Is this real life?

So I'm a teacher now.  And of all things I don't have time for, it's definitely blogging.  But I'll thank myself later, and right now it sounds much more appealing than grading papers or thinking about behavior management strategies.

A lot of things are competing for space in my head right now, but the most prevalent thought these days seems to be "What am I doing??" I have never in my life felt so unprepared or unqualified for a position. I've been through training.  I'm a good public speaker.  I can plan pretty good lessons.  I care a lot about kids.  All of these things fly out the window the second I enter my middle school.  Instead of remembering all these things about myself, I am overwhelmed with a sense of desperation.  

"How did I get here?"  That's another one of those thoughts that keep surfacing.  Just nine months ago I was living in Tuscaloosa surrounded by friends and family.  My days consisted of sleeping late, reading for class, and deciding where to eat for dinner. The most stressful thing on my agenda was maybe a research paper or deciding what in the hell you wear to a 35 degree football game and still look cute.

Now look at me.  Actually don't.  The bags under my eyes might be roomy enough for even Susan to pack a whole weekend's worth of clothing in.  My hair looks like a schoolgirl's because I haven't had time to get it cut in three months.  I am breaking out from lack of sleep or surplus of stress--or both.  My days are spent lecturing students on how NOT to flood the room with the lab's eye washers, my nights laboring over worksheets I know will be wadded up on the floor in mere hours. 

My last block is a nightmare.  It is the reason I wake up when it's still dark outside with a pit in my stomach.  I've tried everything--only to be laughed at, rebelled against, or otherwise ignored.  Every. Single. Day.  I don't think I've taught them one thing yet, and I don't know how I'm going to.  I plead with them to care, plead with them to become invested in the systems that have worked for all my other classes.  I'm sorry, though.  I have a kid in there that started a full-force riot at school last year when he taxed the other kids for money using threats.  I mean, ambulances, police cars, an injured teacher...This kid has been to jail--more than once.  He doesn't give a crap about my raffle tickets or behavior point deductions.  I know I'm not supposed to say those things but that's how I feel. You tell me what to do with him and how to make him care.  Yesterday I couldn't even hold in my tears before the last two kids were gone.

"What's wrong, Ms. M?? Is it 'cause you didn't eat lunch?  You know, you don't really need to go on a diet."

Thanks DeAngelo.

People of authority actually put me in this position.  I almost laugh out loud every time I look around me.  I am in charge of 83 students' educations.  I call their parents and their parents call me ma'am.  Don't they know I just finished school myself? And that "responsibility" to me meant merely "remember to take the trash out on Tuesdays (or was it Thursdays?)?" One of our unit plans is entitled "Hydrology." I haven't the faintest clue what that is, excepting that it probably has something to do with water.

It's not all that bad.  I just feel so disconnected from most of the people I love, and so disconnected from my former self.  Some moments make me remember why I moved and took this job in the first place.  My first two classes were sent from heaven.  Take Ontario.  He's so cute I can't stand it. When I first saw him, I thought for sure he was the younger sibling of one of my students, judging by his size.  That's the funny thing with middle-schoolers.  Some of them look like babies while others tower over me.  I digress.  Ontario sits in the second row and just grins at me all day.  I make all my students shake my hands when they walk in the door, and Ontario was late today.  When he came in, he walked directly over to me.  Assuming he was coming for our handshake, I reached my hand out--only to be surprised when he threw his arms around me for a hug.  Then, after lunch (he had been out of my class for two blocks already) he caught up to me in the hall.

"Ms. M?"

"Hey Ontario!"

"Ms. M! You made me get a 95 on Mr. K's test instead of a 100!"

"Now how did I do that?"

"Well, the last question was 'Who's your favorite teacher?' and I put you.  But I was supposed to put him, so I got it wrong!"

Thank you, now maybe I can survive 4th block without crying today.  

When I call parents last night, someone picks up at Elijah's house.  Elijah is another one of those faces you just want to pinch. 

"Hello?"

"Hey! Is this Elijah's mom?"

[can't understand response, sounds affirmative]

"Oh, well, hey! This is Ms. M, Elijah's science teacher. I just wanted to call and let you know Elijah had a great week his first week of school--"

"No, Ms. M! This is Elijah!!"

"ELIJAH! Are you trying to be sneaky and intercept my calls?"

laughter. "No, Ms. M! Here's my mama."

After I'd talked to his mom for a while, I hear him begging his mom to give the phone to his dad so I can give him the good report too.  Then he takes the phone away from his dad and asks me all about school the next day and tells me all about the shot he just got for his physical. He didn't want me to hang up.

So there's that.  And the endless supply of funny stories or dinner conversation starters.  Teaching all boys is about the funniest thing that could have ever happened to me.  I consider myself a fairly girly-girl, so it has been interesting to be surrounded by so much testosterone all day, every day.  Burping, flatulence, sexual innuendos...these are all common daily occurences.  I ask them several times a day what I did to deserve it all.  The second day of school, I asked them to tell me the negative impressions they had of me when they walked into my door (a lead-in to our discussion of stereotypes).  Top responses included "aneorexic cheerleader" and "country" before Da'Juan (who'd been giving me eyes from the moment he sauntered in) chimed in with "kicky."  I'd never heard of that one, but I figured it meant "peppy" and fit alongside the cheerleader part, so I wrote it on the board.  

"No, Ms. M.  I said kinky."

How do you respond to that? I didn't.

Then there's Rashee--the one who, when I asked if anyone had questions the first day, immediately asked for my number.  He is a handful to deal with in class, but gosh he's funny.  It's hard to discipline him when I am cracking up.  At lunch, he was making fun of Brett, saying he couldn't get any girls.  

"Latoya! Brett says 'wassup.'" [Latoya rolls her eyes] "DAMN, bra! I told you you can't pull no female!"

"It's ok, Brett," I say.  "Just ask another girl the same thing about Rashee and see what happens."

"Do it, Ms. M!" Rashee says.  "I can pull ANY. GIRL. In here! Do it!" 

I look around, seeing only the cafeteria ladies.  He notices.  "Yeah, Ms. M! Even the lunch ladies! Hey--lunch ladies!"

He runs over to them as I watch, amused.  At first they shake their heads. "Sit down, chile!" But he continues to approach them, smiling.  He nearly knocks them down with his hug.  Sure enough, their disapproval quickly melts into laughter and returned hugs.  He returns triumphant.  "See? I told you! Even the lunch ladies."

"Rashee," I point out, "It's one thing when the ladies approach you.  It's another when you force yourself on them!"

"Ohhh, Ms. M you'd better hush--I'll pull you too!"

I start laughing.

"Why you laughing? 75 minutes is a loong time, Ms. M. That's how long you got me for.  I can talk for 75 minutes! Yeah I'll pull you--you just watch.  How 'bout you go ahead and make it easy for me and just give me yo number.  I gotta bike you can ride on the back of.  I'll take you someplace reaal nice."

It's going to be an interesting year.