The Driver, The Scrotum, and The Fight

The following are three stories of varying length and hilarity that all occurred just this past Friday.  Enjoy.

The Driver

As one of my 8th grade orchestra classes was unpacking and getting tuned, one of my violinists, Susan, popped up, and said, "Oh! Mrs. Martin! I'm writing a story for English and you're in it!"  Naturally I asked, "Am I the good guy or the bad guy?"  Susan joyfully exclaimed, "You're the driver!" I'm not sure how to take that one...  I just laughed and told her I wanted to read it when she was finished.  I am embarrassingly curious about my role.  What kind of vehicle do I drive?  Is it a limo?  A cab?  A bus?  Is there a heist? Am I assisting in a robbery?  And if so, am I being tricked into it or something like that one Jesse Eisenberg movie, or am I more criminal like in The Dark Knight? Who am I driving around? Could it be the modern leader of the Aryan race who recently wrote an alarmingly hateful book against the Jews like that one Seinfeld episode? Or is it a bus load of people I have to keep alive by driving a bus above 60 mph and I'm a beautiful brunette? Am I like Ranjit from How I Met Your Mother where I know everything about everyone's lives and am a lovable Pakistani/Indian/(Iranian?) jokester?  Or am I more like Mr. Big's driver from Sex in the City who you never see but who is always there when you need him?  I am truly curious as to why Susan cast me as the driver and I want to know what that means she thinks of me...  Also I watch too much T.V.

The Scrotum: (This wonderful story come secondhand, courtesy of one of my colleagues.  I just had to share it because who doesn't love a good scrotum story?)

So one of my colleagues, Debbie, and I are sitting by each other at our monthly all-staff breakfast meeting and one of the Jaguar teachers approaches us and says to Debbie, "Can you come to our table and tell the scrotum story?  No one can tell it like you!"  Debbie laughs and says she'll be over in a sec.  I of course turn immediately to her and demand to hear the scrotum story.  Here is what she said:

Debbie teaches HOST, which stands for "Helping One Student at a Time", which is basically a mandatory elective for students who are behind in reading.  She gets a wide variety of personalities in her class.  The other day, two of her Jaguar students, Dontell and Javon, were horsing around, kind of wrestling with each other, before class.  Debbie was helping a student at her desk and her back was to the boys.  At some point,  Dontell shoved Javon playfully in the back and Javon howled dramatically, "Ow!  My scrotum!" and clutched his back.  Debbie whipped around and said sharply, "Javon!  That is not an appropriate thing to say!"
"But my back really hurts!" responded Javon. Debbie took a pause.
"Do you mean your spine?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah, I guess.  Then what's a scrotum?"  Debbie could guess where this was going.
"It's a body part," she answered.  Now Dontell was now intrigued.
"Is it a bad body part?" Dontell asked seriously.
Debbie answered back seriously, "Yes."
"Does everyone have it?" said an impish yet obviously genuinely curious Javon.
Debbie had resigned at this point. "No."
Dontell could tell they were getting closer.  "Do girls have it?"
Debbie sighed. "No."
Javon and Dontell, who had finally figured it out, both breathed, "Ohhhh..."
Debbie, her human anatomy work done for the day, turned away and gathered herself before she had to begin class, thinking this gem of a story could not get any better when she heard one of the boys say,
"Huh. I guess that's why in that one song he goes "I gotta scrotum like a saggy bag of skin"

I want to know what kind of music that kid is listening to...

The Fight:

As I've lamented before, I have the misfortune of serving lunch supervision duty.  Yesterday I had the privilege of witnessing a fight up close.  There were many slow motion moments that I've reflected on and have come up with a million things I should have done.  It was all over in about 20 seconds though, so maybe next time...

So I'm making my rounds up and down the rows of lunch tables on the Panther side of the lunch room (they have blue lanyards, by the way) and from across the cafeteria I see a kid in a blue sweatshirt standing up.  I wait for a few seconds for him to sit back down, and he doesn't.  So I sigh and start making my way over to him to remind him to "stay in your seat..." when I see another boy in a grey sweatshirt actually get up from his table and start walking over to the blue sweatshirt.  I still didn't know exactly what was about to go down though because the demeanor of each boy was not angry or aggressive.  I figured I'd have to make them go sit on the wall and eat their lunch or something, a common punishment for getting up out of your seat and visiting other tables.

I say neither boy looked angry or aggressive, which is true.  In retrospect, knowing what was about to happen in about 3 seconds time, I can say exactly what they looked like.  Blue sweatshirt had a glint of excitement in his eyes; they were smiling but not in a friendly way.  His whole body seemed to be asking, "Is this going to happen?  Am I going to get in my first fight?"  Grey sweatshirt had this slow plod of a walk, which spoke, "I really don't want to put this much effort into anything, but I know this is what I'm supposed to do when someone says something like that to me..."

So I'm still about 3 tables away when I start to sense that they're not just going to illegally share some hot cheetos and rag on each other's girls.  Grey sweatshirt had stopped just a little too close to blue sweatshirt and blue sweatshirt, with that excited glint in his eye, had just said something to him.  I was 2 tables away. This is when I shouted out, "Hey!"

Grey sweatshirt threw the first punch.  It was the lamest punch I've ever seen in my life.  The rest of his body was still stooped in his "Well, I wish I could just finish my lunch but I guess I'm gonna fight now..." posture, and only his sad little right arm came up to tap Blue Sweatshirt on the jaw.  And it was so slow!  That's why I know Blue Sweatshirt wanted to tango because anyone under the age of 90 and below the blood alcohol level of .05 could have dodged that wimpy punch.

The reaction was instantaneous.  By this time, I had bounded the three-stride-lengths to the table at which they had been standing.  None of the other kids were really into the build-up, because, like I said, it was pretty lame.  But as soon as Grey Sweatshirt tapped Blue Sweatshirt on the chin and the two boys had kicked into turbo gear every kid in the joint was on their feet either sliding out of the way or pushing closer to see.  Blue Sweatshirt launched himself at Grey Sweatshirt, punching him as hard as he could with both fists.  Grey sweatshirt, who was bigger but slower, eventually got himself positioned above him and they danced their way to the ground, punching and punching as they circled.  The kids had formed a sort of chair barricade, a chairicade if you will, in front of me as I screamed, "Stop!  Stop it!  Get off!  Stop right now!"  My training told me not to step in between them or try to pull one off the other.  My common sense also told me not to step in between them or try to pull one off the other, because even though both 7th grade Panther boys still had that baby-boy-round-face look and their voices hadn't yet changed all the way, they both still probably had at least 5-7 inches and 20 pounds on me.  And they were  pounding away as fast as they could at whatever their fists would hit.  What I did was drag the students sitting in the chairs directly next to the brawl back (so I guess I reinforced their chaircade in the end...) and screamed for Ooley, the 6'5" 250 lb music teacher who served lunch duty with me.  Unfortunately I don't think Ooley could initially see what was happening nor would he guess because it escalated so quickly and the surrounding kids didn't start yelling until the Sweatshirts had been beating on each other for at least 5 seconds.  But what he could see was a bunch of kids on their feet, which usually means someone spilled/threw chocolate milk or red fruit punch all over the floor, but could also sometimes mean someone is hurt, or, the worst option, that someone is fighting. So his first few steps were a little slow and questioning, then when he saw what was happening he ran up to the boys and shouted, "Get of of each other!" and gruffly grabbed Blue Sweatshirt around the torso, pulling him back.  Duana, the other music teacher on duty, had made it to the scene by then, approaching from the non-chairicade side of the fight, and pulled the hood of Grey Sweatshirt backwards.  The boys immediately let go of each other: not a tug or a lunge back at the other, which was another sign to me that they were both nubes and didn't really have any issues with each other but just had to initiate themselves into the world of man by banging their baby fists into each others baby flesh.  There was also this air of pride in themselves and each other when the teachers pulled them apart; it was as if they were two stunt doubles in a T.V. show who had just finished a scene.  I was half expecting them to shake hands and say, "Well done, bro."

I have a twinge of regret after witnessing my first fight as a teacher, as someone who has the authority to make them stop.  I wish I would have stepped between them and tried to pull one off the other.  They are my kids and they were hurting each other. (I think Blue Sweatshirt ended up with a minor split lip- I've had worse when mine are chapped- and Grey Sweatshirt had the makings of a pretty sweet black eye- I am slightly jealous, I've always wanted a good shiner.)  It is my responsibility to take care of them and make sure they leave school in the same condition, hopefully better, than they entered.  So by putting my own safety first, I feel like I showed my true "fight-or-flight" (or in my case, "fight-or-stand-and-scream") colors.  Wasn't it selfish of me, or lazy of me, or something of me not to have stepped in?  I can think of at least a dozen different things I could have done, what I should have done, what I would have said I would have done to anyone else with a similar story: "Well, I would have..."  The chairicade was only one or two students deep in the beginning, I could have easily shoved my way through, Les Mis style. (Every song from that musical has been belting through my head since I came up with "chairicade".) And what was the worst that could have happened?  I could have gotten punched?  And shouldn't I have risked that for my students? So what does that say about my personality?  What does that say about me as a teacher?  What does that say about me as a future parent?  Yeah, yeah, they weren't my real kids. They weren't even my orchestra students.  I don't even know their names.  Which is why I said I have a twinge of guilt.  I'm not beating myself up over it.  And hey, who knows?  Maybe at the next fight I'll get to try out one of my other ideas from the dozen I came up with after this one.  Or maybe I'll just stand and scream again while I wait for the big strong man to step in.

Ah, the life of a middle school teacher is never a dull one.  I am so happy I have these stories to ponder, laugh about, and retell at parties.  Seriously, how are teachers not the hit of every party with all this raw material?