Grand Theft: Central
Yes, folks, my life is a video game. I dodge dangerous traffic in the ghetto on my way to and from work; I'm hip with the fuzz; I know the lowdown; I give smackdowns; I break into schools through holes in fences; I drive a flaming minivan. Life has been somewhat more along the lines of the notorious Nintendo game as of late; for the past week I've been embroiled in several conflicts, some of them criminal.
Currently in my English I classes, we are at the tail end of a unit on poetry. The quarter has been amputated, lacerated, and abbreviated so much by testing and hurricanes that my six week unit has taken all ten. Anyhow, we're talking about ballads, and as a fun lesson we read "Seven Spanish Angels," a classic early 80's country song by Willie Nelson and Ray Charles. It's a fantastic story, and the guys belt it out in those scratchy baritones. I brought my iPod into school to play the song, and the lesson goes great: we discuss rhyme, ballad form and storytelling. Three hours later, when I begin to pack up for our soccer game and leave school early, I realize the iPod, which was plugged into one of the school's computers, is nowhere to be found.
Furious to the point of incoherency, I throw my remaining posessions into a bag and storm out of the school.
While at the game, one of my little students (and I really to literally mean "little") approaches the 15 foot high fence which surrounds the soccer field. This is the same fence with a hole in it which we have to "break into" each afternoon to get our soccer equipment on the field. Slightly irked, I walk over with an attitude: "What could possibly be so important that you had to tell me in the middle of our game?" "I know who stole your iPod." Hot damn! Ten points for overzealous tattletales.
Seething with righteous anger, I contained myself until the game was over, went immediately home and logged on to the computer gradebook to find the miscreant's home phone. By some stroke of fate, the number listed actually connected to a real answering machine. Then, as the stars aligned, a real human being picked up the phone. In informed the child's mother that her son had stolen something from me, and the unsurprised reply was "he's a little lost right now." Well, lady, I've lost something also, and I'd like it back.
Triumphant, I got to bed and await the return of my belongings the next morning. Unfortunately, all I get in the morning is an angry 17 year old 9th grader with a mustache, along with a confused mother. I give a nice little ambigous speech in class about stealing and then lying about it, after which he runs out the door screaming "I ain't got nothin to do with that!"
Right. That sure makes you look innocent. At this point, I feel the need to involve the authorities. I am informed by Madison's security guards and my own Assistant Principal that the police on campus can't help me because a high school student committed the crime. Therefore, I suck it up and try to contact our administration.
By now, five more students have mentioned that they knew this kid stole the iPod, and two more said that he tried to sell it to them after school. I've also lost any and all pity I might have had about this kid being "lost" and want justice served. Then, I begin my journey through the same corrupt, non-functional juvenile justice system that served me so well last year (note bitter, bitter aftertaste in mouth after previous statement). So the middle school cop can't help me, but my high school police aren't on campus after school, and apparently 15 minutes after the students are dismissed, all of the administration leaves as well. Wow, that sure sounds like a great way to run a school. The only "administrator" is my buddy the Athletic Director, who calls the ruffian's mom (again) and informs her that if he doesn't relinquish my iPod, a charge of Grand Theft will be filed.
We're now up to Friday. I realize that if the weekend passes it's lost for good: a fence, a pawn shop, a cousin with some extra cash. No news from my suspected thief, so by the end of the day I'm fed up. The police, all 6 assistant and normal principals, as well as my former advocate the AD are ignoring my constant phone calls. I get my hero the ESE coordinator to watch my other ruffians in the useless 8th period literacy hour while I stalk the halls of the middle school looking for a cop. Bingo! "Excuse me, sir, I have a question. A student stole something from me, and I have two written plus eight oral testimonies that he did it." What should he reply? 'Sorry m'am, go back to Central?' 'I don't believe you, paranoid white lady' NO! His words were, after checking a rap sheet longer than the computer screen, I remember them perfectly: "Let's go get this asshole."
That's more like the system should function. Although, as I ground my teeth in frustration, he mentioned that next time, instead of waiting three days, I should notify him immediately after a crime occurrs. Politely, I informed him that the last time a FUCKING FELONY took place in my classroom, my administration both publicly and privately dressed me down for involving the police and taking it to court. I should have known better than to follow the rules and try and make it easier for the school. Of course, it's hard to negotiate the system when the system just lies to your face.
If there's one thing that I should have learned in my teaching experience, it's that whenever the administration is involved, you've got to just look out for yourself. If you don't, they'll take you for all you're worth. I've also learned that I've got to solve problems my own way. Fortunately, I chose not to take my co-coach's advice and threaten the kid with a stiletto heel pressed to the jugular.
Then, what do you know, he little bastard didn't even show up at school on Friday. If he wasn't acting guilty before, this was the nail in the coffin. I call his mother, who tells me that her kid "didn't want to get out of bed this morning. I coudn't make him. His grandfather couldn't make hime either." Great, lady.
Now, not only have I lost my iPod, but I've lost my patience and my temper. My employers treat me like shit, when they're not ignoring me, the justice system in Miami is less than expeditious, and this crazy lady who thinks she runs "Central South" is storming around like a lunatic worrying about some stupid, useless rules and signs instead of the fact that no one respects what she does and how she treats people. In my classroom, Friday afternoon, she actually walked up to a student who was reading a book about rats and said "Reading about yourself? I bet you didn't even get that. Went right over your head."
How can an ADULT react like that to a child? Honestly, we're supposed to be role models and examples of behavior to kids; we're supposed to conduct ourselves with some degree of professionality. If you just walk around insulting and belittling people, you're not going to earn my respect. In fact, you've definitely lost it.