Love and Anger

I just returned home from our annual All School Retreat. As usual, there were some pranks pulled. Unfortunately, this year the "pranks" turned into full scale bullying and assault.

I don't understand the predatory instincts of teenage boys.

I've been furious. The aggressors were my students last year, and I am so outrageously disappointed in them. In my mind, I have called them every horrible word we have for jerks. Outloud, I've called them all the socially-acceptable synonyms.

The freshmen teachers, who are the only staff members who really know most of the attacked, have a clear cut anger against the attackers. But my feelings are a bit convoluted.

Hence the blog entry.

I don't know any of the kids that received the brunt end of the "pranks." My protective feelings for them are general and theoretical. However, my feelings toward the upperclassmen are specific and personal. The jerks are boys I know fairly well, some of whom I really like as individuals, all of whom I care about in some fashion or another. I know, beyond a doubt, that some of these boys are good boys, with good hearts, and I can't align their hearts and their actions. I've been analyzing my anger, and I think it comes down to this: I am angry at them for not living up to their convictions. I'm angry at them for disappointing themselves. I'm angry at them for buckling under, following the crowd, being so much less than they should be. I'm angry at them for ruining their reputations. I'm angry at them for handicapping my ability to stand up for them. I can love them as much as ever, but I will forever have a hard time arguing their case. They have ruined their good names.

Jerks.