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.