to stop them from taking swings at each other. Hoping to avoid getting Carl mixed up in this fight, I thanked him for his help and asked him to sit back down, even as I interposed myself between the two girls and told them to sit down and calm down.
But Kara made to move around me, and I moved to keep myself between her and Lora. The insults were still flying, and all these girls wanted was each other’s blood. Kara moved again, and so did I, this time moving to face Kara, arms spread wide, keenly aware, as only someone who has been kicked in the groin many times can be, of how vulnerable I was if either girl decided to take her frustrations out on me.
It was Lora, whom I had my back to, that decided the issue for me. She kicked past me at Kara, striking her in the hip. I’m proud to say that I stayed exactly where I was, stayed calm, and had the presence of mind to tell John to go get security. I’m less proud to say that in a tiny little corner of my mind, I heard a voice say “terrible round kick form, and it hit the hip—no point.” You can take the man out of the dojo . . .
When Lora landed a second kick I decided it was time to move Kara out of the room as quickly as possible. I ushered her out of the room, and she kept spouting insults the whole way. By that time, Ms. B, the counselor, had come into my class and was taking care of Lora. Both girls were escorted to different rooms to talk about the incident with either the counselor or the advocate. I went back to a room that was more than a little riled up.
Luckily, there were only five minutes left of class.
So there it is, the story of the first in-class fight I broke up between two students. It’s probably not as exciting as you were hoping for, but it certainly gives you a little taste of how interesting things can get down here from time to time.
posted by Christopher at
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