The Long Game

 It took three days, but it happened. It would have been nicer if we had made it through an entire week. Even nicer if it had taken a month. But we all knew in our minds that it was going to happen, even if in our hearts we held out hope.

There was a shoving match in one of our fifth grade classrooms this past Wednesday. It wasn't much, really. Just two boys searching for their macho. One took the other's water bottle, which led to some names being called, then chests got puffed up, and before you knew it there was a commotion. The nature of the commotion is well known to those who have taught for more than two years. But for those who have only participated in distance learning, this was a new experience: physical altercation. 

There was none of that last year. Even when we had some kids return for half days in the spring. We relaxed into the sea of love and acceptance in which we found ourselves once we finally saw each other in the flesh. But there are temptations of the flesh. And if you're a fifth grade boy who is less concerned with education that the avoidance of it, then having all those backs to shove and shoulders to punch is sometimes too great a challenge. 

I know how the problem started. I have been supporting and cleaning up after one of these young men since they were in Kindergarten. Each new year has presented us with the opportunity to find some magic that will drop into this kid's life that will make being at school less painful. That pain gets redistributed on a regular basis not through careful mediation and peer counseling, but through puffing out his chest and shoving someone he has determined will most likely shove back. It's a skill that he has honed in the absence of fully connecting to the curriculum we put in front of him. 

I know that as the weeks go by, coping mechanisms for all of us will kick in and we will figure out how to keep those moments from becoming anything that resembles familiar. We've come too far. 

And we still have so far to go.