![]() I tried to explain that CCSD is emphatic in its instructions regarding non-intervention in such situations, that there can be legalities involved, and that all that video they shot of the fight could be used to paint me as an abuser of one or more girls. Others openly called me out on not separating the two. A kid from one of my other sections described me as ‘helpless’ in the video. Some of my students didn’t see my actions in a positive light. There are multiple openings across the skeletal staff, and no substitutes to take up the slack. The same week the fight happened in my room, we lost the office manager and a monitor to other schools. Some thought I’d quit, and one even texted me, saying they would’ve stayed out for a week.īut I felt like my students have been through enough in the last eighteen months, what with COVID and distance learning and the constant turnover in our staff. My colleagues were impressed at my willingness to jump back in so quickly. I took one day off, then returned to work. This was the first time in three years anyone told me what the button was used for. Someone mentioned a white button attached to the wall underneath the intercom to call for assistance in the future. The officer I spoke with suggested to administration I get a radio. As a teacher, you’re on an island, trying to manage upwards of forty kids or more, and that’s when they aren’t trying to kill each other. Anybody who wants to defund the cops because of alleged racism or abuse has no idea of what it’s like to work in a portable classroom. Video was out on Tik-Tok and the rest of the social media outlets these kids frequent by the next day, although realistically it was probably out there that afternoon: real-time in-school violence courtesy of the wonders of the internet, preserved for posterity.Īfter seventh period, I had to fill out a referral for my school, and a police report with CCSD police. It’s like these kids see everything as just another spectacle, even when its their own classmates who are being put in the hospital. The girls in seventh period oohed and aahed at the way one of the combatants got the upper hand, like it was MMA. There, a trio of girls watched footage of the fight on their phones, taken in the three-minute window I attempted to get the other students out of the room, then call for campus monitor assistance. ![]() ![]() Seventh period, I had to sub in another classroom, with no time to process what I’d just witnessed. Maybe because I grew up in a different generation. That two teenagers could get into it like that disgusts me. I’ve seen bar fights that weren’t as bad. The other had a map of gore trailing down the lower half of her face, along with a broken nose, concussion, and a full-set-of-teeth bite mark on her arm.Īfterwards, blood lay all over the portable: dark splatters on the carpet, splotches on my phone pocket and whiteboard, chunks caked on the metal clip underneath the board. The girl who threw the first punch emerged without a scratch. Two girls in the class got into a fight because one called the other the ‘b-word.’ The offended party got up from her seat, said something to the effect of, ‘you don’t get to call me that’, and then proceed to pound on the other. The blood was from a fight that occurred on a Monday at the end of my sixth period, one period shy of the end of the day. ![]() I think I was okay with this year up until I had to clean the blood off the whiteboard in the portable classroom where I work at a Las Vegas middle school. ![]()
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