I made “the list”.

This is not a story about an accomplishment. Merely an all too familiar tale that happens in education more often than you think. One of the schools I taught at had a rule, bookbags at the front of the room. Students come in, make sure all their materials are in hand, but no exception “BOOKBAGS AT THE FRONT OF THE ROOM,” there was no going back after that. It may have seemed a simple rule over the top, but it saved my life…maybe. I had a student who came in and refused that simple rule. They sat at their science desk clutching their bookbag to their chest, hood up. I had a rule back then; I asked you once and then admin. It wasn’t a pride thing, I had established rapport with my kids, and I let them know Ms. Mayes follows the rules no matter how small. We follow the rules because it makes learning easier. Admin says we walk silently in the halls. We won’t move until it’s dead silent. Other people are learning and don’t need us to distract them. Admin says no free time; sorry guys, no movies in science. Clips may be, but no movies. That’s precious learning time. Bookbags at the front of the room, “BOOKBAGS AT THE FRONT OF THE ROOM,” we can’t search you, but this limits distractions and keeps unknown unknowns to a minimum. So when my student decided to keep clutching their bookbag after I said bookbags at the front of the room. I called admin and started teaching. My admin walked in and approached the student, and had a quiet conversation; the student escalated. I kept teaching, the classes stayed eyes on me as I dared them to cut their eyes away. In a moment of the student raising their arms about to yell, the admin grabbed the backpack and, with long strides and a smile, exited the classroom. The student was too flustered to follow and took a moment before hopping up and leaving the room. I walked and talked my way to the door and closed it behind them. The situation continued outside until lunch, and I had to walk my kids past this mess, first lunch problems. The student had started banging his head against the door, bleeding, demanding their backpack as the admin ushered us by on the walkie waiting for the SRO. I had a duty-free lunch, so when I got the kids seated, I walked to the facilitator’s office, where I often had lunch and was blessed with the outcome of the situation. In that backpack, the student had a screwdriver, winter gloves (in summer), and a list where I was one of five they planned to stab. My room was at the end of the hallway, the farthest from the most obvious exit. Their plan, stab me and zig-zag up the hall, stabbing every teacher listed until they reached my admin, whose office was at the top of the hall for the final stabbing before exit. They’d be wearing the gloves to keep their prints off the weapon and hood up to conceal their identity. I actually had a door in my classroom that led directly to outside; little did the kids know a school built in the 50s meant it didn’t have an alarm; from admin to my room would have been the better path, honestly. When they asked them why, they said “we did too much,” which was the teacher standard, calling home when they didn’t come to school, calling home when they didn’t do their work, holding them back to ask about the missing work and if they were okay, giving them task maps to prioritize the most important work. Look if you want to argue well what did you do, or you don’t know what was going on at home, or that was just a child be my guest. They were sick regardless and last time I checked you don’t stab people, or plan to stab people, or plan to stab people with supporting artifacts. Whatever the case, they got help, and one year later, I was told they would be in my classroom. I had moved to eighth grade, and as the only science teacher, I needed to show them grace as they got back to normal. Luckily, they decided on another school before I had to make that decision. But yea, once upon a time, I made “the list.” The end.