When Teaching Means Stepping In

I broke up my first fight today. It’s a new quarter, and as an electives teacher, I got all new students. Across my five class periods, I was happy to find that each class was better behaved and more attentive than last quarter’s—that was until my final class of the day.

I still think they’re generally better behaved than my worst classes last quarter, but they were still pretty difficult today. I’m trying out a new rule set this quarter, and it seems to have largely helped, but not enough.

All class periods, one group of boys kept leaving their tables and grouping up. They kept touching each other, making jokes, and ignoring their work. I gave them a handful of warnings, then ultimately told them they could either start staying on task or I’d assign them lunch detention.

That worked for a few minutes, but soon I found two of them next to me, grabbing each other by the shirt. I told them to keep their hands off one another and started telling them they’d have lunch detention, but I stopped mid-sentence as I realized this had gone beyond playing around.

I shouted at them to back off, but it was as if I wasn’t there. I could see anger in one boy’s eyes and confusion in the other’s. That’s how quickly these kinds of things start. One second you’re playing around, the next one of them is ready to start throwing punches.

Luckily, it didn’t come to that today. I put my arms between them and tried to pull them apart, but their grips were solid. In the middle of the fray, I shouted for another student to contact the behavioral team so I could get some help. Ultimately, I managed to wedge myself between the two students and separate them, but the angry kid kept trying to charge past me.

I held him off and kept shouting at him to back off. When that didn’t work, I said his name and told him to take a deep breath. I watched as the rage in his eyes faded—not gone, but wavering like a blown-out match. It gave me just enough time to tell him to go out into the hall. He started backing away without taking his eyes off me or the other student until behavioral came in and led him the rest of the way.

The whole ordeal got my adrenaline pumping. After it was done, I was still on high alert, but as often happens with adrenaline, I fell to a new low after.

I’d been lucky. Lucky they started fighting right next to me. Lucky I managed to stop it after such a short time. Lucky behavioral showed up so quickly. Part of me is grateful it worked out that way, but another part of me feels shame.

As a teacher, it’s my job to oversee the classroom. If they had stayed where they were supposed to, the fight never would have happened. I know I can’t take all the blame. At some point, the students need to be held accountable, but shrugging the situation off doesn’t feel right.

I can’t help but feel like I need to analyze what led to that scenario and try to prevent it from ever happening again. It’s given me new resolve. Most of all, it has reminded me that discipline and punishments are not meant to hurt students—they’re there to help them learn and grow.

I don’t send students to lunch detention to show them who’s boss. I do it to stop them from crossing lines that can’t be uncrossed, to help protect them and those around them, and to put learning first.

Experiencing my first fight breakup was jarring. In my mind, I didn’t sign up for that. I go to work every day to share knowledge and promote growth. I’m a warrior against ignorance, not a peacekeeper.

And yet, that’s what it means to be a teacher. You don’t just teach. It’s much more than that. You lead, you protect, you observe, and you take calculated action. You roll with the punches as they come and pray you stay afloat amidst the chaos.