Seen and Heard

Seen:

During our mock EOG test, the class is dead silent. I'm gazing around the room, thinking how cute my little boys are when I don't want to strangle them. They're just quietly bent over their papers, brows furrowed. Norman is twirling his dreads thoughtfully and Tyrell is chewing his pencil...So sweet they seem. I smile at the top of their heads until my scan reaches Rosamuel.

Ohh, Rosie.

He is licking his forearm--over and over and over. He starts at the elbow, licks to the wrist. Repeat. Repeat. My smile fades to a look of concern, then bewilderment, then back to smile again. I clap my hand over my mouth, but not before a small giggle escapes. He looks up, startled, then smiles at me. "I'm a cat," he mouths.

I wink and nod my head as if it all makes perfect sense. Keep in mind I teach 8th grade, not 2nd.

Heard:

Tyrone is up to something, and I can tell out of the corner of my eye. When I turn my head, I see him holding his phone out from his body.

"TYRONE! First of all, put that AWAY. Second of all...are you trying to take a picture of me?"

"Uh...yeah," he says sheepishly.

"Why??"

"Well...because...no nevermind."

"That's not gonna fly, Tyrone. I need to know why there is now a photo of me stored into your phone's memory."

"Well...you know when you called my dad yesterday and left him that voicemail sayin' how bad I been in class and how I be failin' science?"

"Yeah."

"He got mad. But then he said you sounded sexy on the phone so I was gonna take a picture of you to show him what you look like."

[later that day]

Tyrone: You got pretty feet, Ms. M.
Me: Thanks Tyrone. What constitutes a pretty foot?
Tyrone: I dunno. Yours. That's my kinda girl though. A girl who smells good and has pretty feet. And good hygiene. That's my kinda girl.

Reach for the stars, Tyrone!

Beef Jerky and Roller Skates

Today my second block took the Slim Jim thing and ran with it. It's hard to be stern when you're laughing your butt off. Unfortunately, I think I've only encouraged them--but YOU try to keep a straight face while reading these:

"Stick bug! Walk yo twig legs over here and help me with number two!"

"You like a popsicle stick! You wide from the front, then you turn to the side and we can't see you no mo'!"

"Why it smell like beef jerky in here...oh yeah SLIMMMM JIMMM!"

Then Brett in fourth block:

"If you was a booger, I'd pick YOU."

"You out of gas? 'Cause you been drivin' me crazy!"

Lord help me. This past Friday, I took Quinn and Ananias skating. It was really interesting to hang out with some of my students outside of RMS' walls. Perhaps more interesting was the fact that so many kids wanted to go when I offered. Since it was a Friday night and the activity was skating (aren't my boys waayyy too cool for skating with Ms. M on a Friday?), I didn't think many would express interest, but I had kids BEGGING me to pick them. It was kind of cute. This morning, they were still asking about it.

We hadn't spent five minutes in "Starlite Sketchy Skating Rink" before Quinn almost got into an altercation with the creepy guy who working skate rentals. He had a $12 grill in and got really offended when I complimented him on it.

"You makin' fun of my grill??"

"Um...no. It really...brings out your....smile."

Quinn told him her shoe size and he screamed at her for not reading the sign that said the skates were only in men's sizes. When Quinn snapped back that she should take her business someplace less sexist, he almost took her shoes without giving her any skates in return.

"She got a STANK attitude!!" he told me, glaring at Quinn.

"I know."

"No. No you don't. You don't know nothin' about stank attitudes 'til you work in this window. You wouldn't last a DAY here."

I merely raised my eyebrows and exchanged looks with my students. "I might know more about stank attitudes than you'd think. And I don't think YOU'D last a hot MINUTE where I work!" Quinn and Ananias laughed in agreement. For some reason, this pissed the guy off so much that he walked out of the skate room and around the counter.

"You don't know me. You don't KNOW attitudes 'til you met me."

Quinn mockingly rolled her head side to side. "Oh yeah?"

"Don't EVER roll your head like that again."

Quinn rolled her head like that again. "Attitudes? Hold up, let me take my earrings out and then we'll talk attitude!"

Ananias straightened up and put himself in between the creep and us. Side note: Ananais is about the most ripped 15-year-old you've ever met. His dad makes him work out every day, and his nickname at RMS is "Steroids." I employ him from time to time to be my bodyguard ( "Ananias, I pinched Will on the back of his arm when he tried leave class and he's planning his revenge. Could you make sure he doesn't get within a five-foot radius of me all day? OK, thanks."). He could rip someone from limb to limb, and he's got the temper to actually try.

$12 Grill slacked off and put his arm around Ananias. "Earrings," he mumbled. "How she gon' take out earrings she ain't even got in?" Ananais shot me a look that said, "Let's go. Now."

So we did.

In the car, I learned that Quinn spends her weekends smoking outside the K gas station and that Ananais got kicked out of his former school for throwing a text book at his old science teacher. ("Umm, you're not going to try that on me are you?" "Nawww, Ms. M we cool."). I played Hank Williams Jr. for them and they cried until I changed it. They were quieter now that they were out of their element, and I think I was too.

Picture it. Three figures on skates, their dark silhouettes gliding in time to Jay-Z's rendition of "Forever Young." Nothing unusual at first glance, but when the light from the old disco ball is thrown the right way, you see that two are skinny blondes and one is a muscular black boy. Two from the same subsidized housing block, the other from a preppy white neighborhood in Alabama. One's a confused college graduate in the so-called prime of her life, the others are at the height of their awkward adolescence. The girls cling to each other as their legs flail underneath them and the boy gracefully laps them, confident in his movement despite his bulk. All three wonder silently what compelled the other two to skate away their evenings in this company. A strange trio they make: Sarcasm, Steroids, and Slim Jim.

My name's M, but you can call me ______

Other than my name, I get called a lot of things in class. Some are not suitable for print, but I thought I'd share a couple of the ones that are.

First of all, many of my students like to call me by my first name. I never really know how to respond to that; it doesn't bother me a whole lot, but it's still inappropriate and carries with it a slight sense of disrespect. Not worth getting angry over, don't feel like I should ignore it either. In the end, I decided to call whomever referred to me by my first name as "Buttface," and I made it known to all four classes.

"Good morning, K."

"Good morning, Buttface."

"Maddy." That's another nickname, and my third block uses it affectionately. I kind of like that one.

"Brah." This is the term they use to refer to each other, and when they use it with me I'm sure to inform them that "I'm not your 'BRAH,'" but again, I can't get too offended, as this is a term of endearment.

"Lil' Mama." The crazy band of boys in my fourth block pull this one out whenever I get irritated.

"WHERE IS MY RED PEN?? WHO TOOK MY PEN? I JUST HAD IT AND NOW IT'S GONE!!"

"Aight, Lil' Mama, I got you. We'll find your pen, ok? Jus don't get upset now; it's gon' be aight!"


Today, my second block came up with another winning title. It started when Jordan started "workin'" me at the beginning of class. "Nice shoes," he said, glancing at my cowboy boots then giving me a huge, mocking smile. "Nice braces," I retorted.

"You trynna work?? Ohh, Ms. M trynna work! Imma steal you! You a duck anyways, Ms. M!" He grinned again and waited for me to take the bait. "QUACK, QUACK! Why you quackin' around my desk distractin' me from my work?"

I became very serious and put my best science teacher face on. "Want to know something crazy about the duck species?" Jordan looked up at me, curious. "They have this weird defense mechanism. Only ducks can recognize other ducks. Other animals look at them and don't know WHAT they are. It takes a duck to know another duck!"

Jordan pondered this for a second. "Really?" The rest of the class was laughing before he realized the joke. "Aww you trynna say I'm a duck too? You dirty!"

"Yeah an' she ain't got no..."

I didn't have to decipher the mumbled end of Reggie's jab to know he was referring to my backside (or lack thereof). "What was that, Reggie? If you're going to work, you have to say it loud enough for me to hear! You're a punk if you just whisper it then hide your head!"

"He said you ain't got no......life." Jordan offered.

"Nope. I heard what you said, and I'm just wondering why you're looking back there, anyways!" Reggie deferred to a flash card on his desk. It was one I'd made of a fisherman and consisted of a stick figure holding a pole. "What's this supposeda be, M--a self portrait? You like a--like a stick figure wit a wig on!!"

I giggled a little bit. "OKAY. I realize you are trying to make fun of me, but in white-people-world (which--granted--we are CLEARLY not in right now), being thin is a GOOD thing! White boys don't like their women to be 'thick!'"

The boys looked at me, dumbstruck. "White people are weird, 'specially YOU in yo ALABAMA boots." DJ announced.

I looked at his hair, which he is attempting to grow out in dreads but is now in an awkward phase where little twists sprout haphazardly from his scalp. "That's funny coming from you, Cheeto-Head!"

"Aight, Slim Jim, that's how it's gon' be?"

At this, I had to laugh--hard. Slim Jim? That is just genius. I'm glad I appreciate a little 8th grade humor, because that was my only name for the remainder of the block.