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They're rebelling again. I can see it in their eyes; the fire penetrates my soul. The look of anger- their defining feature emanates from their eyes. I cannot hide my fear. They can smell it. Life as a teacher is hard. When do I give detentions- are they guilty enough to be internally suspended? Is this a good enough reason for not doing their homework? Why is he wearing trainers- does he have a note? I can't just conduct the lesson- there's too many distractions.
However, they pale in the memory of that boy, Karl Stevenson.
I remember back a few years. Karl was an unruly lad. Never did his homework when asked, and when I pulled him up about it, I was disrespected, verbally abused and was even accused of singling him out from the rest of the class. I didn't like him from day one- and he knew it. I believe this made matters worse. It stoked the already blazing fire within him.
He said it was down to problems at home, but I knew different. He wanted to cause trouble- it was funny to him. He would never comply with my requests, and one day he went too far.
It was a glorious spring morning. The birds were singing their chorus of melodies; bees were buzzing around bright and colourful flowers- everything in the world seemed right. My first period happened to be with Karl. He always found maths hard, and I had to pay the price. He said he never understood it, and blamed it on my teaching methods. I don't see how that can warrant attacking me, though. I remember the situation well. We were doing trigonometry, and we had the metal set squares out. Karl, surprisingly, didn't understand what was meant when I asked him to draw a right-angled triangle. So he hit me with the set square. It was thrust into my cranium, spraying blood everywhere. While the other pupils watched helplessly, Karl ran out of the lesson.
As I stumbled to the office, I had already lost a large quantity of blood, and felt light-headed.
After a week I was back in the classroom again, and everything returned to normal- minus Karl. He was permanently suspended, or so they call it. He didn't go to another school; he just faded away into the streets of London. They weren't safe for an adult, let alone a homeless teenager.
It was about a year after my accident. My friends and I were walking through a tube station. I desperately needed the toilet- my main priority was to find one. Unfortunately, there wasn't a toilet in the station. I walked on ahead, in a vain attempt to find a toilet, when I heard someone call my name.
"You're a maths teacher, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes I am. Do I know you?"
"I'm Karl. I think you'd remember me…"
"Karl? How you doing?"
"I'm on the streets…"
And it was at that moment when I realised how stupid I had been.
"Oh, yes, sorry. Well, I have to go, I really need the toilet. Um, take care"
And off I ran. I did finally find a toilet, and after relieving myself, I caught up with my friends. I told them the situation- about what Karl had done and that I had just seen him.
We didn't talk about it the rest of the day.
It wasn't until I got home that I realised I could have helped. I could have given him some money, food or water. I could have even prevented the whole situation by explaining about triangles. I had been so selfish. My toilet needs had outweighed his need of money. I have never felt so low.
Nowadays, whenever a student needs my assistance, I always make sure they come first. I don't want the same incident to happen again. I don't think I could handle the guilt.
However, they pale in the memory of that boy, Karl Stevenson.
I remember back a few years. Karl was an unruly lad. Never did his homework when asked, and when I pulled him up about it, I was disrespected, verbally abused and was even accused of singling him out from the rest of the class. I didn't like him from day one- and he knew it. I believe this made matters worse. It stoked the already blazing fire within him.
He said it was down to problems at home, but I knew different. He wanted to cause trouble- it was funny to him. He would never comply with my requests, and one day he went too far.
It was a glorious spring morning. The birds were singing their chorus of melodies; bees were buzzing around bright and colourful flowers- everything in the world seemed right. My first period happened to be with Karl. He always found maths hard, and I had to pay the price. He said he never understood it, and blamed it on my teaching methods. I don't see how that can warrant attacking me, though. I remember the situation well. We were doing trigonometry, and we had the metal set squares out. Karl, surprisingly, didn't understand what was meant when I asked him to draw a right-angled triangle. So he hit me with the set square. It was thrust into my cranium, spraying blood everywhere. While the other pupils watched helplessly, Karl ran out of the lesson.
As I stumbled to the office, I had already lost a large quantity of blood, and felt light-headed.
After a week I was back in the classroom again, and everything returned to normal- minus Karl. He was permanently suspended, or so they call it. He didn't go to another school; he just faded away into the streets of London. They weren't safe for an adult, let alone a homeless teenager.
It was about a year after my accident. My friends and I were walking through a tube station. I desperately needed the toilet- my main priority was to find one. Unfortunately, there wasn't a toilet in the station. I walked on ahead, in a vain attempt to find a toilet, when I heard someone call my name.
"You're a maths teacher, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes I am. Do I know you?"
"I'm Karl. I think you'd remember me…"
"Karl? How you doing?"
"I'm on the streets…"
And it was at that moment when I realised how stupid I had been.
"Oh, yes, sorry. Well, I have to go, I really need the toilet. Um, take care"
And off I ran. I did finally find a toilet, and after relieving myself, I caught up with my friends. I told them the situation- about what Karl had done and that I had just seen him.
We didn't talk about it the rest of the day.
It wasn't until I got home that I realised I could have helped. I could have given him some money, food or water. I could have even prevented the whole situation by explaining about triangles. I had been so selfish. My toilet needs had outweighed his need of money. I have never felt so low.
Nowadays, whenever a student needs my assistance, I always make sure they come first. I don't want the same incident to happen again. I don't think I could handle the guilt.
Hmm.
Sort of works. Sort of doesen't.
Feels a bit limited, by being heldback perhaps.
Still, good to see serious stuff from the Chipseh.
:D
Sort of works. Sort of doesen't.
Feels a bit limited, by being heldback perhaps.
Still, good to see serious stuff from the Chipseh.
:D
They're rebelling again. I can see it in their eyes; the fire penetrates my soul. The look of anger- their defining feature emanates from their eyes. I cannot hide my fear. They can smell it. Life as a teacher is hard. When do I give detentions- are they guilty enough to be internally suspended? Is this a good enough reason for not doing their homework? Why is he wearing trainers- does he have a note? I can't just conduct the lesson- there's too many distractions.
However, they pale in the memory of that boy, Karl Stevenson.
I remember back a few years. Karl was an unruly lad. Never did his homework when asked, and when I pulled him up about it, I was disrespected, verbally abused and was even accused of singling him out from the rest of the class. I didn't like him from day one- and he knew it. I believe this made matters worse. It stoked the already blazing fire within him.
He said it was down to problems at home, but I knew different. He wanted to cause trouble- it was funny to him. He would never comply with my requests, and one day he went too far.
It was a glorious spring morning. The birds were singing their chorus of melodies; bees were buzzing around bright and colourful flowers- everything in the world seemed right. My first period happened to be with Karl. He always found maths hard, and I had to pay the price. He said he never understood it, and blamed it on my teaching methods. I don't see how that can warrant attacking me, though. I remember the situation well. We were doing trigonometry, and we had the metal set squares out. Karl, surprisingly, didn't understand what was meant when I asked him to draw a right-angled triangle. So he hit me with the set square. It was thrust into my cranium, spraying blood everywhere. While the other pupils watched helplessly, Karl ran out of the lesson.
As I stumbled to the office, I had already lost a large quantity of blood, and felt light-headed.
After a week I was back in the classroom again, and everything returned to normal- minus Karl. He was permanently suspended, or so they call it. He didn't go to another school; he just faded away into the streets of London. They weren't safe for an adult, let alone a homeless teenager.
It was about a year after my accident. My friends and I were walking through a tube station. I desperately needed the toilet- my main priority was to find one. Unfortunately, there wasn't a toilet in the station. I walked on ahead, in a vain attempt to find a toilet, when I heard someone call my name.
"You're a maths teacher, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes I am. Do I know you?"
"I'm Karl. I think you'd remember me…"
"Karl? How you doing?"
"I'm on the streets…"
And it was at that moment when I realised how stupid I had been.
"Oh, yes, sorry. Well, I have to go, I really need the toilet. Um, take care"
And off I ran. I did finally find a toilet, and after relieving myself, I caught up with my friends. I told them the situation- about what Karl had done and that I had just seen him.
We didn't talk about it the rest of the day.
It wasn't until I got home that I realised I could have helped. I could have given him some money, food or water. I could have even prevented the whole situation by explaining about triangles. I had been so selfish. My toilet needs had outweighed his need of money. I have never felt so low.
Nowadays, whenever a student needs my assistance, I always make sure they come first. I don't want the same incident to happen again. I don't think I could handle the guilt.
However, they pale in the memory of that boy, Karl Stevenson.
I remember back a few years. Karl was an unruly lad. Never did his homework when asked, and when I pulled him up about it, I was disrespected, verbally abused and was even accused of singling him out from the rest of the class. I didn't like him from day one- and he knew it. I believe this made matters worse. It stoked the already blazing fire within him.
He said it was down to problems at home, but I knew different. He wanted to cause trouble- it was funny to him. He would never comply with my requests, and one day he went too far.
It was a glorious spring morning. The birds were singing their chorus of melodies; bees were buzzing around bright and colourful flowers- everything in the world seemed right. My first period happened to be with Karl. He always found maths hard, and I had to pay the price. He said he never understood it, and blamed it on my teaching methods. I don't see how that can warrant attacking me, though. I remember the situation well. We were doing trigonometry, and we had the metal set squares out. Karl, surprisingly, didn't understand what was meant when I asked him to draw a right-angled triangle. So he hit me with the set square. It was thrust into my cranium, spraying blood everywhere. While the other pupils watched helplessly, Karl ran out of the lesson.
As I stumbled to the office, I had already lost a large quantity of blood, and felt light-headed.
After a week I was back in the classroom again, and everything returned to normal- minus Karl. He was permanently suspended, or so they call it. He didn't go to another school; he just faded away into the streets of London. They weren't safe for an adult, let alone a homeless teenager.
It was about a year after my accident. My friends and I were walking through a tube station. I desperately needed the toilet- my main priority was to find one. Unfortunately, there wasn't a toilet in the station. I walked on ahead, in a vain attempt to find a toilet, when I heard someone call my name.
"You're a maths teacher, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes I am. Do I know you?"
"I'm Karl. I think you'd remember me…"
"Karl? How you doing?"
"I'm on the streets…"
And it was at that moment when I realised how stupid I had been.
"Oh, yes, sorry. Well, I have to go, I really need the toilet. Um, take care"
And off I ran. I did finally find a toilet, and after relieving myself, I caught up with my friends. I told them the situation- about what Karl had done and that I had just seen him.
We didn't talk about it the rest of the day.
It wasn't until I got home that I realised I could have helped. I could have given him some money, food or water. I could have even prevented the whole situation by explaining about triangles. I had been so selfish. My toilet needs had outweighed his need of money. I have never felt so low.
Nowadays, whenever a student needs my assistance, I always make sure they come first. I don't want the same incident to happen again. I don't think I could handle the guilt.