Reconsidering the use of violence as a disciplinary tool :: Mmegi Online

At Form 2, my teacher was a burly Indian man, likely in his 30s. I was 14. We sat in neat rows of two. Behind me, was a boy, at least two years older than me. He liked making the class laugh. On that day, we were solving a Maths problem, and there was utter silence. Minds were at work. Our teacher was sitting at his desk, waiting for allocated time to expire.

He sported a dark moustache, that reminded me of the chinese Kung Fu masters I had seen in the films at the village cinema. The boys joked, the moustache made him look like a cat.

Something happened, that would make me hate Maths for years. Concealed behind me, the lad, released a loud, “meeeewwwww”, in imitation of a cat. The teacher picked it. When he advanced in my direction, I could not have known what was to follow. I was, by all counts, an unlikely culprit. A graduate of my mothers university of good manners, I was well behaved. The only vice I ever had, was holding my ground in argument. And I did it, with respect.

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