this ain't boston public, people
March 18, 2004, 2:08 pm
The fist making contact with my body didn't hurt as much as the rushing in my ears afterward: a kid hit me, a kid hit me, a kid HIT me, a kid HIT ME, a KID HIT ME, A KID HIT ME...and it just went from there.
I tried to break up a fight in my classroom yesterday. Two kids almost flipped over a computer onto another kid's head, then tussled enough to get me to try to pry them apart, caught me between them, and then after flipping over a desk and falling over, I managed to seperate them, when one of them punched me, pushed me into a table, and lunged for the other one.
...a kid hit me, a kid HIT me, a kid HIT ME, a KID HIT ME, A KID HIT ME...
This is the stuff that happens "somewhere" but not here, and most certainly not to me. There is a bruise on my arm that won't be healing soon, my neck and shoulder are fucked, and my wrist is red.
You could ask where the other teachers were and I could tell you that after hitting the emergency button again and again, no one came. It wasn't until I sent two kids for help and another student jumped in my room that another teacher came in and watched me being bandied around like a ping pong ball.
...a kid hit me, a kid hit ME...
My anger is palpable at this point. There were 32 kids in my room yesterday, and 30 of them wanted to LEARN. I couldn't help them, I couldn't protect them, and the only thing I could teach them was their teacher is a puss who cries when she gets hit HARD in the side...and in the heart.