The world is going to Hell.  Once person at a time.

In the late 60s/early 70s, my moms used to make a little extra money substitute teaching.  One day she was subbing for a middle-school class and they were writing essays...I can't remember if there was an assigned topic or not.  One of the kids wrote about how one evening his Dad was in the bathroom and wouldn't come out.  Apparently this was a large family.  They'd bang on the door, he'd holler back that he was fine and he wasn't finished yet.  Finally the whole family--whether out of worry, suspicion or full bladders, I don't know--picked the lock on the bathroom door, whereupon Ma and the whole brood were presented with the sight of Dad fucking the family dog on the bathroom floor.

My mother took the essay to the principal.

The principal shrugged his shoulders helplessly.  That was the extent of the school's involvement.

sofaking wrote:

What grade was the kid?

I wish I could remember--I just know it was younger than high-school age.  At this point, my mom probably doesn't remember either.  By the time I was old enough for my mother to be okay with relating this story to me, the incident was already some decades in the past.

Another one she used to bring up was when she subbed during a parent-teacher conference (and I don't understand how circumstances could have come to this--maybe the regular teacher was on maternity leave or something long-term like that).  The student in question was a huge discipline problem.  The parents were extremely apologetic, but explained they were at their wits' end.  "We just don't know what to do about him," they told her.  "We can't beat him no more than we're already doing; we beat him every day."

Yeah, for some people "wits' end" doesn't actually extend very far.