Day 32

A kid transferred into my last class today. He's been put out of two other schools already this year for crazy behavior, and putting him in the last class, which I've worked so hard to bring under control, was like putting OxyContin in Rush Limbaugh's coffee. What a mess! And the kids are already rowdy because there's a full moon soon and this is a three-day week for the students because teachers have professional development Thursday and Friday.*

Newby has an elaborate design shaved into his head, and gang tatts up and down both arms. He does whatever he feels like. He gets up, opens my door, walks down the hall until I go get him. He puts paper airplanes in the ceiling. He pulls girls' hair, and when they tell him to stop he says "bitch I'ze gonna pluck you," turning his hand into a pistol and putting it to their temples. When I tell him "you keep that up, you won't be here long!" he looks at me and says "That's my goal, muthafucka."

He keeps telling other kids in class that they "best be Bloods because I pluck you if you a Crip," which tells me he's likely gonna get banged soon because while there are Bloods at the Book it's mostly Crips. And no, I can't believe I still have to deal with this bullshit with sixth graders. Perhaps it's like Cowboys and Injuns when I was in sixth grade? Um, no. Unfortunately not.

*At the bar. (I wish)