Saturday, October 18, 2003
The fight in the cafeteria
I was called to the cafeteria one day last week. I grabbed my intercom and keys and headed out the side door of my office, which puts me directly in the hallway. As I came nearer the cafeteria, I saw my VP with one of the boys in tow. He looked beaten up.
I later found out from the two boys that the one of Italian descent was bossing around the Korean boy. The Korean couldn't take it anymore and got out of his cafeteria by saying he had to go the bathroom with a pass and went instead to the other cafeteria. The teacher, at first, wouldn't let him in but he said he only wanted to talk to the other boy. He went to the Italian boy and punched him several times in the face. The teacher pulled the boys apart and had them separated while trying to call the office on the phone when the Italian boy slipped from her grasp and came around behind to hit the Korean in the head several times.
Both boys were bruised, swollen and bloodied. He examined one and the other refused. He was upset because he knew this behavior was going to get him suspended. He was right! We called his mother and she picked him up.
The Korean boy had a father that didn't speak English too well, so we had a Korean girl, one of our brightest students, call him and explain it all in his language. Unfortunately, we later found out that the VP of Italian descent mispronounced the boy's name to the Korean girl and she, in turn, relayed the mispronumciation to the father. The mistake produced the sound of the father's oldest son, not the one in high school, so he took off to the community college to find his oldest son. We could not reach him for three hours after that.
It was getting on 3:30 and I had to make a decision. I sent a police officer to his house to find the Dad, but no one was there. The nurse told me I couldn't drive the boy home, he had a possible head/neck injury, so I had to wait for the Dad or take the boy to the hospital in an ambulance. Finally, I had no choice, I called the ambulance and they strapped the boy on a board with these foam blocks on either side of his head. I followed the ambulance to the hospital and almost got hit by people returning to the traffic lane behind the ambulance.
It was caos at the emergency ward. We were told to go the pediatric emergency and we rolled his gurney into a bay next to screaming toddlers that had fallen or something. The boy was very uncomfortable on the hard board they strapped him to. A female doctor eventally came to see him and to chastise me for not having him in a neck brace since the fight. I asked to use the phone to try one more time to reach the father and I did get one of the older brothers on the phone. He could understand English well enough for me to tell him to get a hold of his father and pick up his brother at the hospital.
So here I was with a boy I hardly knew in a hospital that looked like M. A. S. H. when the wounded arrived, and wishing I could have gotten home at a decent time this day. I was feeling pretty sorry for the boy and myself when I was finally sent home by the doctor. The father, I later found, did arrive about thirty minutes after my departure and the boy was released to him without having to have an x-ray. I was so mad at the father for being so confused, but it was not his fault as I learned.
Yesterday we had the re-entry conference with the father. I had served in Korea during the Viet Nam war because the colonel of my outfit in Fort Hood, TX didn't send Infantry Lieutenants that wore glasses to a war zone. I was fascinated by the Korean written language, but I did not have the time to lean much. But when the father came into my office I said good moring to him in Korean (An yeang ha say oh). He tried to explain things to me in English and did fairly well. He began to tell me he was an artist and that he did caricatures for a living. He then unrolled two 36" by 24" prints of one of his caricatures. It was a collage of over a hunded musical composers. I couldn't believe the detail! He wanted a pencil to sign the pieces; one for me personally and one for the school! I said he didn't have to give me anything, but he insisted, so I told him my name and he signed it. I thanked him in Korean (Com up sum nee dah). I showed my music teachers and they identified as did I some of the more famous composers from Back to Shotakovitch.
Later that day the Korean girl told me of the mistake in the names. She felt so badly. I assured her that it was alright; after all, I received a wonderful gift from the whole affair. So sometimes you do get rewarded for going the extra mile and seeing that a boy is safe. In education, you never fully know what an effect you have on people. It is like strategic bombing at high altitude; you do your job and you may find out much later the effect.
I later found out from the two boys that the one of Italian descent was bossing around the Korean boy. The Korean couldn't take it anymore and got out of his cafeteria by saying he had to go the bathroom with a pass and went instead to the other cafeteria. The teacher, at first, wouldn't let him in but he said he only wanted to talk to the other boy. He went to the Italian boy and punched him several times in the face. The teacher pulled the boys apart and had them separated while trying to call the office on the phone when the Italian boy slipped from her grasp and came around behind to hit the Korean in the head several times.
Both boys were bruised, swollen and bloodied. He examined one and the other refused. He was upset because he knew this behavior was going to get him suspended. He was right! We called his mother and she picked him up.
The Korean boy had a father that didn't speak English too well, so we had a Korean girl, one of our brightest students, call him and explain it all in his language. Unfortunately, we later found out that the VP of Italian descent mispronounced the boy's name to the Korean girl and she, in turn, relayed the mispronumciation to the father. The mistake produced the sound of the father's oldest son, not the one in high school, so he took off to the community college to find his oldest son. We could not reach him for three hours after that.
It was getting on 3:30 and I had to make a decision. I sent a police officer to his house to find the Dad, but no one was there. The nurse told me I couldn't drive the boy home, he had a possible head/neck injury, so I had to wait for the Dad or take the boy to the hospital in an ambulance. Finally, I had no choice, I called the ambulance and they strapped the boy on a board with these foam blocks on either side of his head. I followed the ambulance to the hospital and almost got hit by people returning to the traffic lane behind the ambulance.
It was caos at the emergency ward. We were told to go the pediatric emergency and we rolled his gurney into a bay next to screaming toddlers that had fallen or something. The boy was very uncomfortable on the hard board they strapped him to. A female doctor eventally came to see him and to chastise me for not having him in a neck brace since the fight. I asked to use the phone to try one more time to reach the father and I did get one of the older brothers on the phone. He could understand English well enough for me to tell him to get a hold of his father and pick up his brother at the hospital.
So here I was with a boy I hardly knew in a hospital that looked like M. A. S. H. when the wounded arrived, and wishing I could have gotten home at a decent time this day. I was feeling pretty sorry for the boy and myself when I was finally sent home by the doctor. The father, I later found, did arrive about thirty minutes after my departure and the boy was released to him without having to have an x-ray. I was so mad at the father for being so confused, but it was not his fault as I learned.
Yesterday we had the re-entry conference with the father. I had served in Korea during the Viet Nam war because the colonel of my outfit in Fort Hood, TX didn't send Infantry Lieutenants that wore glasses to a war zone. I was fascinated by the Korean written language, but I did not have the time to lean much. But when the father came into my office I said good moring to him in Korean (An yeang ha say oh). He tried to explain things to me in English and did fairly well. He began to tell me he was an artist and that he did caricatures for a living. He then unrolled two 36" by 24" prints of one of his caricatures. It was a collage of over a hunded musical composers. I couldn't believe the detail! He wanted a pencil to sign the pieces; one for me personally and one for the school! I said he didn't have to give me anything, but he insisted, so I told him my name and he signed it. I thanked him in Korean (Com up sum nee dah). I showed my music teachers and they identified as did I some of the more famous composers from Back to Shotakovitch.
Later that day the Korean girl told me of the mistake in the names. She felt so badly. I assured her that it was alright; after all, I received a wonderful gift from the whole affair. So sometimes you do get rewarded for going the extra mile and seeing that a boy is safe. In education, you never fully know what an effect you have on people. It is like strategic bombing at high altitude; you do your job and you may find out much later the effect.
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