and another thing.

This post is dedicated to my most frequent commenters, Lindsey and Megan. Thank you for thinking these stories are as funny/sad/interesting as I do and for totally validating me every time you stop by. It's kind of pathetic how excited I get when I see the little "1 comment" link under an entry...another sign that perhaps I need more of an extracurricular life. What can I say? After this season of the Bachelorette ended, it took a nose dive.

It's funny because I just typed "nose job" instead of "nose dive" and had to correct myself. Mayhaps because every time they would show that little intro photograph with Ali's silhouette overlooking the ocean, her facial profile made me cringe. But hey, I'm not the one with 39478 boys fighting over me so, gon 'head on Ali. Do yer thing.

Another Failed Attempt at a Straight Face

me: "...annnd so the difference in mechanical and chemical weathering is that mechanical weathering physically breaks the rocks down into smaller pieces while chemical weathering actually changes the chemical composition of the rock."

Treyvon [waving his hand urgently]: "Oh! OH! Ms. M canna axe you sumthin' about nipples?"

OD'd. As in overwhelmed and discouraged.

While I'm up in the front of the classroom, it's easy to forget that my students are years behind where they should be in school. As I give my lesson that I understand perfectly and think that I'm explaining so well, I always overestimate what they're digesting.

It's only when I'm grading papers that I get overwhelmingly discouraged. With scores averaging in the low 60s for a simple vocabulary quiz, I don't even know where to begin in my efforts to "fix" this problem. "This problem" being an achievement gap that's much bigger than me or my classroom or even the 90 boys that I teach. How do you reverse 14 years of poor education and bad habits and cultural norms in the short span that you're with them?

I certainly don't know. And unfortunately, taking this job has made me more cynical than hopeful. The only people that are more jaded than teachers are the students themselves.

An example of the answer I received in response to the prompt "In a few sentences, describe a convection current. Use the word density."

When me and Larry ir move away form the house we are convection together and some time we get density from the Sun.

Whaaaat? You tell me what to do with that.

you so funny.

"Claaaaasss, you'd better keep these cards in top shape! I don't want them bent and I CERTAINLY don't want to find any of them on the floor! I stayed up late to cut them out and sort them--my roommate even had to help me!" -me

"Awww, Ms. M, I didn't mind!" -Anthony

cannihafyonumbaaa??

Khalil is way too cool for school. And way to cool for me. In fact, he's probably way cooler than anyone else you'll ever meet...according to him. As far as behavior, he could go either way; some days he's bad (not annoying bad, but like really defiant/disrespectful bad) and other days he comes in and does no wrong. I'm pretty sure he comes from a kind of sad situation, so I try to keep that in mind during the times I want to scream at him.

Today, Khalil came in and sat in the wrong seat (next to his BFF DJ). I told him to move.

"WHY?! Why I'm in trouble? I'm jus' sittin' here!"

"I just need you to move."

"UGHHHHHHHH." (no movement)

"Move over to that seat, Khalil." I walk away like I'm confident he'll comply.

"I gotta finish my Warm-Up!"

"NOW."

Khalil huffed, got up, slammed his chair under the table, stomped across the room and flung himself down in the correct seat. Charming. Then he proceeded to glare at his closed notebook instead of finishing his work (you know, to spite me--like his getting a bad grade really affects me more than it does him). Don't worry, I got this. I casually strolled by his table. "Khalil, you'd better do your Warm-Up so you can keep those grades up for football. We really need you out there; trust me, I went to ALL the games last year."

Within a nanosecond, his notebook was open and his pen was flying across the page. I win. And he's warming up to me. We went to the bathroom later (I say "we" because, yes, we go as a group. And yes I do march up in the boys' restroom to regulate) and he sidled up to me. "You gon' give me yo sister's number?" He had seen their pictures yesterday.

"What makes you think she wants you to call her? My sisters don't date middle-schoolers."

"She ain't met me yet!"

"Yeah, but she hasn't dated a 13-year-old since she was 10."

"I'm FOURTEEN," he said with a laugh that told me he knew how ridiculous he sounded.

"Oh. My bad. You totally have a chance then. How you gonna take her on a date? You gonna pick her up on your tricycle? Let her ride on the handlebars?"

"I could GET a ride!"

"Oh, almost as cool!! From your mom? Or your grandmother? She'd really love that I'm sure."

"Naww I'll get a limo to pick us up an' someone ELSE drive us. Take her someplace real romantic."

I laughed out loud picturing this scene.

"Imma marry yo sister."

"Khalil! Then we would be related! You'd be my brother!! Wouldn't that be so sweet? We'd be hanging out every Christmas and Thanksgiving!"

"Yeah an' you'll be an auntie," Khalil added with a sly grin.

"UGHHHHHHHH and we're done with this conversation forever!"

Too far.

Beans.

Dear Bean,

What is it about you that tempts adolescent boys to hurl you through the air? You hang like a dead weight in their hands, aching to be freed temporarily from the force of gravity. You burn their fingers, making them itch with anxiety until temptation gives way to indulgence and you are flicked across the room. I watch you sail end over end as the florescent light catches your smooth surface. I watch your graceful arc and ponder your resting place...someone's eye? Someone's head? Someone's yawning mouth?

What is it about your curvatures that allows you to gain speeds exceeding 90 miles per hour as you whiz toward someone's face? Your aerodynamics are a mystery to me, science teacher that I am. You needn't much encouragement in your swiftness, for a mere flick of the wrist sends you flying.

How does your small size entice 14-year-olds to put you in puzzling places? Down a neighbor's shirt, up a nostril, in a pocket, on the floor, across the hall...I've seen you all of these places today, and more. Your conspicuous "ping" gives you away as you ricochet off desks, as does your tendency to travel in herds. Not ones or twos or threes, you are found only in dozens. The second one of you takes flight, eleven more are sure to follow on your heels.

Who are you, in your insignificant minuteness, to make grown men and women tumble to the ground? To make me mutter obscenities under my breath? To cause administrators to question my capability, colleagues to question my sanity and children to question my authority.

Lest you forget, I'll remind you: you are only, in and of yourself...a bean.

***

IF you can't tell. Today was horrendous. We did a "lab" where we simulated the Law of Superposition by layering different kinds of beans in cups.

Well that's what was supposed to happen. I'll let YOU be the science student this time and infer what happened based on your observations from the ode above. If it weren't so maddening, it would probably be funny. It's funny, right? You're getting a real laugh as you picture it, aren't you? I should be laughing right along with you!

I'm not laughing.

"Can I keep these beanzzz? Imma make soup with 'em when I get home. Or Imma eat them right now. I can eat them right now?"

I can't STAND my third block class. To the point where I can't think of one redeeming thing to say about any of them. To the point that I'm ashamed to tell you the things that were going through my mind about these children.

The only time I smiled today:

At the end of the day I was walking back to my classroom and was stopped by a severely retarded 6th-grader. I've seen him walking with the special-education students but don't know his name.

"Hayyyyy!" he said, waving frantically.

"Hey buddy!" I replied.

"Booooootiful!" he said with a grin, pointing at me.

"Well THANK YOU, sweetheart!"

He smiled shyly and blew me an awkward kiss.

I couldn't help but smile. I'll take what I can get at the end of a day like today.

WWJD, y'all!

Anthony had a reputation preceding him. And not the good kind.

Which is why I absolutely love him. Seventh-grade teachers looked at my roster, saw his name and groaned, but Anthony came in the first day and has been nothing but a perfect gentleman ever since. He is popular and even feared around school, but he's used that power to my advantage--reprimanding those talking when I'm talking, encouraging classmates to do their work. Because I was expecting a him to be such a challenge, Anthony has by far been the most pleasant surprise this year.

He likes to tease me about my football team, and wore a Florida Gator sweatshirt today just to mess with me. He playfully pokes fun at me, and I give it right back to him. I'm not going to lie, but whatever makes these boys popular with their peers still has some sway with me. Last year I noticed that even the "bad" kids who were adored around school also won my affection early on. They gave me hell all year long, but they had a certain something that made them impossible not to love. All that to say: Anthony is my boy.

BUT.

Today during lunch, some kid came up to Anthony and pulled on his bandaged finger. Anthony immediately got up and shoved the kid. It was a playful shove, but enough to send the boy's tray flying. The boy left the lunchroom immediately.

"Anthony, I'm going to need you to clean that up."

"I gotta eat first."

"Anthony, I'm going to need you to clean that up. Now."

"I gotta eat."

"Anthony, I'm going to need you to put your sandwich down on your tray, get up, get the broom and sweep that up."

He turned his body so he wouldn't have to look at me. "That ain't my tray, and I ain't gonna clean it up by myself. Malik pulled my finger. That's his tray."

Etc. etc. I let it go until the end of lunch when we were throwing away our trays and lining up. "Anthony. I know that might not be your tray, but I need you to do me a favor and clean it up. That food is still sitting there."

"That's not my tray. I didn't do it."

"I understand. Look at me. I need you to do me a favor and clean it up."

"That ain't my mess to clean," he said again, avoiding my eyes.

"Then look at me in the eye and tell me you won't do me that favor."

He didn't want to. He realllly didn't want to.

"That ain't my tray."

"Then look me in the eye and tell me you won't do it."

I could tell a war was raging in Anthony's head. He wanted to comply, didn't want to be blatantly defiant. He didn't want to deny me a favor, but it was no longer about the mess. It was about his pride.

A similar war was raging in my head. What do I do?? I clearly cannot make this kid do anything he doesn't want to do. He's clearly not going to do what I've asked. I don't want to blow this out of proportion, but I also feel like I need to make a stand. All the other students are watching. You can't look "weak." And then there's still the issue of the mess that has to be cleaned up one way or another. Lord, show me what to do! Or better yet, how about YOU make him do it!

All over a LUNCH TRAY. Anthony made eye contact for a fraction of a second. "I won't do it." He immediately ducked his head, ashamed.

"OK," I said. "Then hold this." I gave him my lunch bag and my water. "Follow me. I want you to watch me." I grabbed the broom and the dust pan and took it to the mess. "Stand right here and watch." Anthony watched sheepishly as I swept up the mess in front of his feet. His best friend Ra'Quon immediately swooped down to help. Ra'Quon handed me the dustpan, which I took to the trash can and emptied. I replaced the broom, took my stuff from Anthony and looked at him in the eye. "That's all I wanted you to do, Anthony." He slinked to the back of the line and said very little the rest of the day.

It's been a year, and there are still hundreds of little moments throughout the day where I think, "What in the WORLD do I do now?" Or when a moment has passed me by, "Did I handle that correctly?" I tell you. The first time I was in middle school, we were all wearing those cheesy WWJD bracelets. Now it's my second time around and I'm thinking about bustin' them out again. JUST KIDDING y'all!!!

I have no idea where those things are.

People R Stoopid.

Today, I started to google "How long does cooked shrimp refrigerate?" By the time I had typed "how long does," the top ten most-searched suggestions with the same beginning popped up. The fifth one was "How long does sperm live?" Folks, this means that thousands of people have googled that exact question. Thousands.

I can't decide which is more stoopid: the probable motives behind this question or its grammar.

Not Dead Yet

Last night, I received this text:

Hey.

*$Tario$*

I responded:

Is this...ONTARIO??

To which I got a:

Yes :)

I asked him how high school was. His answer:

Good. Way different then middle. Imma come by an see u sumtime. There was a rumor you died in a car accident. Hold up imma call u from another phone.

Died in a car accident? I racked my brain. Nope, not even a fender-bender. I'm pretty sure I would remember if I'd died in a car accident. My phone rang, and I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Whew I'm glad to hear yo voice! Kh'daius be tellin' everybody you died in a car wreck. I was sad!"

I laughed. "Umm, nope. Still teaching at Ranson. Same room. All boys again."

"Man I hope they be treatin' you right! Another one of your former students is on the phone too. The light-skinned boy with the big head!"

James laughed. "Yeahh, Ms. M. We only texted you to test an' see if you was alive. When you said hey back, we thought it was yo sister. That's why we had to call an' check fo real."

"I saw Ananias at the gym the other day!" Ontario offered. "He still be pumpin' waay too much iron. He be benchin' over 100!"

"You worked out with Ananias?" I asked. Ananias' nickname was "Steriods." Ontario is 4'11" and probably weighs 70 pounds.

"Yeahh. I be scrawny but you know I be pressin' a lil' sumthin-sumthin too!"

How my death rumor got started I don't know. But I'll tell you with conviction that I'm happy to be alive on this beautiful Sunday, happy to have a job where I'm challenged daily and most definitely happy to hear from the boys I taught last year.