BITCH SLAP

The general consensus amongst teachers here is that if students are going to fight, they need to sort it out themselves. Granted, if the fight gets too physical, most teachers yell at the students as the way to stop it. Personally, I’m kind of on the fence about how to handle fights and I’m certainly in no position to take sides but I definitely don’t care to stand back and yell at my babies as they pummel each other to a pulp.

Nevertheless, in the teacher’s lunchroom, a fight broke out today (12/13). A little boy in second grade came to sit with me. I love the way the little ones are so curious about me and how, some days, that overcomes them leading them to sit down with me at lunch just to be with me. This darling beautiful little boy dropped his tray down in front of me, saddled up to the seat facing mine and started to eat in silence. A brief glance around the room would show that there were plenty of free tables all about and several of his friends already collected at one of the few taken tables. As I glanced back down at the little boy, he looked up at me and smiled a big broad smile. He wanted to be with me specifically and liked that I understood that.

Across the lunchroom, the young man with the grabby hands who formally apologized to me (and whose father is a senior teacher) was having lunch and yelling, as normal. The boy and I have made peace with each other and I now quite adore him. He’s loud, crazy, wild and difficult to control but he is so because he’s driven by something I don’t understand. Underneath the wild drive, is a very sweet, very clever, very sensitive young man who truly wants to do the right thing. In my class, when he’s truly trying, he gets very shy and soft-spoken and won’t look me in the face. In an effort to support his interest in education, I heap praise on him when he does the right thing. He’s just got an incredibly short fuse and intolerance for anything out of the ordinary. I suspect his father rules with an iron fist and the young man is having a difficult time coping with that.

At some point, my little second grader got up to go join his friends and my lunch mate sat down with me. She and I got talking about my most difficult class and my Pollyanna desire to reach them.

While we were talking, I heard the sounds of real punching. As the dull thud of the punches filtered into my brain, I thought what any filmmaker worth their weight in short ends thinks, "The folly artist definitely went for accuracy over drama on that one. Guess there were no frozen turkeys available." You see, what most Americans are accustomed to as the sound of punching (from movies) is actually a much higher, wetter, sharper sound than what punch actually sounds like. Most punch sounds are made from the folly artist (the dude/tte who makes sounds to enhance a movie) punching a formerly frozen turkey. Real punches don’t have much sound to them. It’s a more a sickeningly dull thud that, when landed near the core, resonates dully through the chest cavity.

It sinks into my brain that I’m not in an editing studio as Z, who is sitting just over my right shoulder, shouts something out. Considering the tone of his voice, I recognize immediately that something is wrong and as I look up, past Z’s back, I see the young man beating on my 2nd grade lunch partner. To my 2nd grade boy’s credit, he’s punching back but the young man is not only very large for his age and very physically fit, he’s also easily 10 years old. The 2nd grade boy is 6 or 7 and small for his age. That the boy is full-on sobbing as the punches are being thrown triggers my reflex to get up.

I flinch to get up as I know that none of the other teachers here will physically stop a physical fight, even one as clearly mismatched as this one. They will stand back and yell at the two boys until the fight stops. Normally, that method works. The 2nd grade boy can most certainly be stopped with yelling; even I’ve done it. However, the young man, once triggered will not be stopped, short of physical removal from the fight. The young man is simply wound too tightly to be verbally controlled once he’s undone. Most male teachers don’t have the young man and the female teachers don’t seem to discipline short of yelling and slapping. (To be fair, I grew up a tomboy in a very active, athletic environment with lots of brothers and full-contact sports, so I am not afraid of a few bruises, broken bones or taking the occasional hit. The women here grew up as only children with badminton as their most aggressive outlets. They are terrified of flying balls. Lord only knows about flying fists.) This situation needs a full-on physical intervention with someone who is much bigger and scarier and has no problem getting hit by the stray fist without getting enraged. The two boys need to be separated and then the situation needs to simply be dropped without long-term reprimanding or else things will be exacerbated. Frankly, men tend to be the gender that gets that physical fights between boys can just be dropped in a matter of minutes. However, women tend to be bulk of teachers. Any woman brave enough to go into that fight is going to make a federal case out of it and only make things worse. My lack of Mandarin capabilities can be blamed for why the only thing that comes out of my mouth when kids start yelling their case to me is, "STOP!" despite the fact that even if I did speak Mandarin fluently that would still be the only sentiment to come out of my mouth.

"TA.." ["HE/SHE…"] usually is yelled in protest.

"NO! STOP!" is all I say until the child is silent.

I then turn to the other kid to repeat my sentiment and the conversation is usually completely repeated.

So I start to get up but Z cuts me off at the pass. I had forgotten that Z has the young man for phys ed and so must be fully aware of how to stop him. In the most heartening move all week, I watched Z step between the flying fists, take a few on the hip, grab the young man by the scruff of the neck and yell at the 2nd grade boy to go back to his seat. He barked at the young man to go back to his seat and was done with it.

Not that I ever need a reason but I really wanted to hug Z right then.