Counting the days until Thanksgiving - Tuesday

This Monday afternoon included two punches: one from Ryden and another from Franklin. Each time I put the journal down the surge of failure rose again. It wasn’t helping that Tuesday was coming. I needed Franklin to suspend Ryden for punching me. It would send a message, a message I could post above my door: you can run around the class and not listen to me, but if you wind up and punch me in the gut, then you’ve gone too far. That might not fit though, maybe just: Don’t Punch Me. Ryden was there bright and early the next morning…so much for the suspension and so much for the message.

At school Tuesday morning, I passed by Franklin in the office, and I asked him if Ryden would be suspended. He replied, “Well, you told me yesterday, right, and I haven’t seen the discipline administrator since then, so…” Right, I thought. Thanks a lot. I rarely pushed for kids to get suspended. In fact, I never did. Kids would spit in my face, and Franklin would come and ask if I wanted them to get suspended. I always said no. He didn’t like suspending kids, and I assumed he was right because it was less time at school and more time at home, a place that was rarely a positive experience. Since then, I had learned something from Grandma James: every consequence or lack of consequence was a message to every kid in my class. If Ryden didn’t get suspended, it meant that kids could do anything they wanted in my class and not get punished. I'm sure Ryden spent all of last afternoon detailing how he punced the teacher in the gut.  I might as well have been begging Franklin for a suspension, but he didn’t seem to care, and I started to hate him.

Relative to Monday, Tuesday actually was a good day, good because even though I was losing my mind, no one punched me.  I added Franklin to the list of staff that I thought was supporting me, but now wanted nothing to do with me. My kids were acting marginally better, partly because they didn’t know what to expect from me. I was always on the verge of full tilt rage. In circle time, I had the kids greet each other by saying good morning and then shake hands with their neighbor. Quint was next to Amelia, and after he shook her hand, he wiped his hand on the floor to show everyone that Amelia had germs.  Amelia didn’t see it, and I was willing to let the thing pass unnoticed, until Evan said, “Quint wiped his hand on the floor; he needs to apologize.” Dammit. I also knew there was no way Quint would apologize on the spot, in front of the whole class. He was volatile, especially first thing in the morning. “Alright Quint, go ahead and apologize to Armoni.”
“No!”
“Then, walk back to your seat.”
“I don’t have to.”
“Fine! If you don’t move, then I’ll move you.” By this time, my eyes were glaring and my muscles were tight. I grabbed his wrist and dragged him across the carpet, onto the floor, and out the door.
“I’m telling my mom!”
“Tell her.”
I slowly walked back to the carpet, sat criss-cross, and attemted singing a song about friends.
“What was that about?” murmured Grandma James.
“I have no idea, Quint is always like that.”
“No, I meant about you.”