Well, I guess it's official: I am a teacher in an inner city school. Yes, that's right. I broke up my first fight today. Wow, kids! 2.5 weeks in and you're already at each other's throats.
I don't even know how it happened. Some silly issue just escalated SO fast, and before I knew it, I was pulling two kids apart (with the help of three or four other kids, so you know--fifth grade boys are strong!). Also, can I just say that it's mildly ridiculous that we're not supposed to get physically involved in "altercations" like this? What am I supposed to do, let the kids wrestle each other to the ground and wait patiently for an administrator to make it all the way out to the trailers? That seems... silly, I guess is the word.
Whatever. It's over. I unleashed the fury of a thousand suns on the whole class (honestly, I have never seen such terror on kids' faces), pulled the boys into "the hall" (aka outside), yelled at them, and made the boys apologize to each other. They seemed to mean it, so that's good. And it won't happen again.
The serious upside to my week is that ESL (English as a Second Language) classes are *finally* going to start "soon" (of course we don't know when "soon" really is). That means that my two refugee children will be pulled from my class for significant amounts of time so they can, you know, actually learn that pesky language that I keep babbling to them.
That's it for now. More when I can find the energy.