The First Fight of the Year
I managed to keep two students from fighting in my first class. I wasn’t so lucky in my last class.
In the first class, Roman and Jeremy had been “gunning” each other for at least an hour, despite my firm reminder that respect is rule #1 in my class. When Roman started getting visibly agitated and telling the whole class “I’ll beat his ass,” in reference to Jeremy, I ushered Roman out into the hall. Not to yell at him, just to get him away from a hostile situation. He went and talked to the two student advocates, and no fists were thrown.
Fists were thrown in my last class.
Because that last class had wasted so much instructional time with side-chatter, I ended up holding them for three minutes after the final bell rang. There was some complaining—loud and childish complaining—but most of the students sat down. Some were trying to push past me out the door, but I just kept telling them to sit down, and I think I would have succeeded in getting them sitting down, had I not then heard “You wanna go?!”
I looked past the students trying to push past me, and saw Errol and Gus in very bad boxing stances: fists up but not protecting the face, weight so far back on the rear leg that moving forward—much less actually reaching your opponent with a punch—is almost impossible. It took me half a second to realize these two were serious, so I opened the door and called for security.
The security guard was on his walkie-talkie as soon as I called out “Hurry!” I looked back in the room. Errol and Gus were now clinched, and Errol was getting the worst of it: Gus’s from-the-shoulder punches were weak and ineffectual, but they must have stung a little as they peppered Errol’s face. But Errol wasn’t just standing still. The two were locked in that street-tough “as long as we both hold on to each other this will look impressive but not hurt much” embrace, and they were careening around my room like a blaster bolt in the Death Star trash compactor. They knocked one of my box fans out of the window (into the room, thankfully, and not out into the street), they knocked one of my white boards down. I was afraid they’d knock my computer off of my desk.
Then one security guard was there, pulling the two fighters apart. Gus calmed down right away, but Errol was enraged, the way I always used to get when I was seven and the victim of some merciless teasing from my classmates. Errol wanted a piece of Gus, and one security guard wasn’t going to stop him.
Two more security guards showed up. The head of security showed up. The attendance coordinator showed up. The assistant principal showed up. I was stuck in the doorway/atrium between all of them, so when I let Gus out of the room, presumably to be taken away by security so we could get Errol out of there, Errol tried to charge his way through all of us in the doorway. He was flailing around so much as security tried to subdue him that I took a slap on the face. It didn’t hurt. I’ve been dropped by better punchers than this wild kid. But still, that’s not what I expected when I went into work this morning.
It hurts me more to watch some of these kids tease and insult and belittle each other pretty much constantly, despite my efforts to teach them a better way. So much anger and insecurity. I come home and I can still taste it, like the rancid tang of rotten meat coating my tongue, even though I have only smelled it and not eaten any. I get home and get on my ski machine and bask in the baptism of pouring-off-my-body-sweat that 30 low-impact minutes can give me. And I still feel awful. The only thing I can do is go back and keep trying. These kids are hard-headed, but mine’s harder. I’ve had more experience banging it into things. It’s a wonder I don’t have a concussion. Or an acute subdural hematoma.
Eventually security restrained and calmed down a howling Errol, even though Gus had slipped away in the confusion. It won’t matter, though: both boys have been suspended for 10 days, as per the Uniform Discipline Code of Chicago Public Schools. We can’t help them if they’re not in school, but we can’t let them solve their disputes with fisticuffs, either.
In the first class, Roman and Jeremy had been “gunning” each other for at least an hour, despite my firm reminder that respect is rule #1 in my class. When Roman started getting visibly agitated and telling the whole class “I’ll beat his ass,” in reference to Jeremy, I ushered Roman out into the hall. Not to yell at him, just to get him away from a hostile situation. He went and talked to the two student advocates, and no fists were thrown.
Fists were thrown in my last class.
Because that last class had wasted so much instructional time with side-chatter, I ended up holding them for three minutes after the final bell rang. There was some complaining—loud and childish complaining—but most of the students sat down. Some were trying to push past me out the door, but I just kept telling them to sit down, and I think I would have succeeded in getting them sitting down, had I not then heard “You wanna go?!”
I looked past the students trying to push past me, and saw Errol and Gus in very bad boxing stances: fists up but not protecting the face, weight so far back on the rear leg that moving forward—much less actually reaching your opponent with a punch—is almost impossible. It took me half a second to realize these two were serious, so I opened the door and called for security.
The security guard was on his walkie-talkie as soon as I called out “Hurry!” I looked back in the room. Errol and Gus were now clinched, and Errol was getting the worst of it: Gus’s from-the-shoulder punches were weak and ineffectual, but they must have stung a little as they peppered Errol’s face. But Errol wasn’t just standing still. The two were locked in that street-tough “as long as we both hold on to each other this will look impressive but not hurt much” embrace, and they were careening around my room like a blaster bolt in the Death Star trash compactor. They knocked one of my box fans out of the window (into the room, thankfully, and not out into the street), they knocked one of my white boards down. I was afraid they’d knock my computer off of my desk.
Then one security guard was there, pulling the two fighters apart. Gus calmed down right away, but Errol was enraged, the way I always used to get when I was seven and the victim of some merciless teasing from my classmates. Errol wanted a piece of Gus, and one security guard wasn’t going to stop him.
Two more security guards showed up. The head of security showed up. The attendance coordinator showed up. The assistant principal showed up. I was stuck in the doorway/atrium between all of them, so when I let Gus out of the room, presumably to be taken away by security so we could get Errol out of there, Errol tried to charge his way through all of us in the doorway. He was flailing around so much as security tried to subdue him that I took a slap on the face. It didn’t hurt. I’ve been dropped by better punchers than this wild kid. But still, that’s not what I expected when I went into work this morning.
It hurts me more to watch some of these kids tease and insult and belittle each other pretty much constantly, despite my efforts to teach them a better way. So much anger and insecurity. I come home and I can still taste it, like the rancid tang of rotten meat coating my tongue, even though I have only smelled it and not eaten any. I get home and get on my ski machine and bask in the baptism of pouring-off-my-body-sweat that 30 low-impact minutes can give me. And I still feel awful. The only thing I can do is go back and keep trying. These kids are hard-headed, but mine’s harder. I’ve had more experience banging it into things. It’s a wonder I don’t have a concussion. Or an acute subdural hematoma.
Eventually security restrained and calmed down a howling Errol, even though Gus had slipped away in the confusion. It won’t matter, though: both boys have been suspended for 10 days, as per the Uniform Discipline Code of Chicago Public Schools. We can’t help them if they’re not in school, but we can’t let them solve their disputes with fisticuffs, either.
posted by Christopher at
9:30 PM
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