Limits
On Friday, I stepped in the middle of two escalating fights and a student asked me, in front of the whole class as the other students were working on group work, how I would feel if he jumped out the window (the first week of school, this student wrote about suicide in his journal and I had to take care of it then, as well).
As far as the first fight goes, I had a choice to make. I could either step in between the two that were going to pummel each other and kick one of the students out, or I could pray that they could hold off fighting long enough for me to call security.
Needless to say, I got in the middle. The aggressor left. I talked to the remaining student, who continually repeated that what happened outside of school was none of the school's business and he couldn't get in trouble for it, to which I responded that it wasn't worth getting beat up or beating him up or getting angry and possibly having it go to far.
The second was during lunch, with a girl that has been a discipline problem in general, but has been amazing for me. One of the "preppy" girls was making fun of her for how she looked and who she hung out with, and she got very angry. Some of the other teachers who helped diffuse the situation talked about the "black girls" and the "slutty girls" as if they were in the wrong. It was enough to make me want to walk out. We try to teach our kids to be tolerant and not stereotype, and then we turn around and do it ourselves? It just isn't right.
When the girl got to class, right after lunch, she asked me if she could journal about her experience during lunch to blow off some steam. I told her that she could do that any time, and I talked to her about the productive ways to burn off some anger, writing being one of them. Hopefully she took that to heart.
I also talked to the student who was longingly looking out the window, asking me how I'd feel if he jumped. I told him I'd be sad. I told him if he needed someone to talk to, that he should talk to me or a counselor or anyone. He told me about his suicidal thoughts, about how he was upset because he didn't want to go visit his dad this weekend. I wanted to cry.
What do all three of these situations have in common? They all added up to make me realize my limits as their teacher. When you decide you want to teach, you decide you want to change lives, to make a difference, to be involved in a positive fashion. You think that you're doing good by these kids, you think that you're making a difference in how they act toward each other. You think that they think about what you've said to them after they leave the confines of your classroom.
But then, something like this happens and you aren't so sure. I don't know if the first boy went to fight the other boy. I don't know if the girl went home and cried or got her aggression out in some unproductive way. I don't know if the other boy will be in school on Monday.
It's then that you realize your limits as their teacher. And it's a hard thing to realize.
As far as the first fight goes, I had a choice to make. I could either step in between the two that were going to pummel each other and kick one of the students out, or I could pray that they could hold off fighting long enough for me to call security.
Needless to say, I got in the middle. The aggressor left. I talked to the remaining student, who continually repeated that what happened outside of school was none of the school's business and he couldn't get in trouble for it, to which I responded that it wasn't worth getting beat up or beating him up or getting angry and possibly having it go to far.
The second was during lunch, with a girl that has been a discipline problem in general, but has been amazing for me. One of the "preppy" girls was making fun of her for how she looked and who she hung out with, and she got very angry. Some of the other teachers who helped diffuse the situation talked about the "black girls" and the "slutty girls" as if they were in the wrong. It was enough to make me want to walk out. We try to teach our kids to be tolerant and not stereotype, and then we turn around and do it ourselves? It just isn't right.
When the girl got to class, right after lunch, she asked me if she could journal about her experience during lunch to blow off some steam. I told her that she could do that any time, and I talked to her about the productive ways to burn off some anger, writing being one of them. Hopefully she took that to heart.
I also talked to the student who was longingly looking out the window, asking me how I'd feel if he jumped. I told him I'd be sad. I told him if he needed someone to talk to, that he should talk to me or a counselor or anyone. He told me about his suicidal thoughts, about how he was upset because he didn't want to go visit his dad this weekend. I wanted to cry.
What do all three of these situations have in common? They all added up to make me realize my limits as their teacher. When you decide you want to teach, you decide you want to change lives, to make a difference, to be involved in a positive fashion. You think that you're doing good by these kids, you think that you're making a difference in how they act toward each other. You think that they think about what you've said to them after they leave the confines of your classroom.
But then, something like this happens and you aren't so sure. I don't know if the first boy went to fight the other boy. I don't know if the girl went home and cried or got her aggression out in some unproductive way. I don't know if the other boy will be in school on Monday.
It's then that you realize your limits as their teacher. And it's a hard thing to realize.