So, when you have 52-ish boys between the ages of 2 and 15, there's apt to be some roughhousing. Yesterday, I walked out of my room to find 8-year old Mardoqueo with a cut inside of his lip about an inch long. It was technically given to him by his own teeth; however, it happened while an 11-year old was throwing a fit. This really happens more often than I would like; so I decided to do something about it. Yesterday, I started teaching the boys wrestling.
Wrestling is a sport. It's one which I was involved with my senior year of high school. Granted, as far as my weight class went back then, I was pretty lousy. However, I've got a good 50 pounds and a foot in height on most of these boys. Wrestling, unlike the brawling they've been doing on occasion when everyone's back is turned, has rules to it. They can't grab someone by the neck and throw them to the ground. In fact, they can't even choke them. (And if you honestly have control of what you're doing and of your opponent, you can even be nice and set them gently on the ground.) There's no beating on the other person until they're humiliated, bleeding and/or crying; it's just a simple 2 shoulders on the ground for 3 seconds. Comparatively, it's quite civilized.
Granted, I'd love it if they learned to work out their differences by talking, but one step at a time. Let's learn respect first, and then let's learn the difference between competition and solving problems.
(And yes, I took on two boys at once a few times tonight, but after one was pinned, he was out of the "battle." That's seriously the last time I leave my room for a band-aid, walk out of the dining hall with two sandwiches, and end up giving wrestling lessons...needing more band-aids than I left to get in the first place.)