My Student Tried to Stab Me With a Pair of Scissors.
You get good teacher days...and sometimes you get very very bad ones...
*To my OG 200 subscribers. This is another repost. However, I have added an aftermath section describing how this shook out over the past school year. Bear with me as I complete my National Board Teacher Certification - its a pesky portfolio project with over 40 pages of writing that’s sucking up my time. Sue me, I’m a whore for any kind of pay raise.
**To the 600 new folk who have recently joined FitToTeach in the past two months. You may have missed this one. Enjoy.
September, 2017: My Second week of Teaching
My heart beat slammed against my chest while I rested my head against a hallway wall. I desperately tried to catch my breath. I had just broken up a fight where a student cold clocked another student in the face and then proceeded to literally stomp on his head. Adrenaline flooded my system and I was fighting every urge to scream in frustration. It was my body’s reaction to experiencing serious student violence for the first time.
When you work in a title one school in NYC I think witnessing a fight is inevitable. Just last week I was in a bar celebrating a fellow teacher’s birthday, and after a few drinks the conversation drifted towards a topic veteran teachers know well - what fights have gone down at your school?
If you ever witness experienced teachers having this conversation you’ll find it’s like watching Vietnam war vets cracking jokes about their past service. The one on one fights, the tag team battles, the occasional school yard brawl, what part did the teacher play in it once it got started, how the administration sent the kids home with a juice box - every veteran teacher has a bag of violent stories. It’s just the territory of teaching in the inner city.
I always find it amusing when friends of teachers listen in on these conversations. They sit there wide-eyed and say “this is what you deal with?” I usually say something along the lines of, “Oh Yeah! That’s why they pay us so much!” Sometimes it gets a dry laugh or two.
Of course, it's much more fun to tell the stories once they’ve already happened. In the moment they’re a different experience. The fight I described in the first paragraph was the first fight I experienced in Harlem. I had seen violence in high school before, hell, I’ve been in a couple of light scraps myself…but to see a kid put his full fist into someone's face who wasn’t defending themselves and then proceed to stomp on their head…I just wasn’t prepared for that kind of violence.
It was my kind of luck that one of the worst fights I’ve ever seen in my 8 years of service happened in first two weeks of my career. Perhaps it was indicative of my lack of experience. I often wonder if the experience I have now would have changed the situation.
The fallout from the fight was mind boggling. I had to skip several days of work and testify at family court to serve as a witness. Apparently the aggressor already had a history of violence, and my testimony was going to put him in juvenile detention for a very long time.
Instead, the student aggressor and the family representing the student who was attacked came to a settlement. Fortunately, juvenile detention didn’t happen…unfortunately, after a month-long suspension that very same student walked back in my class.
He knew I had been the key witness on the other side of his case, and now I was supposed to teach him.
What a fucking mess.
October, 2024: 7 Years of Teaching Later
I don’t love it when I write about school fights. There’s a part of me that feels like I’m sensationalizing the teaching experience in the inner city. Most of my kids are kind, goofy individuals interested in passing their classes and hanging with their friends. However, the fights are a part of the school I teach in, and when the violent part of a kid’s lizard brain strikes, you either learn to act in the moment, or people get hurt.
Take a Friday in last October for example.
I had run volleyball drills for the first half hour of class, but nobody was really interested. They were going through the motions as everyone does when weekend freedom is just outside their reach. For whatever reason two girls we’ll call Chelsea and Stacey started picking on another girl we’ll call Rachel, and Rachel started mouthing off right back at them.
At first, I told them to stop. Then I repeated myself multiple times. Then I called the entire class to floor spots where they would have to sit on the floor until they either resolved the issue or the period ended. The girls continued cursing at each other and my spidey senses started to go off. I could feel the violent static.
In my final attempt for peace, I sternly told all three of them that their own behavior was beneath them. That they were acting like five year olds trying to get the last word in and that they were better than that. Then I told them if they continued to snap at each other I would call security. There was a golden 10 second silence where I thought I might have put off the inevitable…but then Rachel said, “so there” and they started yelling at each other again.
I called the dean and security and crossed my fingers they would get here before shit hit the fan. Just when I thought I had stalled them long enough to get back up in the room, another girl who hadn’t even been involved piped up and said, “What! You expect her to not even defend herself!?” Chelsea and Stacey stood up, turned as one, and jumped the other girl we’ll call Darla.
They started stomping on Darla’s head and kicking her ribs while she was on the ground. It was my first year all over again…except it wasn’t. I immediately tackled Stacey to the ground and held her there. The dean burst through the door seconds later and grabbed Chelsea. Darla tried to retaliate but security came through and held her down as well.
When it became clear Stacey was no longer fighting, I let her go and the athletic director escorted her from the room. Security escorted Chelsea from the room as well. I thought that was the end of it, but Darla had melted down into a full on rage. She had slipped through the dean's grip and was desperately trying to follow the two girls who had jumped her.
She was completely out of control, screaming, “I’ll kill those bitches! I’ll kill those bitches!” I managed to pick her up before she escaped out the gym door and I brought her to my office with the dean and a security guard. She continued to thrash around and I kept calmly saying, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” It was clearly not okay, but I find the sound of a calm voice is better than continuous yelling.
I finally told her, “Darla, I’m not going to let go until you take a couple deep breaths.” she finally stopped moving, and went very still. I loosened my grip a smidge and the girl's arm shot towards my desk reaching for a pair of scissors. She missed the scissors, and her hand hit my cup full of pens which went flying everywhere. I tightened my grip, picked her up again, and moved her away from my desk. She continued to thrash around, except now she had a pen in hand which she held like a knife.
I continued to say, “It’s okay. I need you to breathe,” while I kept a sharp eye on her hand with the pen. Eventually the dean pried the pen from her grip and she began to move less. I checked the time and realized I was going to be late for my health class. I made eye contact with the dean and the security guard and asked them if they could handle it from there. They said they could. I let go of Darla and walked out of my office.
When the door shut I had a quick check in with myself. Did I need a moment? Was my heart rate untenable? Did I need to find someone to cover my health class and just chill the fuck out? After a couple breaths I realized…I was fine. I was regular. The adrenaline coursing through my system…honestly…
It felt like a cup of coffee.
I got a move on to my health class.
Aftermath: 6 Months Later
Rereading this half a year after it happened is almost a psychedelic experience. I can remember the wild rage in the gymnasium that day, and the sensations I felt right before the fight broke out. I remember the sense of calm that fell over me while I held a girl hell bent on revenge.
The school suspended Chelsea and Stacey for a month. In the conversations with the dean that followed the incident, both admitted to jumping the other girl and said it with some pride. Apparently, all four students had been picking on each other throughout the week in other classes, and my class just happened to be where the volcano decided to blow.
Darla was mostly let off for defending herself and served a two day suspension for what we’ll call temporary insanity.
When Chelsea and Stacey returned after a month I figured I would have a difficult time piecing my class back together. It was the beginning of December and we still had to survive another seven months together. I was hyper aware of how I grouped teams, and I kept a sharp lookout whenever we played a game with some contact like floor hockey. I stressed when those students rubbed elbows the wrong way.
The thing is…I needn’t have worried.
Whatever restorative work the dean and the guidance counselor pulled had done its work. Or maybe the kids had just needed the violence to clear the air. Whatever it was, I haven’t had a problem in that class since. Even better, the girls have no problem interacting with each other and one time Darla even requested to to be on Stacey’s team. It’s become one of my favorite classes this year.
As far as I can tell, the fight was a show case of our lizard brain at work. I watched thirteen year old emotions overtake all logical thought processes, and I battled my own emotions while acting in a way that protected my students as best as I could. I remember walking out of the gymnasium almost marveling at the fact that I was breathing normally.
I suppose you can get used to anything.
Wow! I also grew up in NYC and all my schooling happened there. While I was reading it was almost surreal; I remember a fight broke out in my school with two girls in the exact same way. You handled it perfectly though!
Well, this puts things in perspective. My 12 year old grandchildren are in 7th grade in a kinda rough school for this area. They tell stories of kids throwing trash cans at teachers and refuse to use the restrooms at school because there is where a lot of the nonsense takes place. They are mostly popular, well respected kids but they are nonetheless careful of their environment.
I can only admire you. Go for every pay raise you can get. You certainly do not get paid enough. What you do does not show up on the bottom line of the ledger but it does show up on the small daily successes of your student’s lives.