In the last three days I’ve witnessed three major fights at school between my students.
First there is a precursory look, a glance, a comment. Feelings are hurt, souls are injured. Next comes a roaring rage. One moment two boys are humouring each other, and in the next moment in a splash of red anger, fury erupts. Then there is the release in a show of strength, followed by crying by the time mediators arrive.
This week, I’ve had a desk and baseball glove (thank goodness it wasn’t the bat) flung in my direction. I caught the backend of the third fight.
Afterwards, the students involved are habitually sent on garbage duty, to pick up garbage together with the behaviour technician. By the time they are back in class, all is forgotten.
But not by me.