Dear Secret Blogiary,
Sometimes it scares me how little my students know. I have to remind myself that they are only 13-14 years old and they haven’t been exposed to much in the way of culture.
“Mrs. W.?” Student J asked during the wind down of the lesson. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Does it have to do with the lesson?” I ask J trying to keep the exasperation out of my tone. J is notorious for asking questions that while interesting have nothing to do with the lesson or my content area.
“Kind-of,” he replies while shaking his head.
“Okay, Ladies and Gentlemen, go ahead and start reading the poem.” I sit down next to J. “Go ahead,” I say.
“Did you go to college for this?”
“This being…?”
“Language Arts…poetry…you know, this.” He gestures with his hands around the room.
“Yes,” I tell him. “My major was English. I love words.”
“Oh.” He says, then “But what about teaching? When you were in college is this what you wanted to do?”
“Oh. No!” I exclaim. “I didn’t even think about teaching until after college.”
“What did you want to be then?” J asks leaning forward on his desk, the poem he is supposed to be reading forgotten.
“Archeologist,” I say. “Like Indiana Jones.”
J stares at me for a few seconds. “Oh! You mean like the movie?”
I nod, smile and point at his book. He looks back at the poem for a minute but then as I am about stand up to move on to another group of students he looks back at me.
“Why didn’t you become an archeologist?” he asks quietly.
“No more Nazis.” I tell him.
“Oh,” J says, “What are those?”
Countdowns
Showing posts with label 8th graders. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 8th graders. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Unsatisfactory?
Dear Secret Blogiary,
It turns out, I do secretly care. I care about my stupid job that makes me miserable. I care what I accomplish in my classroom. I care about making sure that the students get the most from me that I can give during the year. I care about the connection I make with my kids. I care about doing a good job despite the fact that I hate it.
So it came as a major blow to see my final yearly evaluation on Friday. It had two categories that were dinged.
One I knew about: professional behavior. Apparently it is unprofessional to miss work when your children are puking their guts out. Every single teacher there that has kids was dinged as “Needs Improvement” in this category. In clear, yet tiny perfect italics it read: needs to improve attendance. Like I was a student. Shit! That comment is one that I can check on my student’s report cards.
Fine. I knew I was going to get dinged. It was the only thing that had been discussed with me at my post-observation. Honestly, and I am all about conspiracy theories, I think it had more to do with getting people out of the “High Performing” category. If we get “High Performing” we can also earn merit pay (although with the new law that was just passed, this will be the last year for this type of merit pay).
It was the second category that was marked “Unsatisfactory” that had my eyeballs about to burst from my head! I was marked down for not having classroom management. I was shocked, hurt, and quite honestly pissed off.
Now overall, this year’s group of students were a nightmare in 6th grade and wretched in 7th – this by the admission of the 6th and 7th grade teachers and the administrators. Every single teacher on the hall has the same problems with the same students I do. I refuse to yell and scream a student or hover over them until they do what I ask. I also refuse to continue to call the parents if after the first call made no difference. This group of kids does not care about consequences. Phone calls to parents do nothing. Time outs do nothing. Referrals do nothing. Nothing fazes them.
As 8th graders they are fully responsible for their actions. I shouldn’t have to call parents.
As a parent of an 8th grader, I refuse to make excuses for my child. She knows how to behave and what is expected from her, so why should I accept anything less from my students? All I hear from the higher ups is that standards and expectations need to be higher for our students. So why should I lower my expectations?
I have a single class that sheer unadulterated Hell. One. Not a single teacher on my team can “control” this class and as they travel together (the same students share all the same classes) they wreak havoc all day long. I only wish I was exaggerating. Ethically, I will not discuss them individually, but I will leave it at this: many of the students in there are certifiably crazy – it is in their IEP – and most are labeled as EH (Emotionally Handicapped – which essentially means they have severe anger management problems and will likely fly into a rage at the drop of a hat).
And I have a theory about that. They know that first of all, the 8th grade administrator, no matter what the offense, will take the student’s word over the teacher’s in just about every case. Secondly, they know that even if they get in trouble, the punishment will not be a punishment; instead it will be a “conference” with the student where the admin will read them the riot act, slap them on the wrist verbally, and send them back to class.
The teachers get no support to back up our management plan. So how am I supposed to have effective classroom management? Beats me. In my two minute read-this-and-sign-here evaluation conference, I got no feedback and it didn’t occur to me to demand any because I was so blindsided.
And unfortunately, I care about it. I care because this is the only time I have been dinged for anything in an evaluation. Not even in my first year as a teacher did I have problems. And as I have been mulling the evaluation over for the past few days it occurred to me why.
I had the support of administrators who backed me up no matter what. Since Mr. MoHOLU took the reins, the school has gone downhill and I wish that was me just being angry and disgruntled. But after talking to other teachers and watching the number of teachers transferring out each year increase, it can’t just be me.
It turns out, I do secretly care. I care about my stupid job that makes me miserable. I care what I accomplish in my classroom. I care about making sure that the students get the most from me that I can give during the year. I care about the connection I make with my kids. I care about doing a good job despite the fact that I hate it.
So it came as a major blow to see my final yearly evaluation on Friday. It had two categories that were dinged.
One I knew about: professional behavior. Apparently it is unprofessional to miss work when your children are puking their guts out. Every single teacher there that has kids was dinged as “Needs Improvement” in this category. In clear, yet tiny perfect italics it read: needs to improve attendance. Like I was a student. Shit! That comment is one that I can check on my student’s report cards.
Fine. I knew I was going to get dinged. It was the only thing that had been discussed with me at my post-observation. Honestly, and I am all about conspiracy theories, I think it had more to do with getting people out of the “High Performing” category. If we get “High Performing” we can also earn merit pay (although with the new law that was just passed, this will be the last year for this type of merit pay).
It was the second category that was marked “Unsatisfactory” that had my eyeballs about to burst from my head! I was marked down for not having classroom management. I was shocked, hurt, and quite honestly pissed off.
Now overall, this year’s group of students were a nightmare in 6th grade and wretched in 7th – this by the admission of the 6th and 7th grade teachers and the administrators. Every single teacher on the hall has the same problems with the same students I do. I refuse to yell and scream a student or hover over them until they do what I ask. I also refuse to continue to call the parents if after the first call made no difference. This group of kids does not care about consequences. Phone calls to parents do nothing. Time outs do nothing. Referrals do nothing. Nothing fazes them.
As 8th graders they are fully responsible for their actions. I shouldn’t have to call parents.
As a parent of an 8th grader, I refuse to make excuses for my child. She knows how to behave and what is expected from her, so why should I accept anything less from my students? All I hear from the higher ups is that standards and expectations need to be higher for our students. So why should I lower my expectations?
I have a single class that sheer unadulterated Hell. One. Not a single teacher on my team can “control” this class and as they travel together (the same students share all the same classes) they wreak havoc all day long. I only wish I was exaggerating. Ethically, I will not discuss them individually, but I will leave it at this: many of the students in there are certifiably crazy – it is in their IEP – and most are labeled as EH (Emotionally Handicapped – which essentially means they have severe anger management problems and will likely fly into a rage at the drop of a hat).
And I have a theory about that. They know that first of all, the 8th grade administrator, no matter what the offense, will take the student’s word over the teacher’s in just about every case. Secondly, they know that even if they get in trouble, the punishment will not be a punishment; instead it will be a “conference” with the student where the admin will read them the riot act, slap them on the wrist verbally, and send them back to class.
The teachers get no support to back up our management plan. So how am I supposed to have effective classroom management? Beats me. In my two minute read-this-and-sign-here evaluation conference, I got no feedback and it didn’t occur to me to demand any because I was so blindsided.
And unfortunately, I care about it. I care because this is the only time I have been dinged for anything in an evaluation. Not even in my first year as a teacher did I have problems. And as I have been mulling the evaluation over for the past few days it occurred to me why.
I had the support of administrators who backed me up no matter what. Since Mr. MoHOLU took the reins, the school has gone downhill and I wish that was me just being angry and disgruntled. But after talking to other teachers and watching the number of teachers transferring out each year increase, it can’t just be me.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Stupid Fucking Day
Dear Secret Blogiary,
What a Stupid Fucking Day. You know those days when nothing “goes wrong” per say but nothing goes right either. Today was a Stupid Fucking Day or an SFD for short.
It started simply enough. Mister W and I woke up at the same time for a change and I attempted to initiate a quick intimate moment. God Lord! How long has it been since morning sex? Pre kids, I think. I could have used the pick-me-up, today, and I was shot down. Hard.
Pushing my hand away, Mister W. goes into a diatribe about how he needs to get up and get going for work. WORK?!?! Screw work! I wanted SEX!
All the time we are on his schedule and this morning it just tipped me off that whenever he wants it, I jump in full on regardless of whether I am really interested or not because I have discovered that unless I am sick, I will get interested real quick once we start. But God Forbid I want it at an inconvenient time and it is all hands off.
So, pissy, horny and now irritated because I woke up early I rolled from bed and moved on. Sort-of. Have I mentioned that I am really, really good at holding a grudge and stewing about things?
The morning continued with diabolical plans to with-hold all sex acts until further notice. That lasted until the end of my shower when I realized that that was just about as likely as me winning the lottery without actually playing.
At school, I had my yearly observation. I was woefully unprepared. The lesson was one that I had never taught before, but the next “required” piece in the curriculum. Stupid curriculum. So despite my prep, I felt, at best, “iffy” about the lesson. The class I chose for the observation is typically one of my better involved ones. They might be my lowest level class, but by God, they try.
Except for today. I don’t know if it was the administrator in the class or what, but they were silent, taciturn, and reticent. Who were these children? Clearly they were abducted last night and replaced by pod-people.
The focus lesson (a mini mini-lesson – essentially I have to teach two lessons one FCAT focused and then one content but that’s a rant for another day) ran long and although they had been over it before, they acted like they had never seen inferences before even though as a focus lesson they have been over it dozens of times. Then when we got into the bulk of the content – character development and historical background of a story – they lost it and went crazy with misbehavior.
Then, before I got into my super required “differentiated instruction” the admin left. Observation over.
Great. Perfect. I am sure to ace this one.
From there it just got worse. Spring is really in the air because I could not get the rest of the class in line with what they needed to do. At one point, I gathered up the five kids who were doing what they were supposed to a taught them alone and ignored the rest.
They didn’t seem to mind.
Then I got yelled at TWICE! for letting a student use the restroom.
SFD.
We have this ridiculous rule about when we are allowed to let students out on hall passes. As ridiculous as it is I follow it to the letter because that is just the law-abiding goody-two-shoes I am. So, with two minutes to spare before the cut-off time, a student who never asks me to go to the restroom asked. I look at the time, I tell him, okay, but hurry because you only have 2 minutes before the cut-off. The boy grabed the pass and took off running to make it to and from in time.
Mr. MoHOLU radioed my direct admin and sent him to reprimand me. My reply was courteous and I told him that the boy was within the time. My admin radioed back letting Mr. MoHOLU know my response and reason. Not ten seconds later Mr. MoHOLU stormed into the wing and shouted, SHOUTED! Down the hall that he was sick of all the hall passes and it didn’t matter that the boy was sent out right before the cut-off I shouldn’t have sent him out because he could have held it until next period.
SFD!
Why the Hell did Mr. MoHOLU established a cut-off time if he wasn’t going to allow us to abide by it? My school is on block schedule so we are in class for 90 minutes. 6th period, because it is the lunch period, actual real time is 2 hours because it is the lunch block and we have to rotate 900 students in three shifts through, with clean-ups between each. So, it is a long period and after lunch, kids need to pee. Fact of life. They guzzle down chocolate milk, juice and soda and then are trapped in a class for near two hours. Hell! I gave up drinking any thing at lunch because I couldn’t hold it that long.
Stupid Fucking Day.
All I’ve got to say is that Mister W. better put out tonight.
What a Stupid Fucking Day. You know those days when nothing “goes wrong” per say but nothing goes right either. Today was a Stupid Fucking Day or an SFD for short.
It started simply enough. Mister W and I woke up at the same time for a change and I attempted to initiate a quick intimate moment. God Lord! How long has it been since morning sex? Pre kids, I think. I could have used the pick-me-up, today, and I was shot down. Hard.
Pushing my hand away, Mister W. goes into a diatribe about how he needs to get up and get going for work. WORK?!?! Screw work! I wanted SEX!
All the time we are on his schedule and this morning it just tipped me off that whenever he wants it, I jump in full on regardless of whether I am really interested or not because I have discovered that unless I am sick, I will get interested real quick once we start. But God Forbid I want it at an inconvenient time and it is all hands off.
So, pissy, horny and now irritated because I woke up early I rolled from bed and moved on. Sort-of. Have I mentioned that I am really, really good at holding a grudge and stewing about things?
The morning continued with diabolical plans to with-hold all sex acts until further notice. That lasted until the end of my shower when I realized that that was just about as likely as me winning the lottery without actually playing.
At school, I had my yearly observation. I was woefully unprepared. The lesson was one that I had never taught before, but the next “required” piece in the curriculum. Stupid curriculum. So despite my prep, I felt, at best, “iffy” about the lesson. The class I chose for the observation is typically one of my better involved ones. They might be my lowest level class, but by God, they try.
Except for today. I don’t know if it was the administrator in the class or what, but they were silent, taciturn, and reticent. Who were these children? Clearly they were abducted last night and replaced by pod-people.
The focus lesson (a mini mini-lesson – essentially I have to teach two lessons one FCAT focused and then one content but that’s a rant for another day) ran long and although they had been over it before, they acted like they had never seen inferences before even though as a focus lesson they have been over it dozens of times. Then when we got into the bulk of the content – character development and historical background of a story – they lost it and went crazy with misbehavior.
Then, before I got into my super required “differentiated instruction” the admin left. Observation over.
Great. Perfect. I am sure to ace this one.
From there it just got worse. Spring is really in the air because I could not get the rest of the class in line with what they needed to do. At one point, I gathered up the five kids who were doing what they were supposed to a taught them alone and ignored the rest.
They didn’t seem to mind.
Then I got yelled at TWICE! for letting a student use the restroom.
SFD.
We have this ridiculous rule about when we are allowed to let students out on hall passes. As ridiculous as it is I follow it to the letter because that is just the law-abiding goody-two-shoes I am. So, with two minutes to spare before the cut-off time, a student who never asks me to go to the restroom asked. I look at the time, I tell him, okay, but hurry because you only have 2 minutes before the cut-off. The boy grabed the pass and took off running to make it to and from in time.
Mr. MoHOLU radioed my direct admin and sent him to reprimand me. My reply was courteous and I told him that the boy was within the time. My admin radioed back letting Mr. MoHOLU know my response and reason. Not ten seconds later Mr. MoHOLU stormed into the wing and shouted, SHOUTED! Down the hall that he was sick of all the hall passes and it didn’t matter that the boy was sent out right before the cut-off I shouldn’t have sent him out because he could have held it until next period.
SFD!
Why the Hell did Mr. MoHOLU established a cut-off time if he wasn’t going to allow us to abide by it? My school is on block schedule so we are in class for 90 minutes. 6th period, because it is the lunch period, actual real time is 2 hours because it is the lunch block and we have to rotate 900 students in three shifts through, with clean-ups between each. So, it is a long period and after lunch, kids need to pee. Fact of life. They guzzle down chocolate milk, juice and soda and then are trapped in a class for near two hours. Hell! I gave up drinking any thing at lunch because I couldn’t hold it that long.
Stupid Fucking Day.
All I’ve got to say is that Mister W. better put out tonight.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
I might be Mean, but you're still an Ass
Dear Secret Blogiary,
Without fail, every year I am accused of being a racist.
Without exception the student that accuses me of this is always a black boy who has been diagnosed as OHI: a nebulous label that essentially means the child has been diagnosed with an unknown behavioral disorder that is not a learning disability.
These are the students who are not disciplined according to the Code of Conduct because they “can’t be held accountable for their actions.” These are the students whose parents offer no support at school and tell us they’re our problem between 9:30 and 4pm.
Personally, these are the kids that desperately need to be held accountable for their actions because we are doing them a grave disservice. We allow them to continue without consequence and then shake our heads sadly when those same kids become a statistic.
The group of kids I have this year have been a problematic group since they were in sixth grade. The 6th grade teachers warned the 7th grade teachers last year and then in turn the 7th grade teachers warned us. Disrespectful, Disruptive, Disinterested, the three D’s heard over and over for the class of 2014. The 8th grade teachers came down hard the first few weeks but nothing seems to faze them as a whole. I typically end up spending most of the class dealing with behavior problems.
Clarence has been a problem since day one. Every other word from his is a curse. He thinks nothing of making sexual comments to both girls and boys in the class. He exhibits violent tendencies, immediately jumping to his feet the moment he perceives a “challenge.” He is a bully, he makes threatening gestures and comments. He refuses to do any work and cares not at all about his grade.
I have used all my interventions: changing seats, time outs, parent contact, referrals. Nothing works. Maybe if he was the only problem OHI student in the class (he is one of 12). Maybe if I was the only teacher having an issue with him, I could just suck it up and deal with it, but every teacher on my team has trouble with him. Maybe if I had administrative support and Clarence received consequences instead of “conferencing” he might settle down.
Today, I had enough. I sent him and a few others to the office and wrote more referrals. When they strode back into class right before lunch, Clarence danced in, his pants sagging down to his calves and with every step he stopped and thrust his hips forward sexually. I told him to stop and sit down and he just laughed and said he was “dancing.”
I just gritted my teeth and glanced at the clock. Only a few minutes until lunch, I thought, and I wrapped up class as best that I could. A few minutes later we were out the door, down the hall, standing in line waiting to go into the cafeteria.
I happened to be standing near Clarence.
“Mrs. W. I think you racist.”
“Really?” I reply, indifferent. “Why do you say that?”
“You don’t like me ‘cause I’m black.”
“No, Clarence, I dislike everyone equally.” I say. It is my standard response to the kids that try to pull a race card with me. I have no tolerance for those types of games.
“Really? ‘Cause you yell at me all the time. You mean, too, you always pickin’ on me.”
“Because you are disruptive. And I’m not “picking” on you, I am attempting to redirect your behavior.” Why I try to reason or explain myself is perplexing.
I moved forward in along the line getting my “wanderers” back into line. While I was doing this, another student, David, a tall gangly black boy came rushing up to me.
“Mrs. W.!” He cried out giving me a big hug.
David is also labeled OHI but his “behavior problem” is a deep need for constant attention and if he doesn’t get it, he fidgets and calls out, so while disruptive, he does follow most of the class procedures and has not once been rude or disrespectful to me or any other student.
I give David a quick one armed pat and ask him how his day has been.
He smiles down at me (did I mention this kid is TALL? Taller I think than Mister W.) and says, “Been good so far, Ma’am. Lookin’ forward to lunch.”
“Me too,” I reply as he rejoins his class in line.
Immediately after David walks off Clarence steps forward his arms open.
My eyes narrow and I step back and say, “Get. Away. From. Me.” Each word is enunciated, pointed and hard.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that. I was harsh and rude. But I had had enough of him.
“Oh,” Clarence spit out, “You’ll give David a hug.”
“Yup. I like him.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that either.
Clarence steps toward me again and I glare at him, turn and walk away.
I got to thinking about his comment though later on. There is no way I could have taught for as long as I have at my school if I was racist. I work in a minority school and the population is roughly 85 percent black.
As a teacher, I am supposed to be fair and unbiased toward the students. And regarding grades and discipline I am 100 percent fair and balanced (like Fox but with less snark). But I am also a human. And I’ve got feelings. So, yeah, I’ll readily admit I have kids that I adore – black, white or green! And I have kids that I dislike intensely; I try not to hate, but sometimes I do. And as much as I try not to let my feelings show, it is really hard to pretend I have anything but disgust and loathing for a certain few.
Does that make me a racist?
According to Dictionary.com racism is:
1. a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one's own race is superior and has the right to rule others.
2. a policy, system of government, etc., based upon or fostering such a doctrine; discrimination.
3. hatred or intolerance of another race or other races.
So by definition, I am not. I just have intolerance for this one particular kid.
Without fail, every year I am accused of being a racist.
Without exception the student that accuses me of this is always a black boy who has been diagnosed as OHI: a nebulous label that essentially means the child has been diagnosed with an unknown behavioral disorder that is not a learning disability.
These are the students who are not disciplined according to the Code of Conduct because they “can’t be held accountable for their actions.” These are the students whose parents offer no support at school and tell us they’re our problem between 9:30 and 4pm.
Personally, these are the kids that desperately need to be held accountable for their actions because we are doing them a grave disservice. We allow them to continue without consequence and then shake our heads sadly when those same kids become a statistic.
The group of kids I have this year have been a problematic group since they were in sixth grade. The 6th grade teachers warned the 7th grade teachers last year and then in turn the 7th grade teachers warned us. Disrespectful, Disruptive, Disinterested, the three D’s heard over and over for the class of 2014. The 8th grade teachers came down hard the first few weeks but nothing seems to faze them as a whole. I typically end up spending most of the class dealing with behavior problems.
Clarence has been a problem since day one. Every other word from his is a curse. He thinks nothing of making sexual comments to both girls and boys in the class. He exhibits violent tendencies, immediately jumping to his feet the moment he perceives a “challenge.” He is a bully, he makes threatening gestures and comments. He refuses to do any work and cares not at all about his grade.
I have used all my interventions: changing seats, time outs, parent contact, referrals. Nothing works. Maybe if he was the only problem OHI student in the class (he is one of 12). Maybe if I was the only teacher having an issue with him, I could just suck it up and deal with it, but every teacher on my team has trouble with him. Maybe if I had administrative support and Clarence received consequences instead of “conferencing” he might settle down.
Today, I had enough. I sent him and a few others to the office and wrote more referrals. When they strode back into class right before lunch, Clarence danced in, his pants sagging down to his calves and with every step he stopped and thrust his hips forward sexually. I told him to stop and sit down and he just laughed and said he was “dancing.”
I just gritted my teeth and glanced at the clock. Only a few minutes until lunch, I thought, and I wrapped up class as best that I could. A few minutes later we were out the door, down the hall, standing in line waiting to go into the cafeteria.
I happened to be standing near Clarence.
“Mrs. W. I think you racist.”
“Really?” I reply, indifferent. “Why do you say that?”
“You don’t like me ‘cause I’m black.”
“No, Clarence, I dislike everyone equally.” I say. It is my standard response to the kids that try to pull a race card with me. I have no tolerance for those types of games.
“Really? ‘Cause you yell at me all the time. You mean, too, you always pickin’ on me.”
“Because you are disruptive. And I’m not “picking” on you, I am attempting to redirect your behavior.” Why I try to reason or explain myself is perplexing.
I moved forward in along the line getting my “wanderers” back into line. While I was doing this, another student, David, a tall gangly black boy came rushing up to me.
“Mrs. W.!” He cried out giving me a big hug.
David is also labeled OHI but his “behavior problem” is a deep need for constant attention and if he doesn’t get it, he fidgets and calls out, so while disruptive, he does follow most of the class procedures and has not once been rude or disrespectful to me or any other student.
I give David a quick one armed pat and ask him how his day has been.
He smiles down at me (did I mention this kid is TALL? Taller I think than Mister W.) and says, “Been good so far, Ma’am. Lookin’ forward to lunch.”
“Me too,” I reply as he rejoins his class in line.
Immediately after David walks off Clarence steps forward his arms open.
My eyes narrow and I step back and say, “Get. Away. From. Me.” Each word is enunciated, pointed and hard.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that. I was harsh and rude. But I had had enough of him.
“Oh,” Clarence spit out, “You’ll give David a hug.”
“Yup. I like him.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that either.
Clarence steps toward me again and I glare at him, turn and walk away.
I got to thinking about his comment though later on. There is no way I could have taught for as long as I have at my school if I was racist. I work in a minority school and the population is roughly 85 percent black.
As a teacher, I am supposed to be fair and unbiased toward the students. And regarding grades and discipline I am 100 percent fair and balanced (like Fox but with less snark). But I am also a human. And I’ve got feelings. So, yeah, I’ll readily admit I have kids that I adore – black, white or green! And I have kids that I dislike intensely; I try not to hate, but sometimes I do. And as much as I try not to let my feelings show, it is really hard to pretend I have anything but disgust and loathing for a certain few.
Does that make me a racist?
According to Dictionary.com racism is:
1. a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one's own race is superior and has the right to rule others.
2. a policy, system of government, etc., based upon or fostering such a doctrine; discrimination.
3. hatred or intolerance of another race or other races.
So by definition, I am not. I just have intolerance for this one particular kid.
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