Throw Me A Chair

Today, a child threw a chair across my classroom. Luckily, I was not in the chair's trajectory so avoided having my brain impaled by a chair lag. Everybody in the classroom jumped. I did not. I maintained an air of controlled calm, mostly because my ear is still buzzing and I was feeling discombobulated, but deep down what I really wanted to do was pick the chair up and throw it back, with maybe a table or two to underline my displeasure vis a vis flying furniture.

And my transgression?

I had asked said child to put his balloon away. Six times. Nicely. Politely. Starting with humour. Working up to firm resolve. I mean, it's not an unreasonable request, is it? We had things to do in class which in no way, shape or form involved the use of a balloon. The balloon was being distracting. So please put it away.

Perhaps I wasn't clear enough in my instruction. 'Please put the balloon away.' Could be interpreted as 'Gjfirow huf ewo fjisgnrj shkf,' I suppose. By a particularly idiot child.

Another idiot child refused to be quiet whilst I was explaining the main activity of the lesson.

'I can't help it,' he said. 'I've got ADHD.'
'But you managed to sit through a 25 minute assembly the other week without speaking,' I said.

The child shrugged. This was an irrelevant observation. 'It was assembly,' he said. Like that made all the difference. He continued to talk over me. A couple of his peers told him to shut up. He ignored them too, so I didn't feel quite so bad about my inadequacies.

So today I decided it would be a good idea to open a cake shop. I am not cut out to be a teacher. Not in the current social climate. Cake will never, EVER throw a chair. Or answer back.