Fifth Period

I have learned a lot from being a substitute teacher. Among those things, are that students can smell fear. Like sharks attracted to blood. They know when they have beaten you, and they enjoy gloating about their victory. Because of this it is absolutely imperative that I hold a poker face, but the truth is that sometimes these kids scare me.
Today I am subbing in an English class at a high school that has the distinction of being over 125 years old. I am also one of its most distinguished alumni. Time has not changed the diversity of the student body, but it has made them more menacing. This high school houses a wide spectrum of students. They range from students participating in the International Baccalaureate program (IB) to students affiliated with gangs.
I had three warning about the students in my fifth period class before second period had concluded. Two of them came from other teachers, so I was taking the warning seriously. By the time fifth period arrived I had my game face on.
I try very hard not to judge students by what they choose to wear. I have found some deep thinkers and excellent students under a green mohawks, but as I looked out at my fifth period class I was afraid. They majority of them were dressed in gang style clothing. Many of them have found a way to circumvent the school districts “no gang clothing” policy.
The assignment was simple. Read a story in the literature book and then answer six corresponding questions. After several attempts to call the class to order and failed, I pulled out the referrals. I love referrals. They normally bring back a since of order to the room, but this was no normal class. The first offender had made himself know from the moment he walked through the door. Loud, disruptive, and rude were the reasons I jotted down in the explanation area. One down, thirty-two more rude kids to go.
The next incident caused uproar throughout the entire class. I was hearing cat calls, cackles, and rude comments about my heritage, and I thought this was vindication for the poor hapless student that was on his way to detention. I asked a student to remove his hood, and he started screaming at me that it was not a hood but a very high collar. Upon taking another look at the thing it was indeed a high collar. It went all the way to the top of his head, close enough to a hood to me. Again I requested he take it off.
A verbal explosion ensued, and the student jumped to his feet. I am going to stop here and give you, my reader, a brief description of myself. I am in my mid 30’s and am five foot five inches on a good hair day. I am a little on the chucky side, and have a bad knee. When this student stood up he towered over me, and at this point I was torn between running from the class room, crying, screaming, or kicking him in the knee. It amazes me how fast I went primal. I quickly remembered the poker face. It did not matter how I felt on the inside, outside I was tough as nails.
Thankfully I had thought to call the campus security, and just has the confrontation was about to begin they walked in and took the student with them. I may need to clean my pants.