3rd floor emergencies

 Thursday afternoons the middle school team has a grade group meeting. At this time, all of the 7th and 8th grade students are hypothetically in the classroom with various specialist teachers; but that never happens. Kids run in and out of the classrooms. Things are thrown. It's loud. So while worried, we were not surprised when our meeting was interrupted by the secretary bursting in and blurting out, "There's an emergency on the 3rd floor." Up we went (my co-teachers, the nurse, the counselor and I). Savaughn and a number of other 8th grade boys had jumped Khalil, one of my 7th graders. When I turned the corner, all of my homeroom was in the hallway, lounging like adults on vacation. That pissed me off. They know my angry face now. All I had to do was look at them and they scampered into the room-- adults no more. Khalil had been whisked away to the nurse's office. When I finally made it downstairs to him, my annoyance and anger had leveled off. 

Then I saw his face, both eyes swollen shut. A goose egg already on his forehead. I learned that one of my girls had thrown salt into his eyes. I wanted to run right back up those stairs and grab each of those good-for-nothings by the scruff of their neck. Instead I passed Khalil tissues; fuming as I listened. 

While I sat with him I thought of the boys who had done it. Their histories and situations. One boy's father is abusive and his mother won't leave him. She is frequently admitted to the hospital for panic attacks and has divulged such unsolicited information to me over the phone. The exposure that he has to violence, as well as the frustration he must feel at home softened me a bit. 

The thing is, if I can't be mad at the boys who did it, towards whom/what do I direct my anger? Some system that oppresses my boys and plunges them into this vicious cycle? Only that's not gratifying at all. I can't grab a system by the scruff of the neck and tell it I'm disappointed. 

So, then, I join the ranks of people in the neighborhood that have displaced anger and are looking for outlets. 

Only I get to leave the neighborhood at the end of the day. I get to go home and pick Amber up at the airport. We're going to New York this weekend. We'll get lattes and walk off all of my aggression. We'll talk and pray and I'll rest so that I find respite. 

I am thankful for that, but worry about those who don't get a break. Who can't step back and decompress with a friend and a latte. Please pray for them. Pray for an end to violence in Southwest Philly. Pray for an end to the systems that oppress my students and feed their anger.