Dear Diary, today I punched the vice-principal in the face...

I arrived at school today to find the staff room crowded with teachers, discussing something seemingly-important. I then spotted my friend Carlos, the Spanish assistant, and asked him what all the fuss was about. "Some kid punched the vice-principal in the face," he told me. WHAT?! I listened to the discussion and got more of the details: Mr. Poite, one of the two vice-principals at our school, had arranged a meeting with this student, who had been missing a lot of school lately. Everyone who worked with this student knew that he had anger management issues...and that he was trained in boxing. Students feared him in the halls. Teachers couldn't control him in class.

Then Mr. Poite holds a meeting to talk with this student about his behavior. I'm fuzzy on the details here, but another teacher came into his office, and somehow the student pinned that second teacher to the wall. Mr. Poite came to help the other teacher, and in doing so, got a swift blow to the ear by the "delinquent" student.

What followed was a lengthy and complicated argument about what should be done next. (I should add in parentheses that the French are lousy at debates. They know this, and I know this. So the "lengthy and complicated argument" was really more like a ridiculous and strung-out series of accusations that really went nowhere.)

By this time, it was 10:20, already 10 minutes into the scheduled class session. The students were gathered outside, wondering what was going on and when their teachers would show up (I'm sure they were hoping to have an extra hour off). Ten minutes later, one of the teachers decided that the conversation couldn't be finished then and there. So he suggested that we all reconvene in the amphitheatre in a few minutes to drag the conversation out until noon.

And thus, just like that, classes from 10 to 12 were canceled.

I decided to sit in on the meeting, just to see what it was like. The second vice-principal came in to make remarks about the incident and to announce, as we already knew, that the student had been expelled from school. He then opened the floor for suggestions on how to proceed with other students who might be considered "dangerous."

Between accusations ("Must be the Inspector's fault! He knew this was a dangerous student, and let him back in to the school! HE should be held responsible!") and victimizations ("He was in my Spanish class, and wouldn't turn off his cell phone! He's a disrespectful student!"), I had to sit back and wonder: was this kid REALLY dangerous? Now, granted, punching a vice-principal in the face is unacceptable and he merited the consequences he received. But really now...no one's life was in danger. He didn't have a gun. He didn't have a knife. He wasn't out to pummel someone into the ground. And because of that, I'm hesitant to call him truly "dangerous" (as school shooting perpetrators are typically the ones we DON'T expect), and much more likely to suggest therapy...and maybe yoga.

An hour into the second discussion, the teachers were still getting nowhere in terms of where to go in the aftermath of this event. A few more diplomatic teachers came to the rescue, saying something to the effect of: "What we need to do is have consequences that students can see. If we can all agree on..." or "This is what I hear everyone saying...., so let's decide what we should do next." And then that hopeful moment would be lost to whomever had the floor (or "the right of the word" as they say in French) next -- someone who felt the need to change topic completely, or talk about their own victimization by the student.

In the final ten minutes, the teachers finally came to a vote about where to go next. Not discussing any sort of protocol, they decided that they needed to get the word out: first to parents, then to the local media, then to the Inspector of the Academy. That was it. No next steps, no further consequences, no future plans.

Meaning that the next time someone gets punched in the face, they're going to be right back where they started.

Now Accepting Donations!

My goal for the end of my year here has been to go on a cruise. I had a dream last night that I was on a cruise headed for Barcelona, Tunis, and Naples (not a bad dream, eh?). I've found a few that I would LOVE to go on (one is for France, Italy, Greece, and Croatia -- the PERFECT cruise itinerary!!), but the problem still is the $$ (imagine those as Euro symbols) factor. So. I am officially accepting donations. :) Think of it as a birthday present. Or a birthday/Christmas present. Or a birthday/Christmas/next year's birthday/next year's Christmas present. I mean...you'd want to do it if you were here, right? :)

The Countdown Begins: 44 More Days

All year long, I've looked forward to several benchmark events: Christmas in Paris, moving into my new apartment, Mom coming to visit, my April vacation. Everything seemed so far in the future and suddenly, without any warning, here I am at the end of my time in France! How did that possibly happen?

I have mixed feelings about the end of my time here. On the one hand, I'm so excited to get back home to Oregon -- to see my friends and family, to feel "normal" again, and to see what is coming next in my life. There's so much to look forward to! Oh, and did I mention Starbucks? Definitely can't wait for some good coffee a la USA.

On the other hand, I still feel like there's so much for me to do here. I feel like I have business at my school that I haven't finished -- people I haven't reached out to yet. Friends I haven't met. I have travels ideas that I don't have time or money for. There's a lot that I haven't done here, but then again, I knew from the beginning that I'd only be here for seven months. And I knew they'd go quickly.

Looking back, I see that my year has been marked into two distinct sections: BA and AD -- Before Apartment and After Dorm. My time living at the school seems so far away, and I cringe thinking of when I had to go to McDonald's to get my internet access and all those microwave dinners I ate because I didn't have a refrigerator. I sure do love my apartment, and my mother can certainly vouch why.

Looking forward, I still have a month and a half. And just so I can take advantage of all the time I have left, here is a list of some of the things I'm planning to do before I leave:

- Visit Cavaques, a coastal village in northern Spain where Dali used to live
- Go to Corsica for a week
- Visit a high school friend in Switzerland
- Take the Little Yellow Train through the foothills of the Pyrenees
- Go back to the Riviera, even though I was there four years ago
- Visit Andorra
- Try Catalan food

I know it sounds ambitious, but hey...isn't that the point? Guess I'd better get started.