Is there a place deeper than Hell that this afternoon could have come from?

It started out okay. Seventh grade was good, as they usually are, and I got a lot done during my planning period. That always makes me feel happy.

But then it was time for 8th grade. We're reading the play version of The Diary of Anne Frank together in class, and I let them choose parts. I knew they were going to crack up over words like "gay" and a later scene where Anne and Peter kiss, but I didn't realize the extent of their immaturity until today. Anne's family had to carry all their clothes on their bodies, and the stage direction of, "Once inside the attic, they begin to remove their clothing" had them in stitches. At one point Miep Gies says she's working around the system to help the Franks out, saying it's more of a white market than a black one. The kids all pointed to the one African-American student in class and went nuts. The word "toilet" lost them for another five minutes.

I had just warned them that the principal was going to be next door later this week for an observation when the neighboring teacher threw open my door and yelled, "Okay, I've got six detention slips here. Who are they going to?" I said I was sorry and that I had some if I needed them. "No, seriously," she said, "Who am I giving these to?" The room was dead silent. Most of the kids were looking at the ground, and the few who made eye contact with me were obviously pleading not to be named. "Who was making the hooting noises?" she demanded.

"It was _____," I said quietly, pointing to a boy at the back of the room.

"Okay, and who else? I know there have to be more," she growled.

"Um..." I looked around the room. "Well, _____ has been really chatty and disruptive," I replied.

"Is that it? Any others?" By this point I felt like I was going to die -- like my heart was just going to spontaneously stop and I was going to die.

"No, we're okay," I managed to say, although my voice was barely audible by then.

"Fine. You two -- out in the hall." And she marched the two boys out and screamed at them. I know they deserved it, because I had warned them -- all of them -- multiple times to quiet down and keep on task. But I still felt awful for them, probably because I hate being yelled at myself.

The class was still totally silent, and I had no idea what to do. I could feel my face was bright red, and my heart was pounding. I felt like a total failure. I couldn't control my own class, and another teacher had to come in and yell at them for me. My class was loud enough that they'd disrupted another class nearby. My students didn't respect me enough to shut up when I told them to, and I wasn't assertive enough to follow up on the threat of discipline cards -- a threat I'd given many times.

I took a deep breath and quietly said, "It's really upsetting when you don't listen to me and another teacher has to come in here--" And then the tears started. Awesome, I told myself. You can't even control a class and now you're going to cry in front of them. You're doing a great job today.

I told them to keep going with the play and got up to get a tissue. They read the rest of the scene quietly and respectfully while the teacher continued to vocally tear apart the boys in the hallway. I sniffled and tried desperately to stop my eyes from filling up, but the more I thought about it, the worse it got. When the bell rang, everybody quietly shut their books and shuffled out into the hallway.

That same group of kids stays with me for study hall the next period, but most of them asked to go to other teachers to do work for them. One of my girls came back and said one of the other teachers from our team wanted everybody in her room for that period. As soon as all the kids had left the room, I completely lost it. I haven't cried like that in a very long time. I was hurt, angry, disappointed in myself, and totally humiliated. Eventually the teacher who had taken my students came in, explaining she'd gotten someone else to cover her room while she came to talk to me. She gave me a big hug and told me this happens to everybody. She said she's been teaching for 20 years and still has horrible days where nothing she does works.

But she also said the kids felt horrible. She said some of the girls were crying in her room because they felt so awful about how upset I was. The thing is -- the kids aren't malicious and purposefully ugly. They're just 13. They're immature, they feel off one another, and they have no idea how loud they are as a group. But I think today was a turning point that finally made them realize how disrespectful they'd all been. By the end of study hall, a few of the kids came back to my room with "I'm sorry" cards they had made for me.

I'm going to start off class tomorrow by telling them they will never do that to me again. I'll tell them I didn't cry because we couldn't get through Anne Frank (she's dead -- blah, blah blah) or because they were being a pain in the ass (I deal with that fact every freaking day). I cried because they humiliated me in front of a professional colleague. They made me look like an idiot in front of a person I truly trust and respect.

Although I do have to say that this particular teacher did not handle things well today. Her intentions were good, but she ended up undermining my authority in front of my students. When she started yelling in front of everybody, I shut down and wasn't able to handle the situation. I think if she had just said we were disrupting her class, it would have been enough to shut up my kids and to give me a chance to punish them myself. I know she didn't mean to embarass me, but she did. Deeply.

I just know things have to get better before we get into the really crazy last few weeks of the year. If it keeps going at this rate, I'm going to be dead by the end of May.

I feel a little better now, but I can't wait to go home. I'm stopping somewhere for pizza tonight. I think I could eat a whole one by myself right now.