Semester Reflection
I'll let this story stand for my experiences in general:
On Friday I broke up my first fight at Simmons. Two kids in my fourth period--my lunch period--were involved. I should have seen the fight coming; while walking back from lunch on Thursday, the two got into each other's faces. I pulled them apart, but I thought nothing of it: these two were not the usual suspects to do something stupid.
Friday was destined to be a powderkeg. It was the day of our playoff game against Rosedale, THE 2A football team in the state of MS (though when i saw their 70 person band and 50+ person football team, I wondered why exactly they were in 2A at all (as opposed to Conference USA, for instance), but those are sour grapes and anyways it's not my story to tell...). It goes without saying, the school was electric with anticipation.
To add to the general mayhem, a subplot of intrigue: In October, the school was witness to a...well, a brawl. 15 kids suspended. A big to-do. Humbugging and knit-brows (but little else) from those in position to do more. The genesis was straight from Shakespeare: two rival cliques (Arcola vs. Hollandale; A-town goons vs. Get-Money-Boys) feuding because it's what they've always done.
When the dust settled and the suspensions expired, our principal added an addendum: the cliques are to stay apart, disband, not meet one another in the streets. Right...ask the Prince of Verona how that worked out. The edict lasted two days at most. The groundswell of these kids' natural inclinations could have been checked by diligence or perseverance or at least giving-a-damn, but we were as inert as the rocks that a stream burbles over. By gameday Friday, our idiots were grouping together again at lunch, harassing girls and jabbering like fools.
Though the record may not bear me out, I have no doubt that the first of these cliques reignited my freshmen's dispute (seeing as one of them wants to be accepted by that crowd, for reasons that I cannot divine). In respect to my classical instruction, a jump to the historical present:
While eating whatever was served for lunch (baked chicken, perhaps), I notice a rush of bodies towards the cafeteria exit. High school etiquette being what it is, I realize that so much movement, so quickly, can only presage a fight. I leave my lunch (let 'em tamper with it, I won't be back to finish it) and bulldoze through the gathered pack. My two freshmen are outside the cafeteria, against the wall, face-to-face, and bumping chests. It's all bluster at this point, so I take one and shove him into the cafeteria while restraining the other, holding him outside.
What's happened, though, is enough to taint the water and all our sharks have scented blood. The scene outside is giddy and unrestrained: the gathered students are hopped up on hope of a fight, shouting and screaming, jostling and pantomiming what they hope to see. I make a mistake; in my own way I'm as hyped as they are, except I'm high on my own feeling of disciplinary control. For 20 seconds, I think I can reign them all back into line. Not content to defuse a fight, I try to defuse the whole situation. I hand out writing assignments and bark reprisals, to limited effect.
Those 20 wasted seconds are time enough. The freshman I had pushed inside the cafeteria has come back out. Preternaturally, I turn from my peace-keeping duties in time to see the two back together, tensed up. One throws a fist; all order breaks down. As if through an imagined muscle-memory, or some instinct previously lain dormant, I'm immediately between the two, bracketing one behind my body, arms back, thrusting him into the wall while I shield him from the blows of the other. I keep my face and body towards the one who's free, while I pin the other to the wall, preventing his reprisal.
Amidst the chaos, something amazing happens.
Another of my freshmen--one of the clique leaders--pulls the unbracketed fighter away from the brawl. I say to this new entrant (D, we'll call him): "D, take C back into the hallway. Get him out of here." While all the world shouts and screams and lusts for blood, D steers C into the school proper (the cafeteria is in an adjacent building) and away from the fight. I wrestle the bracketed K circuitously towards the office. When I arrive, K in tow, who should I see but D standing legs apart and arms crossed, staring holes through C, who's sitting petulantly in a corner.
It was the proudest I've ever been as a teacher. This is why:
As I said, D was one of the clique leaders. During the big fight, he was an instigator and major contributor. When he came back from the alternative school I told him that I didn't care if the other kids who weren't supposed to hang out at lunch did actually did so, HE--since he was in my class--was not to sit with them. If they came and sat next to him, he was to get up and sit by me.
I told him that and he ignored me. I asked him how many times must I repeat my order. He said 27, but he didn't mean it. He asked me to stop after 18. And damn it all, he followed through. He stopped sitting with the idiots and sat with his class (like he was supposed to). On Friday, when his idiot clique buddies tried again, he left and sat next to me, taking in stride their taunts about "leaving us for a teach."
And then he took the most responsibility I've ever seen any freshman take, helping me to break up this fight and actually get his kid to the office before I got mine there.
What this says to me is that, regardless of anything related to the subject of English that I may or may not have taught, it looks like--on one day when it mattered most--a kid who had every right to act worse showed me that he'd learned how to act better. And that's a hopeful sign. Ironically (if that's the word for it), by having to break up my first fight, I realize it's been a good first semester.
