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Wanton boys.
Sep. 7th, 2005 07:14 pmI am already running late for class. The corridor is full of students, babbling excitedly, waving their arms in my face. Someone shouts: "Miss, there's been a fight. J. is crying. He hit K. real hard."
Like Moses I raise my hand, parting the sea. I don't have that special staff, so I raise my voice, too: "Off to your classrooms. Now. J., K., you stay here."
The boys, one small and slight, the other taller, but more awkward, are left staring at each other from different ends of the hallway while I brave the sticky heat of the classroom. I quickly dole out a task and give instructions: "Work quietly." The shiny faces of my students and their whispering, chair-scraping and fidgeting tell me that they won't. With a menacing glare that is lost on them I say: "I'll be back."
Three chairs between the lockers are set up to host the peace talks. Doubling as negotiator and interrogator I am trying to establish the facts. K. admits that together with the boys he ventured out to enemy territory, a classroom he doesn't belong in. "Yes, I was there, near the door, near J.," he pauses, clears his throat and looks away, "then he hit me". He doesn't offer any details. I turn to J., who is known to cry and lash out because a speech impediment makes it hard for him to defend himself with words. He doesn't have full control of his limbs either. When he is agitated, it's worse. Struggling, fighting the tears, J. stumbles: "The boys.. his form. They...embrace me."
"Embrace you? K., can you explain?"
"Sorry, Miss, I don't understand him." He acknowledges that they tease J., but he won't say how. He doesn't look me in the eye opting to inspect his hands instead. As a female and not wise to the ways of teenage boys, I'm confused.
Reluctantly, J. helps us: "They act queer."
Now I get it. As the negotiator I want to give K. the chance to react. He doesn't.
"And that's what he did? That's why you hit him?", I ask J.
"Yes. - But.. didn't want ...hit his face..." Oh yes, I think, I bet you wanted to get him in the balls.
I am wrong: "...only ... shoulder." He is clearly sorry.
K. who I know has followed the bigger boys' lead in all this confesses he did "what J. said". He is embarrassed but he is not prepared to apologize.
I send them back to their classrooms and return to mine where I'm greeted by utter chaos.
I will keep you updated about how we deal with this.
Like Moses I raise my hand, parting the sea. I don't have that special staff, so I raise my voice, too: "Off to your classrooms. Now. J., K., you stay here."
The boys, one small and slight, the other taller, but more awkward, are left staring at each other from different ends of the hallway while I brave the sticky heat of the classroom. I quickly dole out a task and give instructions: "Work quietly." The shiny faces of my students and their whispering, chair-scraping and fidgeting tell me that they won't. With a menacing glare that is lost on them I say: "I'll be back."
Three chairs between the lockers are set up to host the peace talks. Doubling as negotiator and interrogator I am trying to establish the facts. K. admits that together with the boys he ventured out to enemy territory, a classroom he doesn't belong in. "Yes, I was there, near the door, near J.," he pauses, clears his throat and looks away, "then he hit me". He doesn't offer any details. I turn to J., who is known to cry and lash out because a speech impediment makes it hard for him to defend himself with words. He doesn't have full control of his limbs either. When he is agitated, it's worse. Struggling, fighting the tears, J. stumbles: "The boys.. his form. They...embrace me."
"Embrace you? K., can you explain?"
"Sorry, Miss, I don't understand him." He acknowledges that they tease J., but he won't say how. He doesn't look me in the eye opting to inspect his hands instead. As a female and not wise to the ways of teenage boys, I'm confused.
Reluctantly, J. helps us: "They act queer."
Now I get it. As the negotiator I want to give K. the chance to react. He doesn't.
"And that's what he did? That's why you hit him?", I ask J.
"Yes. - But.. didn't want ...hit his face..." Oh yes, I think, I bet you wanted to get him in the balls.
I am wrong: "...only ... shoulder." He is clearly sorry.
K. who I know has followed the bigger boys' lead in all this confesses he did "what J. said". He is embarrassed but he is not prepared to apologize.
I send them back to their classrooms and return to mine where I'm greeted by utter chaos.
I will keep you updated about how we deal with this.
