WEEKEND THOUGHTS

1. Take care of what's yours.

2. Some hole-in-the-wall places have THE best food, but I'm grateful for the nice places, too.

3. The people who appreciate and value what you do most, and tangibly demonstrate it, may not look like you at all.

4. I had the 12 dollars, and he did say it was 35 lbs., but WHEN did watermelon get so expensive?

5. My baby has exponentially exceeded my expectations. Even if she weren't my daughter, I'd love to have her as a friend.

6.  Flowers really are nicer when one can smell them.

7. Just because they made it in your size....

8. Folk who demand the most often offer the least.

9. Don't let other people determine the parameters of your relationships with others.

10. Air conditioning, umbrellas, and ballet flats are awesome inventions.

11. If you can, help. The determination of others is inspiring.

12. Spontaneous plans are the best, sometimes.

13. Keep walking.

14. Purse manufacturers create a special place for your phone, so that it is not lost in the abyss that is YOUR bag. Use it.

15. Artwork is never done in vain.

16. You should have purchased that watermelon.

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: CHILDHOOD NEIGHBORHOOD

I woke up thinking about my childhood neighborhood. 

Although it's not far, I visited it via google maps. 

I scanned the street, and remembered how perfect it was for a game of kickball. With the intersection of Upsal Street and Horner Place, we had four perfect bases. 

Upsal Street hill was, and still is steep. 

I remembered how afraid I was of falling when the sidewalk would ice over in the winter. 

I don't recall any snow days. 

Snow was never a reason to close school. 

My big sister, Robyn would sit on her vinyl book bag and slide down the hill. 

Meanwhile I would still be at the top-- crying and trying to figure out how I would get down without killing myself. 

She'd think I was behind her, get to the bottom, turn around and yell, "Come on! Just slide down!" 

I would yell back "I'm scared!" and she would stomp back up the hill on the snow-covered easement. When she'd lose patience, she and another neighborhood kid or two, would grab me by each arm and run me down the hill. I'd scream all the way down, then spend the rest of the way to school contemplating how fun it actually was. 

Being late for school was not an option for Robyn. 

(I still wonder why she's not more athletic, but she does love to see other people participating in sports that involve running.) 

The white house, with the brick fireplace that I loved, is sort of powder blue now, the pine tree is gone, and tall bushes line the walkway from the gate to the front porch. There's no attic window anymore. 

The house seems so small now. 

I thought about Mommy's rose bushes in the back yard, and the porch where I'd sit for hours and draw pictures in my sketch pads. 

The neighborhood was integrated back then, and everyone knew everyone else. 

Miss Hazel Bates, an elderly, but spry white lady, lived in the big white house on the corner to the east of us. She shared the space with her dog and numerous cats. 

I thought about the Rodgers (Bernard, "Rog", Em, Darren, Darrell, and Tia), 

the Sheltons (Cardell and Kim), 

the Settles (Roy, Sr., Mary, Roy, Jr. Ann Kathleen, and David) 

the Wilson (Mom Wilson, Patsy, Dena, "Shamboy" and Sartorio), 

the Prides (Mr. and Mrs. Pride, Denise, Michael and Sandy), 

the Fryes (Mom Frye and Antionette), 

the Sultzers (William, Jean (Mommy's Avon lady) William Jr., David, and Tim, 

the Hemphills (Mr. Warren, Miss Mantalene, Essex, Tywana, Lois, Sandy and "Dimpy"), 

the Howards (Mom and Dad, Michael, Robin and David), 

the Arnetts, 

the Murphys, 

the Bradleys (Arthur, Eva, Vanessa, Ricky and Wanda), 

the Cuthberts (Mary and Lori), 

the Herrons (Dad, Larry, Reggie, Keith and Bonnie), the Shorts (Mom, Dad, Dexter and Pamela), 

and Thomas-Olivers (Carolyn, Joan and Sheila). 

Our neighborhood was full of families, homeowners, and role-models. 

All of the Wilson girls looked like they should have been on the runway of Ebony Fashion Fair. 

The Howard boys used to tease us because we had to go inside when the street lights came on. 

Who knew the man who would become a great poet, was writing at the northern end of Horner Place, and future basketball stars at Villanova were honing their skills at the southern end? 

I thought about little cousins Nkrumah and Marcy who lived in the apartment building behind us, across the alley. They'd get up early on Saturday mornings and march around the building singing at the top of their lungs, "I've got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart, hey! Down in my heart, hey! Down in my heart..." 

Their little voices would fade as they marched toward the back of the building. They were a sight.

I remembered how the Arnett's yard was always so beautifully landscaped. 

Our dog ate very well thanks to Miss Murphy. 

She'd phone and say, "I've got a pot of food for the dog", and one of us would go and get the big silver pot filled with everything from leftover roasts, cornbread, collards and chicken. 

There was a wooden, painted novelty sign hanging in her kitchen, "This food is not fit for human consumption". 

I always thought that was funny. 

God knows she cooked as if an army lived in their house.

I thought about how the Lord kept us as we rode our bikes from Upsal, to Horner to Wilmington, down First Street, back to South Capitol (to stop at High's for ice cream) and up what used to be Nichols Avenue. 

Fort Carroll Market, or Cassandra and Felicia's Grocery stores were the places to get Now and Later's and Rainblo Bubble Gum. 

The Good Humor Ice Cream truck would visit faithfully, and either park in front of our house or the Wilson's house. I still fancy a chocolate eclair every now and then. 

I noticed that one of, what I used to think was, the best kept homes on Upsal Street, is now for sale. 

It's at the bottom of the hill on the left side of where I used to be terrified with each winter's snow. I'd never been inside, and took a virtual tour through the rooms. 

This is one day that I wish I was independently wealthy. 

I'd buy it.

GREAT FINDS

I've actually enjoyed my library assignment...Four more days...I can make it... I really do believe most of the children are finally getting the whole "quiet" thing. I figured that they'd look at the space and their behavior in it, differently if I told them enough that it is an important, special place; one of the few places in the school that is shared by everyone. I stressed how important it is to maintain order, because of course, one never knows what amazing research is going on, or who's in deep thought. We're also awfully close to the main office.
Only one group made it necessary to go back to their classroom. They just don't respect the space. It looks nothing like the playground or gym, so I don't get why they can't seem to settle down. "Library", "run", and "talk loudly" just never went together in my book. Anyway, the seat work they had to do, once back in their classroom-- reviewing their syllabication skills--wasn't nearly as fun as hearing Maurice Sendak's "Where The Wild Things Are" read aloud, and seeing the animated version--in addition to other Sendak stories. Yep. They blew it, but they'll ace their next vocabulary test.

Some of the most rewarding parts of my days are spent rescuing books that were to be discarded. I'm almost done. I found a copy of the first book Vera Williams illustrated, "Hooray For Me!" (No...That's the title of the book, but I am feeling good about the idea of the children owning their own books and wanting to read.) There was an autobiography of Harriett Tubman, one of Gordon Parks, and a copy of  Dr. Seuss's "Bartholomew and The Oobleck". A little boy named Tyler got a copy of  "Tyler, Wilkin, and Skee". Setting it aside for him just seemed like the natural thing to do.

Today, I also found and cleaned up a hardcover copy of "Prince Ivan, The Firebird, and The Grey Wolf", published in 1968. Not one hour later, I found out there was a little boy named Christian whose mother is a native of Ukraine. I was glad that yet another beloved book would have a seemingly perfectly fitting home, where the thought of discarding it would never enter anyone's mind. "This story is from my childhood!", she told me as I handed it to her.
She opened the book and looked at the pages as if I'd given her gold. "I will read this to my children. Thank you, very much!"
...Okay...You had to be there...
It's amazing how little things can make you feel terrific...: )

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: HAPPY FATHERS' DAY

I wrote this poem a while back, and thought I'd share it today:

A FATHER'S GREAT LOVE

What father would would not seek and find a lost child
And leave him to wander alone?
What father would not do all that he could do
To care for and cover his own?
What father would not give the best that he has
Without thinking twice of the cost?
What father would shower affection without care
And leave lacking who needs him most?

A father is one whose love
Is made out of Love
He's present, in spite of where or when
It is the perfect example of God in the Earth
A father's great love for his children

What father would look upon one whose young face
So mirrors and speaks of his own
And not feel the anguish when life starts to make
A claim on all he's ever known?
What father would not rather lose all he has
Than be absent at each day's close?
What father would not work with all of his strength
To make straight the path a child goes?

A father is one whose love
Is made out of Love
He's present in spite of where or when
He'll sacrifice all; give the best that he has
In hopes to make all right again

To every man, you once were a child
Now your child needs protection and care
It is the perfect example of God in the earth
A father's great love for his children.

Happy Fathers' Day, gentlemen.  

Just keep smiling.
I know.  

Some of you are pondering about brunches, flowers, dinners, concerts, cruises, and special programs that are lavished upon mothers. 

You're looking sideways at the goofy ties and handmade cards. 

Maybe you're wondering why the church's folding chairs never crowd the aisles the third Sunday in June. 

Where are the makeshift vendor stands on the corners where entrepreneurs hawk roses, carnations, perfume, stuffed animals, and Katydids? (Tell the truth. Do you even WANT that stuff?) 

You know whether this day will be spent in joy, truth, and sincerity, or clouded by secrets, disrespect, and regret. 

Some of you will be celebrated like the mighty, protector, warrior kings you are. 

In the eyes of your families and communities you're superheroes. Keep up the good work.  

For others of you, even today, there will be NO moratorium on designating you everything from "sperm donors" to "rolling stones" to "deadbeats", to "baby daddies"--not deserving of compliments, gifts, cards, dinners, let alone a phone call. 

Maybe next year will be better, but this year, some facetious, sarcastic, even bitter person is going to send the Fathers' Day greeting you should be getting to your ex-wife, baby mama, or ex-girlfriend.

Perhaps you haven't stepped up to the plate.  

Perhaps you don't know, or are in denial that there's even a plate to step up TO. 

Perhaps you haven't been allowed. 

Perhaps you're not aware of your rights, the law, and what steps and support is available to you to help you assume your place in the life of your child.

The calendar, however says this is your day.

In this "Maury-DNA doesn't lie-I'm-2000-percent-sure-you ARE/you-are-NO-the-father" era, just how anticipated and happy is Fathers' Day these days? 

I've spent the last few months working at one of the elementary schools in my neighborhood. 

It is painfully, shamefully obvious how desperately children need their fathers to not only be consistently present, but to be wise, mature, and loving examples. Quality time, however, is valuable as well as monetary contributions, and should never be minimized. 

Little boys, especially, need to witness responsible, moral, trustworthy, smart men, and so, I applauded the presence of strong, dedicated, male teachers who gladly served as mentors. 

I cherish these photos of my great-grandfather, grandfather, and father.

My Dad, a man of strong convictions, who has been a mentor to many, says a lot of things, but particular sentiments have resonated as my assignment  comes to an end this week: 
"My Mama told me, "A child needs a father and a mother." Children don't ASK to come here."
"I had to realize that people do the best that they know how. If you don't have anybody to show you, how are you going to know what's right?"
"You can't lead where you don't go. You can't teach what you don't know...I looked at my father, then I looked at his father-- and then I understood."

FINAL WEEK: THE LIBRARY

I thought about something Tamela Mann said a few years ago during a TBN interview, "You have to set some kind of tone, because people get out of order...you go in to help..."
It's all I really wanted to do. Just help--in my own neighborhood. 

I have one more week on my assignment in the library at Patterson.

Today is Fathers' Day, and I thought about the times, when I was a child, that my Dad used to come home with books. I used to love looking at the titles. (I still remember opening "The Professional" and seeing Lyndon Johnson's autograph.) Some of the books were brand new or like-new, and like the books I've been handling for the past several days, they were considered by some, perhaps, unthinking someone to be invaluable, or unimportant. All my life I've known the value of reading. I want the kids I've met to know it, too. 

Thursday morning, I noticed I was a little emotional. It occurred to me that I only had a few more days. The "why?" of where you find yourself can be overwhelming when it becomes clearer. On Friday, witnessing the positive attitudes of teachers who've been fired from their jobs, spoke volumes for the resilience of the human spirit. 
One teacher walked in to her room to find it flooded, yet she brought her class to the library for breakfast, cleaned up, and still chaperoned her class on a trip to the circus. Another who had obviously been saddled with a disproportionate number of some of the most challenging students, was still heard encouraging them to be on their best behavior.
As  Monday approaches, however, I'm feeling a little proud of myself. I didn't quit--not when I wanted to, and not even when it would have been totally understandable. I've been called names, mocked, disrespected, and frustrated. I've been hit, what I tried to clean up was often messed up when I returned each day, and I even endured wannabe supervisors, but I've also been supported, appreciated, thanked, and encouraged. 

This week, I'm going to finish doctoring and offering the books that were almost discarded. The smiles on the faces of students and teachers as they walked away with classic, valuable, hardcover, out-of-print titles, made the effort worth it. From "Pippi Longstocking", to The Rock n' Pop Stars autobiography of Aretha Franklin, to Elizabeth Orton Jones' "Told Under the Magic Umbrella" to an early printing of Seslye Joslin's "What Do You Say, Dear", there was a lot to make book lovers happy--me, too.

SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES: ALMOST OVER

It really is a beautiful space. 

It's not majestic or palatial, but beautiful--to me, anyway. 

The ceilings are high, and except for the intermittent hum of the wonderfully functioning air conditioning, it's quiet. 

The acoustics are great. 

I like being there.

 

The sunlight coming through the large windows in the morning is stunning. 

The books are new, and there's state-of-the-art equipment.

 

When I walk in each day, I say to myself, "Who wouldn't appreciate a place like this?"  

Then, I remember that some things must be taught--early and often. 

Some of the children respect the space and what it represents and offers, because they respect themselves. (Home training really DOES go a long way.) 

Some see it as a quiet place to study, read, research, and listen to stories, and poetry.

I can always tell which classes have been encouraged to pay attention,  and be on their best behavior. 

I appreciate the educational aides who remain in the library with the class to which they have been assigned, and diligently monitor student behavior.
Other students, however, haven't been told a thing it seems, except maybe, "Go inside and run amok". 

Some students have run in and out of the library doors so much, that one of the doors is difficult to open, and makes a harsh banging noise when it finally yields to several attempts to open it. 

Some of the kids use the library as a hiding place from security guards, and a short cut from the office back to their classrooms. 

It WOULD be a short cut IF traipsing through the library actually took less time. 

Some of them draw their versions of obscene pictures on the tables, go behind the librarian's desk, rummage through cabinets, scream and yell, play on the librarian's phone, fight, bring in food and drinks, turn over chairs, run around, and crawl under the tables, bounce basketballs and throw footballs, break shelves, and leave papers and trash strewn about.

There's something savage and wild about the way some of them enter--prowling about, loud talking, refusing to take seats, bothering things that don't belong to them, and immediately creating disorder. If I attempt to correct their behavior, they're immediately offended! 

The proximity to the main office and security desks should be a deterrent, but it isn't. Unruly students come in and sit on TOP of the tables or the carts, and put their feet on the seats of the chairs. 

Some don't come in AT ALL, choose to roam the halls, then strategically time their reappearance minutes before their session is scheduled to end, They actually expect me to let them enter. 

 "Come in and have a seat" is like a foreign concept. It's as if some demon has possessed them and is compelling them to see just how far into The Land of Wrongdoing they can go in word, and deed.

Every day since I accepted the assignment, there have been at least two classes that force me to seek divine intervention, but I press on. 

I just cannot abide a disrespectful, defiant little kid. The sad part, is that it's not all of the children who are out of control, but it's enough of them to potentially derail any attempt at teaching and learning. 

They are rude, demanding, and equipped with attitudes that make me very afraid for them. 

They're going to mouth off at the wrong person one day--someone who has no fear of child protective services, nor the police. 

They seem to have no fear of consequences, and delight in their disruptive actions. 

 I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard, 

"I don't care.", 

"You don't tell me what to do.", or 

"I don't wanna_______". 

Yes. They are children, but a line has to be drawn somewhere. It's true. You get what you ALLOW.

Maybe they're just showing off for their friends. 

Maybe they're allowed to misbehave at home. 

Maybe they're just testing adults to see whether they'll follow through. 

I don't know. 

Whatever the reason, some of the stuff I see each day is simply unacceptable.

When I think of the children who would LOVE to learn in such a beautiful library, it makes me even sadder. 

What is it about something nice and neat, that brings out the destructiveness in some people? 

It's as if they can't stand a clean, orderly place, and HAVE to mess it up. 

Perhaps they don't think they deserve it. 

Perhaps they've never been taught that there are rules of behavior that apply in certain spaces; that there's a time and a place for everything.  

It's hard to ignore when chaos is all around. 

You feel you have to address it; correct it. 

You can't let it go on, can you? 

You can't honestly say you care, if you just let some things slide, can you? 

Yesterday, a little boy tapped me on the knee as I was trying my best to get through a story, and pleaded, "Miss Williams, ignore them. They do that all the time in our class. Just ignore them, okay? Keep reading. WE want to hear the story. WE'RE listening." 

It was true. About eight students were in a semi-circle at my feet. I hadn't even realized they'd inched so close to me.  They all had the same expression on their faces. They were desperate to hear, even in the midst of other students who were determined to make sure that they didn't.

 I had SO much respect for them, and they actually encouraged me.  

So, I keep going back to the space each day; 

I take the good with the bad, even though the bad will make you want to get your things and never return--or do like other substitute teachers do, and go outside of their own neighborhoods, and serve kids across town—or emphatically refuse to accept assignments at certain schools. 

I keep trying to "brighten the corner" where I am; 

I keep in mind the things that Sharon Bell Mathis did every day in the library at Patricia Roberts Harris Educational Center. I think about the mammoth task that was her Read-A-Thon. She made the library a rich, wonderful, safe, exciting place.

Another teacher said it best the other day: 

"Teachers definitely don't get the respect the profession deserves, but what's going to happen to them if we all give up? Someone has to teach our kids." 

I keep trying to leave it better than I found it, (even though, in any situation, I detest cleaning up behind able bodied people who seem oblivious to, and/or  are fans of filth and messiness).  

I respect the space most of all, because I LOVED the library as a child. I know what a positive, wealthy place it is. I know of the places a good book can take a child. 

How I appreciate Mrs. Reamer, the librarian at my elementary school! I wish I could remember the name of librarian in the children's corner at the old Washington Highlands library! They taught us what a sacred, magical, and important place the library is. 

I reject the "That was a different time" argument. Good manners never grow old, nor does teaching them. 

Each day I make a point to thank students for being cooperative and respectful. I'm compelled to do it, because I think they need to hear it. 

A disproportionate amount of time is spent dealing with disruptive students each day. It’s been normalized.

The well-mannered children are caught in the waiting game--waiting for some kid to either get it together, or waiting while a teacher interrupts the lesson to write an incident report, or hunt down a security officer or administrator--because these days you can't just put a student out of the classroom. 

Some of the children who used to behave themselves have decided to join the disruptive band, because it seems to be the only way to get noticed. 

I'd hate to see some of the children abandon their good manners, so I heeded the little boy's pleading, continued reading, and finished the story. 

If they could ignore the distractions, so could I. 

I owe it to them--for the next few days-- to keep trying. 

It may seem like it, but school is not over yet. 

Maybe standardized assessments should take place in June. 

(I'm just sayin')

Today, I got the news that my first two classes would be going on a field trip to the National Zoo. 

Even though they have been consistently delightful, I can't say I was disappointed. 

Frankly, I think it's good for the children to have experiences outside of their own neighborhood, and the quietness of the library is downright therapeutic. 

The break gave me a chance to do something I really hadn't planned. 

I spent the day rescuing several boxes of books from being discarded.  

I know we’re in a digital age, but why would anyone destroy books?

Some of the books merely had torn dust jackets, so I took them off completely, found some archival quality paper, and made new liners for the inside covers. 

Others just needed marks erased off of them, while they all needed to be freed from the dust that had collected on them. 

Armed with a can of Lysol, I cleaned them up, and inserted new book marks in each of them. 

I read some of the titles and couldn't believe they were destined for the trash: 

Black Beauty, 

The Little Red Hen, 

Aesop's Fables, 

Thumbelina, 

Pippi Longstocking 

 and several books in Beverly Cleary's Ramona series. 

The look on the kid's faces when I told them they could pick a book and keep it, made me smile. 

“I can take it home?”, they asked.

 When I opened the book and wrote their names, they were so appreciative. “Now, you can start your own library”.

So many walked away reading, "This book belongs to_________".

I'll finish going through the rest of the books tomorrow. 

For now, they're all clean, out of the dusty boxes, and on the rolling cart. 

All they needed was a little TLC—and I suppose that's what some of the kids could use as well. 

Maybe then they wouldn't be so angry, and vent that anger by taking it out on their own teachers, school, and classmates--and ultimately derailing their own academic achievement.

There's a lot to bemoan, but then there are many, many bright spots too. 

At the end of the day, as I straighten up before I leave the school, I always find adorable, nameless doodles that were left behind. 

Who knows if there are future illustrators walking through those banging doors each day.

#lovethelibrary

#substituteteaching

#classroommanagement

SUBSTITUTE TALES: THE LIBRARY

Does anyone remember the library being…well…sort of a sacred, magical place that demanded a different, quieter disposition? 

I just don't remember EVER eating there, and definitely not standing on top of the tables, turning over chairs, throwing books off of shelves, running, fighting, screaming, drumming on the doors and windows, writing on the furniture...or bouncing a basketball.

I've been assigned to a rather beautiful school library. It's filled with new books and state-of-the-art technology. 

It has brought back so many wonderful memories of Mrs. Reamer, our librarian at Abram Simon Elementary School in the 60's and 70's, and the children's reading room at the old Washington Highlands Library on Atlantic Street. 

Every morning when I walk into the space, I feel great. 

The eastward window lets in the morning sun, and the view, as familiar as it is to me, is stunning. 

I think to myself, "Who wouldn't want to study and learn, or even just be in this space?" It couldn't be more inviting. 

A large, framed photograph of one of my former supervisors, the late Bessie Wells, daily reminds me of her leadership, kindness, wisdom, and dedication to the success of students in Ward 8.

Most of the kids seem to love coming to the library, and I've loved preparing lessons, reading to them, and discussing even some of my favorite childhood storybooks, each day. 

This afternoon, however, I'm ashamed to say that I came extremely close to hanging up my chalk...or should I say, my dry erase marker.
Ironically, I read the following message when I got home. It was in my inbox yesterday when my computer decided to be temperamental:

"You are about to throw out the proverbial baby with the bath water.  But, I tell you that you need to exercise patience and make small adjustments that will be consistent with flowing in the Spirit, says the Lord.  Overdoing correction is the result of being out of control emotionally.  Settle down, and trust Me to give you the wisdom to do the right thing for the right reasons. 

Ephesians 4:26 "Be angry, and do not sin": do not let the sun go down on your wrath."

Thanks, Marsha Burns. Better late than never, I suppose.

This afternoon, I felt so sorry for the kids who have no idea how their horrible attitudes, inappropriate behavior, and outright defiance is working, and will work against them, socially, spiritually, economically, and academically.
I felt...well...I don't know how I felt, and I was still a little stunned some 4 hours or so after I arrived at home (and what was on one of my favorite television shows,"Master Chef", tonight? A bunch of screaming school children.) Hilarious.

I heard someone say, "Your problem is that you care." Wow. Caring used to be a good thing.

I'm glad I had the opportunity to talk with a parent as I was leaving this afternoon. It turns out, the parent, and the friend who was with her, used to be former students at the school where I formerly taught. They have memories of being respectful, and never getting into trouble at school. However, they struggle with keeping their own offspring in line--one of them to the point where it's seriously affecting her health. 

What used to work for their mothers, isn't available to them--or so they think. They feel their hands are tied, and effective methods to correct their children's behavior are few. They talked about boot camp as an option for their children. They even noted the cameras at the school as if they are there to record them in the act of disciplining their children at school, and not to keep their children safe from outside intruders.

All I know is that if I had said "No!", or "I don't have to!", or "I'm getting ready to!" or continued standing, when my teacher, or any adult for that matter, had told me to simply "Have a seat", well, I would have been having a seat alright, but not in a chair. I would have been on the floor...holding on to my lips...under my desk... where I would have fallen... after my teacher had slapped the living daylights out of me...and Lord help me if my parents found out I had been disrespectful. But, of course, those abusive days are no more...and today, some children are so unbelievably rude, impolite, nasty, manipulative, disrespectful and out of control that if you didn't see it with your own eyes, you wouldn't believe it.

One little boy lamented how he hated the school. He called it "dumb" and bragged about the "academy" he used to attend (when he wasn't running around the library, knocking papers and books from the counter onto the floor, playing on the telephone, and standing up in chairs.)

When asked why he was no longer there, he said, "I got put out for fighting".

I guess when some schools say they are institutions of learning, and do not tolerate any disruption of the learning process, they mean it.

Unfortunately, some of the students don't appreciate, or respect the library (or adults) at all. It would seem that the presence of several adults would curb some behavior, but no.

You see, when there are no effective consequences, and the kids KNOW it, it doesn't matter who shows up. Some kids are now convinced that THEY are in charge. Their classwork, reading skills, and test scores, however, paint a dismal picture of their grand delusion.

Somehow, teachers, principals, and school staff members keep getting shifted around—and even fired—in an effort to revitalize schools. 

When will anyone recognize that it's the lack of order and enforced standards of student behavior that will sink a school? 

The elephant in the room that keeps getting minimized or swept under the rug, is the child or children who consistently—daily—keep learning from taking place.
There are enough of the defiant ones to present a huge, desperate problem for the kids who are anxious to listen and learn. 

(Pray for the well-behaved student who has the misfortune of being in a class full of clowns. Poor things look like deer caught in headlights thinking, "Mommy, Daddy, anybody, GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!)

I'll try again. Tomorrow's a new day. 

Thanks again, Marsha Burns for this message, sent as I slept:

 "Beloved, rejoice in small victories and little breakthroughs, for they are signs of a greater triumph.  Your praise will be like a seed sown in good ground that will grow into a rousing shout of joy, says the Lord.  Your faith will also grow as you recognize and appreciate the small steps of progression instead of waiting for the final outcome to give thanks.  Gratitude is a mighty weapon against discouragement and defeat."