A Literal Student-Teacher

Tariq is the cutest kid ever. He is perpetually good-natured. Most middle school boys FLIP OUT whenever they're called a name, looked at the wrong way, bumped up against, or otherwise "mistreated." They are so defensive and quick to attack. Not Tariq. He just sits there and radiates kindness and patience all day long. Can you teach me how to do that, Tariq?

Monday Rashee "bops [i.e. takes]" Tariq's new pencil and throws him his dull one. Instead of retaliating, Tariq wordlessly gets up to sharpen it and resume working. Infuriated, I rip the pencil out of Rashee's hand and give it back to Tariq.

"Chilll, Ms. M! Tariq don't care!"

"It's OK, Ms. M," Tariq reassures me. "It's just a pencil. Not worth getting upset over. I can use this one just fine."

I examine it for a second. "You're right. Rashee DEFINITELY needs the one with the eraser much more than you. Thanks for sharing."

But that was mild compared to last week's incident. As we were leaving class for an outside lab, Will and Rashee, the last ones out, close the door with odd expressions on their faces.

"What?" I ask accusingly. "What is that look for? What did you do?"

"Nothing, Ms. M! Come on, let's go!"

I don't trust them. I unlock my door and scan the dark room. Nothing seems to be out of place.

BAM! BAM! The large metal storage cabinet reverberates loudly. I open its double doors to find poor Tariq sitting in the bottom.

"Oh my gosh! Tariq! I'm so sorry! Did they push you in here? If I'd have left you in here while we went outside I would have never been able to forgive myself!!"

"I would've gotten out," is all he says. Will and Rashee are long gone.

Tariq is a big Florida fan. We bet each other about who would win the SEC championship. He wanted the loser to paint his/her face the opposing team's colors, but I said administration might not be so fond of that. We instead decided that a small face tattoo would suffice. When he came in Monday, he was upset. "I'm MAD," he announced first thing, brushing by me. I automatically knew what he was referring to Alabama's butt-smacking of Florida. I wasn't going to mention the bet, but before I could even respond he reappeared at my side, cheek towards me and red marker in his hand. "Go ahead," he said sadly. He wore that Alabama A on his cheek all day long.

"Mann, Tariq, why you wearin' that ugly thing for?" all the other kids asked.

"I'm a man of my word," he kept replying.

Today, when Rell was giving me attitude, Tariq finally turned to him. "Why you talkin' all spicy to Ms. M? Don't talk to her like that! She's your teacher!"

"SHUT UP TARIQ!! Look at Tariq, everybody! He got a FAT nose! He look like a duck! He got a duck nose!!"

I look up from my attendance to see Tariq smile that same good-natured smile. "Naww, it's an Ernie nose. Like Bert and Ernie."

"Whatever it is, it's good looking!" I tell him. Why is he SO NICE?? I imagine myself in one of these classes as a middle-schooler. I would go crazy. I would hate all my classmates. I would be angry all the time. Tariq takes it all in stride, letting the bad roll off his shoulders and the good soak to his bones until it overflows to everyone else he's around.

What a lesson I can learn from that sweet fourteen-year-old boy.