I was unprepared for writing today. Well, okay, I was planned since pop-ins (or drive-bys as I call them) are looming. Regardless, I am always planned because I have a touch of OCD and because it would be a disservice to my kids if I wasn't. But today, I forgot to print my TC (teacher copy) of the essay we are writing on child soldiers in ancient Sparta. I told my kids to grab their paper, write a full heading, and I would be right back as I went to the printer in the library that was about 100 feet away and left them with my assistant.
Of course, somebody was messing with the printed pages in the printer. Getting their grubby fingers all over my papers and putting them out of order, backwards, upside, basically a mess. I quickly picked them up from the grubby hands, gave a sly and snide smile and hurried back towards my room. That's when I saw it and didn't know what to do. I saw....
CHAOS. I looked through the window of my room and saw children on the floor, shoving near our bookshelves, girls playing with each other's hair, an utter mess and disaster. I hear my assistant staying calm and trying to coax them back to their seats using her stern voice and eye contact but they weren't listening. It was so disheartening. I flew open the door and erupted like Mt. Vesuvius. Screaming at them, berating them, threatening them. Sure, they felt sorry and apologized. But after looking at their faces, I realized I was the one who needed to apologize to them...
I flashed back to that night when I was 9 and my parents had thought I was asleep. I crept towards the stairwell from my girly-girl room but stopped at the top of the steps because I heard it. Screaming. Name calling. Blaming. Anger. Hatred. Sadness. I heard all of it. At age 9. It was like a bad car accident; I wanted to go back to my room and ignore them but I couldn't. Then I heard my name. "Amanda can sense it. She is smart." Sense what? I thought. I was always perceptive but not then. Or maybe I was perceptive but also in denial.
The yelling continued for months after I had "gone to sleep." It got so bad that my always-open bedroom door had to close. The T.V. had to be on so I wouldn't hear a peep and would lull me to sleep. Thankfully, all I heard was silence.
Soon enough the big "D" was discussed. Soon enough the big "D" word was discussed with me. I was just happy the yelling ended. Couldn't this have been solved months ago before the yelling?
Flash forward to today, when once again yelling didn't solve anything. I looked at their scared, innocent, apologetic faces and delivered my apology, asking for forgiveness and vowing to not yell at them again. They accepted, as I hoped they would. One child said, "We're a family. Of course we forgive you. Families fight sometimes but they still love each other."
That is true of my own family, too. Fourteen years later all is good, because we have all moved on and are much happier. Tonight, I will sleep with the T.V. on, to remind myself that yelling got me nowhere, and it never will.
Oh Amanda, it is so clear that you saw the connection between yelling and not knowing what to do! It is such a human reaction to things not going your way. You have indeed come a long way and have found ways to cope with the stressors of life - including - sometimes - the TV needs to be one to block out life. I hear you.....and know your students are VERY luckt!
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