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Published: October 25th 2006
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Picadilly
Couldn't find the Circus though Here's another account of my work in this, the London Education System. The Incident Report read something along the lines of:
Period 4 Physical Education; Year 9 Boys Basketball; A relatively simple lesson plan: a game.
A nearby gymnastic mat had not been put away - so some of the students awaiting their game thought rather than sitting as requested, class time could be better spent using the mat in a slip-and-slide type of fashion.
Alert to the imminent dangers, but more so to the distraction, this would cause to the players on court I asked them quite sternly to sit down. To my surprise most of them did. Except of course the class-hero who thought he would show his mates one final time how far he could run up, dive, and slide the mat across the newly polished floorboards.
His long approach would ensure maximum momentum before take-off - allowing him to propel himself onto the mat at a much faster speed than his less agile mates. Yep, this was clearly going to get that gym mat moving. Only trouble was, just as he thrust himself into the air… I moved the mat.
That’s right.
Azz loves Ben
The Hottest British October on record... but rain on the way I had little appreciation of his run-up, or his desire to fly across the floor. I was more concerned with it edging towards play. Besides I couldn’t recall any reference to gym-mat-sliding in my shmick Lesson Plan.
With the gym mat no longer an issue. I grinned and refocused on refereeing the sub-standard game at hand. These kids really should stick to Football I thought.
Clearly less amused than the rest of the class laughing at him, the boy picked both himself and his bruised ego up off the ground and limped over to where I was standing. He was dark skinned, and hard nosed. He didnt fit the stereotype of “just any Year 9”. For his age he had a great physique, my height, with perhaps a larger frame. To put it in some perspective, if in 5 years time I was to share a prison cell with him, like it or not, I’d be his bitch.
He walked over to me, looked me up and down, and said, “What the f*#k did you do that for?”
Play stopped.
“Excuse me?” I said. Clearly hearing what he said, but not at all appreciative of
Church of a Sunday
Closky and I of a Sunday. A place where Rhyssy is our God. his vocab or the tone in which it had been used.
The boy huffed, “why you do that? You waited for me to dive - then moved the mat. Now I’ve f*#ked my knee. I want an apology.”
“For what?” I scoffed, throwing the ball up in the air and blowing the whistle.
He was obviously not appreciative of my desire to keep the game moving. He grabbed the ball, held it firmly, and said, “I want a f*#king apology!” The class went silent awaiting my next move. To be honest I didn’t really have a next move. But under the circumstances I thought it was better to just diffuse the situation - let him calm down - and speak with him about the incident later. What he wasn’t getting however was an apology.
“You want an apology?” I said. “How’s this. Sit down and Shut Up!”
I grabbed another ball and called the players back to the centre of the court continuing with the game. It appeared the game had lifted a notch under the intensity of the surrounds.
He begrudgingly limped back to his mates, undoubtedly egging him on. Only to return
3pm at the Church
With other fellow worshippers seconds later, this time with a student on both arms - the two of them were seen as holding him back, perhaps for a pathetic visual effect, but not doing a very good job. It was at this point an element of uneasiness crept in.
“You’re wrong. F*#king apologise!” he yelled.
It was obvious he liked using the word F*ck, but I resisted using it back at him. He was square in my face. He smelt of sweat (I guess at least he had got something from my lesson.) He had his fists clenched. I was yet to clench mine but knew if it came to it I would have to wait, and react to his first punch.
I stood there looking at him. I wanted to say something that crushed his feeble attempt at intimidation, but I was lost for words. I smiled. “Don’t be pathetic. Sit down.”
Breaking his way out of the circle of boys that now stood around the two of us he muttered something along the lines of “Afterschool… you wait…”
I paused, thought for a second and smartly questioned, “Sorry, was that a threat?”
“Yep” he bragged,
I smiled. Checkmate. That answer would cost him a place at the school.
Upon my return to Oz I will be free to run PD sessions on how to handle heated situations.
Love and French Kisses to all,
DA
PS. Oh, and yes, the walk to the station after school that night was a rather brisk one.
PPS Attached are some more sites of london
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