I was 11-12 years old and my family had difficult financial difficulties for a year. No, we were not hungry, but there was hardly enough money for the most necessary things. It was summer, the height of the holidays, friends in the courtyard delighted with ice cream, soda and so on. I did not have the thought of asking for money from my mom, because I knew perfectly that there was no excess and she kept us on the float with her last strength.

When I was a kid, I had more boys than girls. My friend and I decided to make money on sweets. By the way, the Wolf family was very well-off, but the parents were absolutely not against and supported him in the desire to earn on their own.

Every morning we woke up very early, picked up a bag and walked around the area to collect bottles. They stored it all at the Wolf in the basement, as there was plenty of space there, and went to rent them a couple of times a week. Mother categorically refused to take what I earned and allowed to spend at her discretion. I decided to buy bread at home.

It was a wonderful time. Strong friendship and joint earnings for the first time in life.

Then the wolf went to the camp for three weeks. I continued our joint business and decided to collect most of the bottles collected and not give it up until his arrival. I think he will be happy when he comes.

Three weeks later, I came to call a friend out. He opened the door to me and told me that he had handed over my bottles, but none of them were received and he threw them out. Then I asked my mother to confirm her words.

It was one of life’s first disappointments not only in a friend, but also in an adult who lied, covering his son.

Wolf, if you read this, I hope you grew up as a man, not a nest.

The coronavirus pandemic. The street. If you ask the person who approaches you not to approach, he will surely approach you with the words, "I am not contagious."

The planet of monkeys.

The story of an American teacher who moved from a school for poor Latinos to a school for Negroes:

I was a high school teacher for less than 10 years. I worked mostly in poor suburban schools with a large percentage of Mexican expatriates and mostly I loved my job. There have been, of course, falls and difficult times, but who doesn’t have them?

The year I taught at the central black city school almost forced me to give up my profession at all. I was in my fifth year of teaching and I decided to accept this challenge. Local central city schools advertised their new Turnaround Initiatives (in short, a new approach to education, a model proposed during the Obama administration) and I decided to try my hands at a school that successfully completed the initial phase of this initiative when I started working there. My old and new school were very similar with one difference. The percentage of students who were enrolled as “economically unsuccessful” (poor) was the same in both schools, but I left the school where mostly Mexicans studied to the school where mostly blacks studied.

The whole school year was a complete failure from the beginning to the end. I could probably write an entire book about the shit that is happening there, but I will only list the main points, starting with the least significant ones and ending with the most significant ones.

The visit was basically desired. Children were always coming in and out, if any. In response to any attempts to demand any rules on delays and visits, I usually received a "nigga reversal." And even if they were in class, they behaved loudly and were constantly distracted. Training took very little time in my class. In any of the classes. One girl, for example, pulled out her phone, turned on music, jumped to the table and started dancing. I tried to get her down, but she replied “out of time,” over and over again. She had it at least once a week. And this same little bitch spoke about the institutional forces of influence that prevent the Negro from growing and developing. And before you accuse me of poor class control, I tried to talk to the headmaster and the director about what to do because I had never encountered anything like that before. And in response I heard the same phrase that I was repeated all year round. “It’s just their culture. You have to respect her.” I was literally the only white man in the building. Almost all the adults were black with a few Mexicans and another white woman. The director, a black woman with a degree in education, told me that it was just their culture and I should respect it. and wow. I wish it would end, but where is it?

The mentality of the crabs in the cage that prevent each other from getting out is not a fiction and exists in reality. I had a handful of good guys and, of course, by chance, almost all of them were African immigrants. A boy from Rwanda was admitted to Stanford! How proud I was of them. Do you know who wasn’t so proud? A college consultant who tried to persuade him and go to the grabble grabbling instead of Stanford. He said that the guy would turn his back to his community if he went to Stanford.

Trying to cope with them was difficult, in addition, there were about 40 children in each class. You will say that the problem is funding, but nothing like that – we got more money for each child than any other school in the vicinity (and it’s in a big city). The money did not go to hire teachers, the money went to repair everything that the children broke just for entertainment. For example, each student was given a laptop and this is in a rather small school, about 850 children. Over the course of a year, about 1,000 laptops were re-rendered for replacement. The children handed them over to the lombard or just broke them on a rope. Several times I caught groups of children who were just spinning laptops around the wall or down the stairs under a common rust and twist, taking the procedure in turn for Vine (it was even before TikTok). All the TI83 calculators in the building were stolen from all the teachers. Couldn’t you get them back before they left? Do you think we did not try? They started screaming and screaming nonsense and just ran away with them. And again, nothing could be done about this because the school police choir and the director told me that this was their culture.

“They can’t think about classes when they’re so poor and have nothing to pay for an apartment and their stomachs are empty.” Every two weeks we handed out bags of food to each child in addition to the school dining room, which feeds the children with free breakfast and lunches, and the children and their parents with dinners in the evenings. I don't know why we did this, it was just money on the wind. They ate the snacks and threw the rest away. Hundreds of pounds of products are washed out every month. We often tried to keep what was possible when they just threw their bags on the floor. And at the same time, I know that almost all housing in this area is subsidized by section 8 (when the income is less than 50% of the average city income and the subsidy is 75% of the rental of housing).

And I have not yet touched the real problem – violence. The fighting was daily. Almost all the time there was a fight somewhere in the hallways or in the classroom. The usual punishment for a fight was an hour of sitting in an empty classroom. On average, the child had to fight five battles to get a more substantial punishment, like a whole day in an empty classroom. Have you noticed the “drakes in the classes”? At least once a week the teacher also received from the student. I was beaten several times. And again - the clock in the empty classroom, the next day again in class. The first time I was hit by a student, the director asked me to explain how I provoked him. As it turned out, telling the student to sit in place was a reason enough for the student to blast out, and it was my fault. Why is? This is their culture.

And finally the biggest problem was when I decided I was enough. A group of six of the most distracted shitmen followed me on the parking lot and showed me their knives. They said that if they didn’t get a good score for my subject at the end of the year, they would kill me. I was in horror. He ran to the school police officer and director. The director told me to give them good assessments. As you guess, it’s just that kind of culture they have, that’s what happens. Moreover, do we not want to ruin their lives with a police protocol because of such nonsense? For the first time in my life, I sent my boss. Nothing of this I will do, I will fulfill my employment contract until the last fifth, but no favor, enough of this hole. I never walked the same route twice again and always held my back to the wall except at the parking lot, where I was constantly looking around and always ready to run.

It was 3 years ago. I moved to another school in the area, the same poor, but Mexican, not Negro. The director is also a Mexican and a graduate of the school. And thanks to the new school, I am glad that I did not give up this profession. I like it here, it’s exactly like the school where I just started. There are problems with poverty, but they are good people trying to do the most with what they have and I go to work every day.

This phrase still burns before my eyes. It is simply their culture. If so, I hope you forgive me for not being 100% sympathetic to you. Because you have created it with yourself.”

by Via
https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueOffMyChest/comments/gulna2/i_used_to_teach_in_a_black_inner_city_school/

Personally, when I read this, I recalled the saying, "In every bush, there is a bush," if you understand what I am talking about. ;-)

Putin instructed Nornikel: "If the tank was replaced in time, the spill of fuel could be avoided."
Should the tank be changed?! to
And we thought it was enough to cancel the service period and work as before...