Welcome to the Corporate World

Tomorrow is my first day at my new job. I'm a little nervous, but it does not compare at all to my nerves this day.

I'm sure everyone has a little bit of anxiety the night before they begin a new job. You don't know what to expect and you don't know what exactly will be expected of you. Plus, there's the whole stigma of being "the new girl." The outsider, if you will.

On top of all of that, it hit me about a week ago that I can no longer dress like this on the job.

Just kidding. The teachers at my school were way fresher than that. But forreal I don't know how to dress for a corporate office. Not to mention it has been approximately 5 months since my last paycheck, so even if I DID know, I could do little about it.

I wish there were going to be a couple of obnoxious-but-loveable adolescent boys there tomorrow to liven things up. A part of me will really miss them.

skool's out 4eva

Just figured out that for the first time ever, I will no longer get a fall break, spring break or summer break.

Wh-WHAT?

You mean June will roll around and I'll still go to work 8-5 like nothing has changed??

Christmas "break" will be a two-day blip on the radar??

I know, Kim. I feel ya, guh.

In other news, I'm hopefully about 1/2 a week away from securing housing for next year and then on my way to North Carolina. I can't promise you that my new job will provide as much entertainment for you as the last (in fact, I can pretty much guarantee it won't), but I will try to continue to be hilarious. Isn't that what makes a great writer, anyway? Someone who makes the ordinary compelling? Consider it a test of sorts.

Or don't. For once in my life, I'm finally done with school.

You can finally stop holding your breath.

My near future now consists of more than writing cover letters, sleeping late in the same bed I slept in at age 10, and helping Mom decide what cocktail we're going to make when Dad gets home from work.

I have accepted a job back in Charlotte, so we'll be loading the Uhaul back up and taking my stuff within yards of where it was originally.  I've been hired as PR/development by the same family that owns Schreiber Island and took my students to Canada.  Instead of discussing meiosis with 14-year-olds, I'll be representing a construction company at conferences and special events.  Instead of teaching several students in need of help, I'll be concentrating on a few and providing them with continued support outside the classroom through our company's philanthropy.  Quite a jump.

I'm excited and nervous and happy and sad.

Very few companies would offer a position like this to someone completely inexperienced in Public Relations, so I'm honored and privileged to be given the opportunity based solely on the family's personal experience with me.  I think the job will challenge me and motivate me, and I believe I'll enjoy it.  Though it will require different skills than teaching, I'm confident that nothing could be more difficult than what I've already done.  I'm just a little nervous because I don't know what to expect and what will be expected of me.

I'm happy I'll be back in my beautiful Charlotte. I've missed it, missed the people there. I'll be glad to walk  down Queens West while the leaves are turning and watch football at Selwyn.  I can't wait to be near all the people I've had to keep up with by phone.

But.  Many of my friends have moved away.  I'll be starting over in a lot of respects.  I pray that the Lord will provide me with community, especially in a group of women that will sharpen and encourage me in my faith.

I'm heartbroken to be leaving sweet home Alabama.  My sisters are my very best friends, and it hurts my heart to talk to them on the phone when they're all together, knowing I'm missing out on precious time.  I hate that I don't know their new friends, can't spend time with their boyfriends and get to know them better.  There's also Susan, who is practically a sister to me. I was so excited to be near her again.  And Lyndsey.  And Sara and Erica and Lindsey and Joseph and Meriwether and....

You get the point.  I'm sad.

In a way, it seems like I was choosing between two entirely different futures.  One I could see pretty clearly, the other was abstract. I don't want to be this far away from my home forever.  It's scary to hand it all over, and with it forfeit a big sense of security. I don't know where I'll live.  I don't know what doors this job will open.  I don't know what doors I closed by moving back.

But here's what I do know:

I've prayed (and many of my dear friends and family have prayed) that the Lord will direct my steps.  That he will provide me with opportunities.  He provided me with an opportunity, and though it might look a little different than I expected, how can I throw it back? The Lord presented me with this choice, knowing full well what I would choose before I did, preparing a way for me that leads ultimately to good.

I don't dwell in a house.  I don't dwell in a family or with friends.  I don't dwell in Gadsden or Charlotte or Birmingham.  I dwell in the Lord.

Therein lies my security; all other security is false.  My prayer is that I will cling to that--not only during this time of transition, but forever and always.  This is my prayer for you too.

O Canada (Part 2)

When we got to Canada, we ran into a leedle trouble at the customs dept. Basically, the guy wanted to know what a 25-year-old girl and a 4o-year-old unrelated white man were taking 5 unrelated boys across the border.

We're taking them to a camp.

What camp?

A private camp. On a private island.

What's the camp's address?

Doesn't have one.

What's the camp's web address?

Doesn't have one.

Why no web address? (i.e. is this a legitimate camp or a creepy island where you molest young children)

It's a family-owned island and this is the first trip we're taking campers.

Why only five boys?

That's all we wanted to take.

Do their parents know they're here?

Yes.

You sure?

Yes.

Promise?

Yes.

Prove it.

Um??

Anyways. After about 45 minutes of interrogation (where the boys were kept muttering, "Lemme make this clear to him with mah FIST!!"), we made it. Our first destination was Toronto, as the Monteith family wanted to give the boys a taste of big-city Canada. We went to a Blue Jays baseball game where I immediately regretted wearing a black 3/4 sleeved dress. I tried not to sweat my face off and/or fall asleep in my hot dog (remember, still no sleep). Next up, the boys enjoyed proving their courage by standing on the glass floor of the world's second tallest building, the CN Tower.

When we finally made it to the boat that was to take us to the island, the boys got on eagerly; most of them had never been on a boat before. They were silent as we bobbed across a lake so big it could be an ocean. Quabi and Stephon, best friends, kept exchanging excited little smiles.

Schreiber Island is about a mile in diameter with a main lodge, screened-in dining area, kitchen house, four cabins and two outhouses. The boys ran from building to building, lighting on their cabin at last. Their bunks had little packages with bait and tackle, whistles, compasses, flashlights, journals and canteens. They were ecstatic, and so was I, watching them whoop and holler and discover.

"There ain't no BATHroom! We takin' doo-doos in that little shack over there! And we gotta drink outta the same lake we bathe in! And there ain't no lights or TVs or telephones or NOTHIN'!!" They weren't disappointed with any of these things; just amused and curious. I think they felt like they were Bear Grylls. Though they were completely out of their element, having never seen or experienced anything like this, I watched them grow comfortable there within a matter of hours. When the rest of the Monteith family greeted them, the boys amused them with their questions and observations about the trip so far.

"Whatchu use for toilet paper if you go in the woods?"

"Does it rain in Canada?"

"They got wolves on this island??"

"Mann, they go McDonald's in Canada but the fries WAY better. Ms. M was beastin' them fries!!"

"The houses and roads look just like we in America!"

The Monteiths were quickly taken by the boys' big personalities. I felt proud of them, even though they weren't mine. Stephon chivalrously took my luggage from me and hauled it up the hill to my cabin. Dante held out his hand to help me on and off the boat. Quabi asked Diane if he could help her set the table. They all pitched in to get settled and set up for dinner. They were gracious and appreciative of everything that the Monteiths did for them.

Yup, I was proud.

The next few days were full of swim lessons, wakeboarding attempts (I was thrilled to finally be athletically superior to them in these two events, and challenged them often), fishing, canoeing (Quabi and Stephon's favorite), boating and competitive games. Every activity they did was foreign to them, but their curiosity and athleticism made up for lack of experience. At dinner, the Monteiths would quiz them on random trivia. They loved showing off, especially surprising me with how much science they actually retained from last year. In the entire year that I'd known them, I had never seen them as full of joy as they were on that island.

One day we took the boat over to a larger island and took a steep hike up a mountain overlooking Lake Huron as well as several other small lakes on the island. The boys bounded up with no problems, pausing occasionally to hold out their hand or check on their grandmaw teacher. When we got to the top, the view was incredible. Quietly, we looked down on dark green islands spotting the great glassy lake. We made out the outline of Schreiber Island, surrounded by tiny toy sailboats. The sun gleamed brilliantly off the big body of water, and turned the small island lakes into faceted sapphires. I could tell the boys were awed by the spectacular panorama; silence hung over them like an ill-fitting garment.

I knew they were struggling to describe it, and to describe how they felt when looking at it.

"Dis a BEAST!!" Quabi finally managed.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've seen in my life," a slightly more eloquent Stephon said.

I looked at their silhouettes against the backdrop. It was strange for us to be this removed from our usual setting. "Who would have thought back in the fall that one day we'd be hiking the Canadian mountains together?"

"I know, right!" Stephon said. "I wouldna believed you."

The kids learned more than how to tie a boat up that week. They learned how to figure out things...like their way around an airport. They learned how to interact with people completely unlike themselves. They learned what it looked like to sit down to a family meal, not eat until everyone was served and grace was said, and have good conversation over food. They learned to write thank you notes. They learned how to travel with others and make compromises to benefit the group.

The also "learned" their counselor Dave how to dougie.

The best part of the evening for me was reading their journals by the kerosene lamps. Listen to them:

My favorite part of today was when we surprised Ms. M at the airport. It was good to see my favorite teacher and hug her. I liked that.

Today we learned how to fish and skin a fish. It was slimy but we ate it and it tasted pretty good. I caught the most out of both boats!

No on in our boat would take the fish off the hook except for Ms. M. She girly but she not afraid of no fish!

We went camping in tents tonight just us boys and Dave and built fires and made a wolf pack. We defended our territory and made up symbols for our pack. Dave said it's always best to have a buddy when you're out in the wild.

It's weird not having TV or electricity. But I don't miss it. We busy havin too much fun! I could stay here a whole month!

Diane cooked a lot of spaghetti tonight and she said we could eat as much as we wanted. She cooked it on a fire, now that's a REAL cook. Whenever Dave says FREEZE we have to freeze and the first person to move clears the table and he caught me when I was sitting down so I have to clear tomorrow. BUT I get to yell FREEZE next time!!

Man that water is cold but it taste good when you drink it. Imma have me a bath in it after dinner.

This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen. And this is the most fun I've had in my life.

O Canada (Part I)

Hello frands.

I know, I know...I've been a very bad blogger. My dad keeps kindly reminding me that I'm long overdue in writing about my students' and my trip to Canada. Since I've been back, I've been scurrying around attending weddings and searching for employment. I'm never fully unpacked, as I've not spent a solid five days in one place since leaving Charlotte. It's been a weird summer.

As for the trip...

First of all, you will be glad to know that I did NOT have to share a cabin with my students. Secondly, I got over the embarrassment of wearing a bathing suit in front of my students and just went ahead and wore my regular bikini around the island.

JUST KIDDING.

I settled for a one-piece and gym shorts, which I did not remove even in the water.

I have to admit, arriving at the Charlottesville airport at 4 a.m. after being in a wedding and getting zero sleep was about the last thing I wanted to do. I almost cried on the taxi over there I was so tired. I hadn't showered, so my wedding makeup had migrated down my face, while my hair (which had been piled, pinned, plastered and sprayed onto my head) took notice and followed suit. Picture, if you will, something along the lines of this:

Yeah. I boarded the plane in a haze and regained my consciousness when we touched down in Charlotte. As soon as I located my gate, I sat down and slipped into a deep sleep. A couple hours (minutes? seconds? years?) later, I was jolted awake by something I hadn't heard in awhile...

"Hey Ms. M!!"

I snapped my head up and quickly wiped the drool from my mouth, all of the sudden very aware that everything I was wearing/carrying smelled like a bar. Dante was beaming at me on my left, Stephon to my right.

"Oh! Hey boys!" We exchanged hugs, then I got up to greet Quabi.

Mr. J, the man who owns the island and had the idea for the trip, was beaming. "I told them to go find you and they just started wandering around this giant airport looking! It was a minute before Stephon told them to hold up and look for the gate on their tickets! They were just going to wander until they spotted you!" He registered my appearance. "You have to get up early this morning for your first flight?"

"Yeah...well..." Here I came across a dilemma. Do I own up to my complete lack of responsibility last night, even as I sit here with the title of "chaperone," or do I claim the respectable explanation he has just presented and feign enthusiasm for the rest of the day? The thought of enthusiasm made my head pound. I went with the truth. "I was in a wedding last night. I didn't actually go to sleep at all." I watched his face for signs of disgust or dismay and found none.

"Oh wow. You must be in bad shape. Listen, I'm going to Starbuck's. What can I bring you?"

"Something big."

Mr. J returned with a grande latte, a bottle of water and a neck pillow for me. I decided I loved him.

The boys could not contain their excitement. They were asking me a million questions about the plane ride. "Whendowegettoboardtheplanehowlongwillittakewhoamisittingwithwhatifwecrashwhereisourluggagehowhighdowego?"

When we finally boarded, I sat beside a nervous Quabi. "We finna go? Dis takin' forever. Why we still sittin' here?" After an eternity, we took off. "WOW! Dis a BEAST! Look, Ms. M!" I explained to him that even though it was cloudy, once we got all the way up, it would be sunny and we'd be looking down at the clouds. He was mesmerized, plastering his face to the window for the majority of the two hour flight. "Wow, Ms. M, I think we finna get to HEAVEN!"

I loved watching how excited they were to be on their first plane. Even though they barely fit in the tiny seats--gangly knees up to their ears--they looked like little kids in that moment. My eyelids still felt like they were were made of sandpaper, but I knew I was so incredibly lucky to be able to experience this with them. There was nowhere else I'd rather be.

Letter to my RMS Co-workers

It has come to my attention that the cat is out of the bag. For the past two years, I successfully kept my blog a secret from all my dear friends at RMS. Why? I don't know. I guess I was afraid I was writing stuff that could get me fired...or that I would unintentionally offend someone...or that I was breaking some sort of privacy laws...

Whatever. I carefully never mentioned my name or any other teachers' full names. I always abbreviated the school and left out the district name. I thought I was airtight.

Then S "Chocolate Queen" T used her detective skillz to locate and publicize this little site. I should have known. Nothing goes on at RMS without Ms. T finding out in five seconds. I swear she's got eyes on every hall and ears in every classroom. Congratulations, Ms. T, you win again!

Since I now have co-workers reading, I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you.

First of all, I have the utmost respect for the hard work y'all do every day. It's true; people say you don't know what goes into being a teacher until you are one. I'll go a step further. It's impossible to know the extent of what teachers at RMS go through until you've worked at RMS! In the words of another colleague, "nothing can prepare you for that 10th circle of hell/cracked-out Disney World that is our school!" So true. In addition to all the hard work that goes into our profession, you take on so much more by working at a difficult school. I know our school has a reputation preceding it, but if anyone even hints at the fact that it's that way because of the teachers, they catch an EXTREMELY heated earful from me.

You see, I worked with some of the most hard-working, patient, dynamic and caring people I've known. Not only are they so gifted with our kids that the kids call them "Mama" and love them like family, they face the daily challenges our school provides and still end the day able to laugh and joke--even have enough love to carry them over to the next day.

I admire and respect all of you.

Thank you for welcoming me and including me and making me feel like family when my real family was seven hours away. I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you for being the example of what it means to be a good teacher. I came to RMS without a clue of what I was getting myself into, and all of you supported me and encouraged me and helped me in countless ways.

I know TFA has its supporters and its haters, but thank you for seeing me as a person separate from that organization. Thanks for recognizing that I was really there for the same reasons you were and that I had no misconceptions about going in and being able to do anything without the help of people like you.

I had so much fun with all of you. My favorite part of my job was being able to laugh, and I've never laughed harder than I have with you. Who could forget our staff parties, our after school venting sessions, our 5th block trips to get food, our Friday afternoon dance sessions, Tootin' and Bootin' it...I'm laughing again right now thinking about it. I'm going to miss all of you!

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you all.

Can't hide that Raider Priiiiiide (Alabama voice).

Ms. K "DemBootz" M

Modest is Hottest

The thought of taking some of my best boys on their first international trip excites me immeasurably. The thought of having to wear a bathing suit in front of them does not.

In fact, I can't think of many things worse. I tried to think of a way around it entirely, but most of the activities we will be doing center around water. Sailing, swimming, skiing, tubing...you can't wear jeans for that kind of stuff.

I went out and bought a one-piece, but the fact that my stomach is going to be covered does not take much away from the fact that the thing is still plastered to my body and leaves everything but my torso exposed.

Think about it. Every day you go to work with the mindset of a nun. Hemlines low. Necklines high. Loose fit. RMS has little in common with a convent (other than the fact that there are a lot of sistas running around its halls), but the dress code is similar when you're under the eyes of 80+ pre-pubescent boys daily. Now, all of the sudden it's okay to basically be naked in front of them.

After perusing the internet for hours yesterday, I finally stumbled across a bathing suit that I would be comfortable wearing around my students.

Unfortunately, it costs about $150.

All of this has me thinking about other uncomfortable situations this trip is going to include.

Like:

I am sleeping in the same room as the boys.

Awkward.

I mean, couldn't I get arrested for that? And what do I wear to sleep in? My usual T-shirt and boxers fit the convent dress code in their bagginess and coverage, but I'll be darned if I want my STUDENTS to see me like that. I found a pair of pajama pants that I haven't worn since 6th grade (and consequently hit about 4 inches above my ankle) and half-heartedly threw them in the bag. This is going to be beyond weird.

I hope the bathroom has a door.

Sending uncomfortable thoughts your way,

Ms. M

Charlotte in Pictures

Some images of the things I loved about my city, and some I miss already. I'm glad I get to include pictures to this otherwise visually-boring blog.

PS if you're moving to Charlotte, or know anyone who is, please call me. I know great people up there and great places to go. I'm totally sold on that place; if it were about three hours closer, I'd have never left!

The skyline was beautiful at night. And during the day for that matter.

SELWYN PUB!!! We walked here on football weekends in the fall, balmy summer evenings, cheerful spring afternoons...I don't know what I liked best about it--the walk there, the big oak tree out front, the firepits in the tables during the winter, the misty fans in the summer, or the fried pickles. I think it was the fried pickles.

Another place we walked to often. Cute little retro shopping center filled with everything you could ever need. Seriously. I was in walking distance to a movie theater, post office, grocery store, coffee shop, bookstore, drug store, hardware store, clothing boutique, wine shop, nail place, dry cleaner's, alteration place and sandwich shop. I could probably do a separate picture for some of the places I just mentioned. Oh, and Buckley was allowed in most of those places.

This mall is ridiculously nice. Needless to say, the shopping in my little hometown isn't quite the same.

My sweet little house filled with good peoples, good memories.

My favorite room. We spent a lot of time here. Drank a lot of beers here. Ate a lot of good food here. Talked on the phone to you here.

The beautiful view from my bedroom window. I love the big, old trees.

The gorgeous trees lining Queens West on the way to my house.

This road, where I walked Buckley. Intersects with Queens West, my favorite walk/drive in the city. Did I mention I love trees?

The family meals we ate around our little table on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

Room 525!

Home of NASCAR!

This too.

Ode to Unemployment

There are worse places to be than this.

That's what I say to myself when I start panicking that I don't have a job (or any prospects, for that matter). That's what I say when I start missing Charlotte, or my friends, or (gasp!) my boys. So much of my identity the past two years has been wrapped up in what I do. "I teach 8th grade boys." I'd say, then anticipate the sympathetic/surprised/horrified response of the questioner. It was a point of pride, almost. I know people don't associate teaching with prestige or valor (though they should), but it always gave me a sense of accomplishment to know that I was doing something so difficult. Even now, I look back and wonder who in their right mind put me in charge of the well-being and education of all those boys--teaching science, no less. But I did it!

I didn't stop crying until I reached the South Carolina line as I drove home, car loaded with all my material possessions. Feeling I had mourned properly, I turned on the radio to lighten my spirits. "Carolina" blared meaningfully from the speakers.

Damn you, Eric Church.

Nowadays, I spend my days absorbing as much sun as humanly possible, eating my family's food (which is even better than I remembered) and perfecting my floating skills in the pool or the ocean. Tough life. Not much to blog about.

Don't worry, in two weeks I will be taking three of my students on their first out-of-the-country vacation to Canada. I'm sure I will have plenty to report. Meanwhile, I'm preparing to educate the masses on the cardinal rules of bridesmaiding and "How to Pose in Bathing Suit Photographs After Eating Ribs, Potato Salad and Homemade Peach Ice Cream Without Looking Like You've Already Given Birth to Several Children."

Enjoy your perch from the edge of your seat.

And now what?

I'm moving Monday. Starting to pack up now will not only depress me by forcing me to stare at blank walls and boxes for days, it will also be inconvenient. How can I pack up all my kitchen stuff if I'm still going to be cooking for four more days? I could pack up all my clothes and walk around naked 'til Monday, but that doesn't sound very prudent either. Since I don't really know what to do with myself right now and I'm a little overwhelmed, I'm MAKING LISTS.

Making lists is a great way of doing something without actually doing something. You feel productive while making these lists--even if you don't get anything on them done! It's great! Besides my "To Pack" list, right now I'm making a list of songs to download and burn a CD from. I'm also compiling a list of "Things I'll Miss About My City" to blog about.

And now, a list of "Potential Career Paths for the Unemployed Ex-Teacher with an English Degree, a Penchant for Sarcasm and Good Food, Aversion to the Cardigan, Fluent in Country Colloquialisms and Ebonics":

1. Teach again

2. Go to school again

3. Work at a Honky-Tonk

4. Work at Bojangles

5. Be Homeless

6. Be a Food Conna...Connisss..... if you can't spell it you can't be it.

7. Write an Fashion Advice Column for Educators

8. Marry Rich

Well, that's all I could come up with for now. Number one requires number two, which complicates things. As does the fact that I'm potentially overqualified for number four and underqualified for six and seven. Number five is the path of least resistance, and if I'm going to do number eight, I'd better quit hanging out with only teachers. So there you have it.

Did I leave anything off my list?

That's A Wrap.

I walked out of room 525 and closed the door by behind me. For the last time, I stepped out of the double doors near the plaza and walked to my car across the pothole that is our parking lot.

How many days have I waited for this moment? How many countdowns have I created in my head? How many times have I told myself or someone else "I don't think I can make it 'til the end"? How often have I fantasized about this day?

I think I thought that it would be like last year. I would sprint to my car and drive the whole way home with my windows down, music blaring: nothing but relief and joy. Instead, I find myself either in tears or on the verge of tears at any second. It is difficult to put into the words all the emotions I feel right now, but I will try.

First, I think I am crying because I tend to over-sentimentalize everything (such a white girl). I sobbed through the last episode of Friends because it happened to air the last week of my high school career, and I basically thought I was Rachel, saying goodbye to all my friends. If the last episode of a 90s sitcom can do it, you can bet a two year life phase will. Though short, it has also been the most meaningful; I have grown up more during these two years than I had in the past 23.

The people I've met here have challenged me, inspired me and made this difficult experience a sweet one as well. I think of Ms. J across the hall, who made me feel welcome on my first day and helped me and encouraged me more than she'll ever know. I think of Mr. E next door who made me laugh on the days when I'd be crying otherwise. I think of Mrs. M, who prayed with me in the mornings and for me at night--a tangible reminder of God's faithfulness. I think of Ms. F and Ms. Z, who inspired me to be a better teacher. I think of the two Ms. Ts that kept me on my toes and cracking up on a daily basis. I think of Ms. A who hugged me when I cried and Ms. L who stood up for me. These are people who I'd never have met otherwise, and I'm so thankful that our lives intersected for a moment. I'm better for it.

And ohhh, the kids. I will never see most of them again, and that was a sad realization as I watched their buses pull away from the school Friday. One-hundred and eighty days we spent together--180 LONG days. There were days I wanted to strangle all of them, there were moments when I wondered how I'd ever leave them. And now I say goodbye to them with a lump in my throat; despite their rudeness, entitledness and lack of respect, by the grace of God I walk away with nothing but love for them. I prayed that the Lord would show me these children through his eyes, then wondered every day why he didn't. Well he was and he did. Take Shakeem, who stole everything he could get his hands on and cursed at me under his breath more than once. When I think of him, I first remember his willingness to laugh at himself and the the desire to please shining eversofaintly from his eyes. I remember him fondly, as I do all of them.

I will miss this city, this house, and the friends that have made it home here. Ms. P, Ms. G, E, Ms. K, Ms. F, Ms. S, Mr. C, Mr. B, Mr. R...couldn't have done it without them. They filled this experience with fun and laughter. They kept me grounded. They are the star players in some of the most precious memories I've made to date.

...did I mention I was sentimental? How many people are still reading?

Secondly, I am afraid of the future. How many times does God have to pour lavish blessings on my head and provide for me beyond what I need for me to realize I'm taken care of? I'm afraid because I don't have a plan, I don't have a direction and I don't have a clue what I'm going to do next. At 25, that's kind of scary. Shouldn't I have at least an idea?

Lastly and most importantly, I am touched by God's faithfulness to me. I've already mentioned it (and in the next breath doubted it), but how sweet it is to finish up these two years and see it. Everything I asked for, He gave it times ten. He gave me support, love, fun, laughter, joy, meaningful work, a home, encouragement and so many other things I can't even think of right now. He carried me through this emotionally-draining job and spiritually-draining school. He taught me so much. He used me for good things. He protected me from bad things.

My words are trite.

As Mrs. M pointed out: We began this journey crying and we leave it crying; we've come full circle. I know that my overall sentiment when looking back on this will be one of fondness and affection. I'll remember the challenges and the days when I'd rather run off the road and hit a telephone pole than go to school (see posts 1-50), but more than that I'll remember the fun I had.

I know that this chapter has been preparing me for what's next, and it's okay that I don't know what that is right now...

...if it's half the roller-coaster, rewarding, hilarious journey this has been, IMMA BE STRAIGHT. Thanks for reading, keeping up, praying, laughing and crying along with me. Stay tuned!

1

I found myself tearing up a few times today at the cookout.

I'll say it was just because it was about 283746 degrees outside.

Luckily Que was there to cheer me up. This is Que. He has a special message for us in his hair.

In case you can't read, it says "SCHOOL OUT."

"Love it Que," I told him. "But shouldn't it say "SCHOOL'S OUT?"

"No." He shook his had and laughed at my stupidity. "I only go to one school!"

2

We rotated the kids throughout all the different 8th grade classrooms for "Game Day." It didn't really work; as soon as the kids hit the hallway, they went wherever they wanted and did it on their own time. After the first couple of "rotations," we decided to just keep the group we had for the rest of the day.

Mr. W stopped me in the hall. "We're not rotating anymore, right?"

"Right," I confirmed.

"Good. That was a disaster. I had Mr. E's kids and it was AWFUL. I couldn't take it."

I smiled sweetly at him for a few seconds.

"...Oh yeah...those are your boys too," he said sheepishly. "Sorry."

Don't apologize. Now you know what we had to deal with ALL day EVERY day. I actually feel a little validated by others' acknowledgement of how different it is to teach that particular group.

Today while I was playing Uno, Malik randomly and urgently posed a question to me:

"MS. M! YOU CATHOLIC OR BAPTIST!??"

"Umm, neither, actually. I'm Presbyterian."

"Oh, oh yeah! I know 'bout dat! That man be wearin' dem gowns when he be walkin' down the aisle."

I stared blankly at him.

"But he be spillin' dat wax on me when he holdin' that big candlestick. He be walkin' down the aisle talkin' 'bout some 'Hoooollllyyy Gooodddd Ouurrr Faaaatherrr Hmmmmm'"

He sang and pranced through the classroom holding an imaginary Paschal candle, a clumsy cross between an altar boy and a chanting monk.

Clearly he's never rolled with the Presbos.

3

"What is you WEARIN' Ms. M!?!"

"I'm wearing today's dress code for teachers: 'college t-shirt and khaki pants.' Only the one pair of khaki pants I own are these and I look like a boy."

"Yeah....dey too BIG. Dey black people pants. You finna sag."

I had to agree. I looked ridiculous. I also happened to wear my hair wavy, which incited several unsolicited comments on my appearance.

James: "You havin' like tha worst hair day EVER. Like what is yo hair DOIN'?"

"That's impolite, James," I told him.

"I jus' tell the truth all tha time. Better than lyin' to ya an' tellin' you you look good then you walk out'tha house lookin' a mess like you do right now!"

But later, Stephon: "Ms. M, you look pretty today."

"Thanks?" I said, gesturing to my masculine threads.

"Naww I mean your hair."

"She looks pretty EVERY day, Stephon," Brent chimed in. "Why you actin' like today any different?"

Silly boys. Wish they paid as much attention to my lessons as they do my choice of clothing/hairstyles.

4

Well, the winner of my unofficial ebonics quiz was...Susan(!?). Who would have thought that the whitest, prissiest graduate of Trinity Presbyterian School would be the darkhorse candidate to take the prize?

Maybe it was because there were only two entries (the other being by my sister). However, since the number of applicants was so low and DA's was so funny, I declare both of you winners and will be commissioning your letter-writing tomorrow.

Hey, don't worry about sending me your addresses because:

A) I will live with you, Suz, in a matter of weeks, and

B) I will see you, sister, in ONE week

Four days.

well you would KNOW if you had paid ATTENTION!!

Quiz time! Time to test your ebonics skillz. Since I've immersed myself in the language, I consider myself fluent. I love some of the phrases I've learned over the past couple of years and will use some of them for life. When I go home, I often break into, "Why you trippin? Imma be up there in a second, you just gon' hafta chilll for a second, talkin' bout some 'HURRY UP, WE TRYNA LEAVE!!'" To which my parents respond with blank stares. "Why are you talking like that?"

If you've been keeping up with my blog (or are just a natural born gangsta), this list should look familiar. Comment and tell me what each means and you'll get one point for each one you get correct. Person with the most points by Monday will receive a hand-written letter from one of my precious angels.

Don't look at the comments and cheat. (I must think I'm talking to my students; y'all wouldn't do that!)

Great idea, Suz.

1. Wilin'

2. Flexin'

3. Goin' ham

4. Sheisty

5. Real talk

6. Racks

7. Trippin'

8. Duck

9. Box

10. Real rap

11. Gutta

12. Trill

13. G

14. OG

15. doin' too much

16. Bake

17. Twirkin'

18. Donk

19. Kush

20. Workin

21. Kicks

22. Put on blast

23. Flamin'

24. Killed

25. Beast

26. Threads

27. Straight

28. boom

Carowindz

We went on a field trip to Carowinds yesterday. For those of you who live outside of the Carolinas, Carowinds is an amusement park.

It. Was. AWESOME.

Initially, I was skeptical, as I have only ridden two big girl roller coasters in my entire life. Heaven forbid I give my boys any more ammunition on the "Ms. M is wimpy" front though, so I bravely attempted every last roller coaster there. The boys were thrilled that I was willing to ride the scariest rides with them and begged for me to take a turn beside them.

Highlights:

I convinced Dante to put his hands up with me during the biggest drop in the whole park (the picture at the top), which merely resulted in him grabbing my raised hand and holding it so tightly my rings made indentions in my flesh.

During one line, Rashin (one of my gay students) asked my if I'd had breast surgery. Umm, if I had, I'd better have asked for a refund!

Je'Corey talking me through a particularly stomach-wrenching ride. "It's gon' be OK, Ms. M!! Just hold onto that lil knob right there an' quit trippin'!"

My autistic student chanting "I believe, I believe, I believe" while we climbed a summit then yelling "I FEEL LIKE I'M IN HEAVEN!!!" as we descended. Then, at the bottom: "See what happens when we confront our fears, Ms. M!? [high five]"

My favorite ride, however, was with stoic Willie, who screamed like a girl the ENTIRE two minutes of another roller coaster. Hilarious. Tears streamed out of my eyes and up my forehead (that's a first).

It's so nice to hang out with these hilarious, dynamic and crazy fools when I don't have to teach them or discipline them. Aka every other day of the year.

*

I hope that it was clear in my last post I was comparing myself to my students, not God. Duh.

One Week...

That's all I have left.

I've taught for 355 (!) days and have five left. That's so...surreal. I still feel like I will be held hostage within RMS' halls for a lifetime. Like August 25th will roll around and I'll be back in room 525, giving my "Welcome to 8th grade science" speech. Again.

I've been looking forward to this since the day I started, and now that it's here, I don't believe it. I guess I feel like something grand and momentous should happen to mark the occasion/bring closure...like...a kid come to me and through tears tell me how I've changed his life and how he's already gotten his scholarship letter from a prestigious college....

...or...fireworks should be shot inside the building and blow the roof off to reveal a giant "YOU DID IT MS. M!!!" written in the clouds (by God, of course).

or I walk outside the building and an emotional song plays over the loudspeakers while my students parade behind me, sobbing and waving streamers.

I don't know. Something like that. Instead, many of my kids have been suspended for the rest of the year, meaning I won't say bye to them at all. The rest who don't just stop coming will get on my nerves up until the bell rings for 5th block on the very last day, when they will exit out of the door and my life.

I suspect that then I will be the only one crying. Crying out of relief, a little regret that I couldn't do better, a lot of sadness for the sad culture I was immersed in but couldn't (and can't) change, knowledge that I will miss these knuckleheads and always wonder about them, fear for their futures, fear for my future,

do I need a new paragraph? or at least sentence?

gratitude toward the Lord for His faithfulness, humility at what He taught me, and amazement at how much I've been forced to grow up and toughen up over the last few years.

Already crying? Seriously, M.

A word of encouragement, straight from my final survey...

"Ms. M always gave it her all and did her best, even when we was actin' crazy."

I might not have been the greatest, most inspiring, heroic teacher ever, but that was never my prayer. My prayer was that, in spite of my shortcomings, the kids would recognize just that: I was trying my best for them. I don't think my efforts would have meant as much without the bad attitudes, disrespect, ingratitude and misbehavior. After all, God's love for us wouldn't be as amazing and compelling if we were obedient and perfect.

"But God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."

Amen.

ExtraOnerousGarbage

I hate EOGs. I hate that we teach all year to have students perform well on a test instead of, oh...I don't know...being prepared for high school? Knowing how to write correctly? Understanding how to analyze problems? Think critically about the world they live in?

But that's just me being silly.

Anyways, we got our data back. Our grade is divided into four teams:

Team A: IB kids (the highest-performing--and usually best-behaved kids)

Team B: Honors kids (the ones that take Algebra instead of regular math)

Teams C and D: (You guessed it) The leftovers/behavior problems. Lowest-performers. Team C=boys, Team D=girls.

Pass rates were as follows (this is before retests):

Team A: 70%

Team B: 60%

Team C (us): 56%

Team D: 33%

About what I expected. I'm pleased that every one of my boys who did what they were supposed to do this year passed. I'm also happy I had 16 4s (the highest score)--same as the Honors team.

56% is still not great, but I'm not a miracle-worker. I'm just a girl, standing in front of some boys trying to love them.

That sounded vaguely familiar.

Well, they've finally done it...

There is now a rap about wonton soup. Thank God that void in our musical library has been filled.

The things you learn at RMS.

*Warning: I tried to get the clean version, but this still ain't too clean so if you have delicate sensibilities, don't click.

BALLIN OUT

EOG results are back. We'll talk later. My brain is fried right now, but I wanted to write this down before I forgot.

Today during reloop/review, Khalil seemed to be working on his practice questions a little too intensely. I know Khalil, and I know his focus is never that keen on schoolwork. When I stepped closer, I saw that he was writing a rap. It went something a long the lines of:

"When we hit tha mall we ball out (ball out) x4

Swagg stupid fly, yall

everyday I'm high, yall

Money flyin' everywhere, spend it on tha clothes I wear

AE and HCo from my head to my toe

Gotta get my money right 'fore I spend it on them hoes..."

LAME.

Hollister and American Eagle? You have "stupid money" and you take it to HOLLISTER? Kewl. You are SUCH a baller. All-American gangsta.

I rolled my eyes and said something of that sort while Khalil looked over my shoulder. "You ain't think that's straight? It's harder than it looks to write raps."

"Really?" I took the pen and notebook to my desk while he smirked. Five minutes later, I was back with this:

The name's Ms. M, y'all; you know what it is.

Ask you 'do you know Miz?' you say 'from that show biz!'

Hustlin' in the classroom, stompin' in them boots--

Haters try to clown by they know it's kinda cute.

All day southern swag, reppin' in my pearls

Gotta watch your step round them bonafide country girls.

All boys, all day, but I hold it down

Queen of the 8th grade; see me in my crown.

Still don't think I'm real? Well you've just been had.

If you need the proof in ink, go and ask your dad.

"AWWW Ms. M forreal, y'all! I gotta give you props for that M, you killed dat! Ms. M a beast, real rap."

If only my rapping skillz could get me anywhere in the real world...Still taking suggestions for jobs next year...anyone?

Bueller?

Bueller?

A Little Love for Ms. M

Nobody likes a whiner, so I'm going to try my best not to be one. I'll be brief: several incidents in the past week have made school perhaps even more unbearable than usual (...).

Now it is EOG week, but as soon as testing is over for the day, the kids WILE OUT. I would compare it to wild banshees being let out of a straight jacket after four hours. It's exhausting, but I have to keep reminding myself that I would probably have a little energy to burn after working out math problems for four hours too.

Then again, I probably wouldn't burn it by taking off my shirt, flossing it back and forth between my legs and singing "It's Raining Men."

Mere difference of temperament.

ANYWAYS. Maybe that background will shed some light on why this moment stood out to me...

Today we were outside after the test when Essa (the athlete who is a little too cocky for his own good but just sweet enough to make him likeable anyways) came up behind me and slung his heavy arm across my shoulders.

"Imma miss you next year, Ms. M, real tawlk." He continued to escort me across the lawn, ignoring my look of surprise. "I really do love you, Ms. M. Sometimes you make me mad, but I love you anyways. You one of my favorite teachers and Imma miss you next year when I'm at high school."

I squeezed his arm. Looking up at his smile, I know he couldn't have known how much those few sentences meant to me (I couldn't let him know either; Lord knows thinks too much of himself anyways). "I love you too, Essa. And you make me mad sometimes too, but I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't miss you next year."

I meant it.

Tomorrow my students take the Science EOG--it's what I've been preparing them for all year and will be used to gauge my effectiveness and their growth. I hope it is a true testament to what they've learned. Please pray for them! I really want them to be able to feel successful at the end of the year.

I'm not gonna lie, I want that for myself too.

UGH.

I will be fine if I never ever see another 14-year-old again ever. I'm tired of you calling my name over and over again, "MS. M, MS. M, MS. M!!!!!" I'm tired of you being so needy. I don't have enough in me to be 25 people's teacher, mom, daddy, mentor, BFF, encourager, disciplinarian and counselor all at the same time. Sorry bout it. I'm tired of you hanging all over me. PLEASE. You don't need to poke me, prod me, grab my arm, tug my hair, hug me, come up behind me or grab my shoulders in order to say hello. Just say hello. I'm starting to value my personal space more than ever. I don't even want you to LOOK at me.

I'm sorry. I know that sounds harsh. Please come hang out at my school for a week before judging me.

The other day at lunch, I was desperately trying to find my inner peace at the end of the table. By myself. I thoughtfully chewed a cracker. Five boys immediately whisked to my side and plopped down beside me. Please not now. Que looked at me for a second and grinned, nudging his neighbors. "Ms. M," he said meaningfully, "you like crackers??"

The table burst out laughing. I looked down at my half-eaten saltine. "Oh. I get it. You said that because I'm white. Ha, ha. But you know what? I'm starting to feel a little bit discriminated against! How is it okay for you to call me a cracker? What if I find that offensive? Look around you, Que. I'm a minority here. By a LOT."

Que laughed and gestured toward the rest of the cafeteria. "Yeah, we used to be a minority too, 'til our mommas started havin' six kids a piece 'fore they hit 30! Now we multiplyin'!"

Mom

My mom is beautiful like the wild violets she loves so much. Their splendor lies in their vibrant color and their fragility, but their delicate shape belies their resilience. I've seen those violets dot the sides of heavily-trafficked interstates and backyards with more rocks than dirt. They can grow anywhere and need no maintenance, but they catch the eye of everyone who passes by.

My mom is graceful like the birds she watches from our back windows. She knows their songs and their names, their distinguishing markings, but she doesn't know how much she shares with them. Her songs have been the lovely backdrop of our childhoods. Her quiet kitchen melodies have drifted up the stairs and lulled us to sleep with their familiarity. She is a delight to all with the privilege of being in her presence.

My mom is deliberate like the Shakespearian sonnets she recites to herself. We see her thoughtfulness in everything from the flowers she arranges on our kitchen island and the colors and flavors of the food she prepares to the Valentine's packages she sends us and the way she artfully wraps her gifts. Nothing that bears her name is done with half her heart.

My mom is calm like the scent of the lavender she grows beside our house. Little can sway her easy temperament, and she takes pleasure in small, everyday delights. She doesn't require riches or lavish attention or constant entertainment to be happy; she is captivated by the sunsets on our back porch. Gossip doesn't excite her, nor does flattery.

My mom is as much a part of us as our bones, our breath, our blood. We see her when we look in the mirror, we hear her in each others' voices. People often lament that the older women are, the more like their mothers they become. Four the four of us, there could be no better fortune.

QOTD:

From the girls that rotated through my classes during blitz:

"Ms. M, why you teachin' at RMS?! You look too prissy to teach here. Don't she look like she should be workin' at a law firm or somethin'?"

"Yeah but then you get to know her and you realize she really a fat black woman stuck inside a skinny white girl's body!"

Why, thank you.

And thank YOU for the blog cheer you left me last time. After all, what would a fat black woman be without her homegirls?

The OG is back, y'all.

I have taken a hiatus from blogging. First, I was in Paris (more on that once I get the pictures). Then, funny ish my kids said didn't seem so funny after my home state and precious college town were obliterated by a monster tornado.

Oh yeah, then Osama bin Laden got his face shot off.

I don't mean to gloss over any of the above, but I frankly don't want to write about any of it right now. Wednesday after the storms all I wanted to do was cry and praise Jesus for sparing my sisters and take all my bottled sentiments and put them on paper...

...but I didn't. So Alabama, just know I'm praying for you and that even though I'm going to go ahead and write about my funny little pipsqueaks like everything is normal, I haven't forgotten that your normal is splintered and strewn on the ground.

School is crazy right now. This week began the two week "blitz" before the kids take their state tests. The blitz is where we review like crazy and desperately try to cram testing strategies down our students' throats. Strangely enough, the teachers and the administration are the only ones stressing and out working hard during this critical time. The kids are acting like they're on a weekend trip to Panama City Beach. Last week I nearly got trampled in a stampede, Mufasa style. If you closed your eyes during class changes and let your nose and ears take in the senses, you might question if you'd been magically transported to an African tundra during a wildebeest feeding frenzy.

Yesterday, I opened my door to find one of my best students casually fondling a girl's breasts in the middle of the hall. "JE'COREY!!!!!"

"What?" He asked, unashamed.

"Are you SERIOUS right now!?!??"

I immediately went to Mr. E to tell him what I saw while Je'Corey bowed his head and chuckled to himself.

"Je'Corey. In the hall? Really?" Mr. E asked in a disgusted tone.

"Ms. M! Did you really just go snitch to Mr. E?"

I'm currently trying to stifle the laughter that's threatening to overcome me at any second. It's not that I'm still not incredibly horrified that my "precious" student is about to round second base in the hallways of a MIDDLE school, I just can't believe I'm really a part of this conversation.

Mr. E continues his fatherly lecture, but I can tell he's fighting a smirk as well. I narrow my eyes and nod my head emphatically as he speaks, all the while biting the inside of my cheek. "That's the problem with y'all," he says. "Y'all too FAST. I mean, you just gonna hang your business out like that in the hallway? Are you that horny?"

At this point, I lose it. Mr. E, encouraged, gains enthusiasm. "I mean, can you not wait until you get home?" Je'Corey is laughing with me. "Seriously, do you not have a TV or a computer to take care of those needs before you come to school?" Tears are streaming down my face and Je'Corey is protesting through red-faced snorts.

"Mr. E, STOP! Naw, man dat's gross!"

"Well you didn't think it was gross when you were juggling those titties in the HALL!"

OMG. Too much. Is this really happening at school? Am I really supposed to keep a straight face and act like an adult during this conversation? Because that's just not going to happen. I've learned that in some situations, you just have to throw in the towel and laugh. No use pretending you don't think something is funny just to be mature; the kids will see straight through it. Last year I had to laugh to keep from crying, and this year I've realized that that's the number one thing I enjoy about my job, so I might as well embrace it.

Dang it, I didn't even get to my other story, but it's bedtime. Maybe if every single one of you comments and tells me how much you missed my blogs and how you refreshed your page every five minutes to see if I'd updated and said a cuss word when I hadn't...I'll write about it tomorrow.

Heartbroken

The grass withers,

the flowers fade.

But the Word of God is forever.

Je ne veux pas travailler.

My mom said the tone of my blog has become increasingly morose. As has my morale. I have been suppressing the urge to physically hit children for about a month now. It's okay; it's normal this time of year.

Thankfully, today we went on a field trip where teacher responsibility was minimal. The kids attended a financial literacy day (which was probably more beneficial to me than them). I they learned the difference between equity investments and fixed income investments, bonds, CDs, stocks etc. They even wrote pretend checks and created a budget where they had to invest a certain percentage of their earnings. The kids were pretty blasé about it; I, on the other hand, was furiously taking notes and starting to sweat fretting about my imaginary mortgage.

Unbeknownst to me, our princiPAL had deemed this pre-spring break week "Jeans Week." I showed up in dress, a blazer and heels. I never wear heels to school. My boys noticed and gave me HELL.

"Why you trynna be all tall? So you can finally look down at us 'steada up!"

"Ayyyeee, talkin' bout 'I'm a Barbie girl in a Barbie world!'"

"Yeahh Ms. M come in wearin' dem heels...she trynna pick her up a BANKER today! She on the prowl."

Am I that transparent?

These kids are WILIN' out, and the next three days are going to be hell, but on Friday, you can't tell me NOTHIN'.

Why, you ask? (listen to this while reading the rest of this post)

I'm boarding this:

And heading here:

Et puis, je fume.

Peace out, homies.

club WACK

I introduced the cell yesterday. In an attempt to make taking beaucoup notes on beaucoup organelles more exciting, my entire lesson was built on comparing the cell to a club. I told them we were going on an illegal field trip; I was taking a bunch of underage kids to a nightclub. Naturally, they were excited (until they realized we weren't even leaving the classroom). I played the best current clubby song I could think of (not gonna lie, I like it too) and spastically flicked the lights on and off. Once I started dancing, it was over: "Mannnnn dis Club WACK!!"

Don't let them fool you. They loved it.

"The nucleus is like the club owner because it controls what goes on in the cell." We discuss what kind of club we'd create if we were an owner. "The mitochondria produce the cell's energy. What in a club provides the energy for the crowd?"

They think for a moment. "Awwww Ms. M I GOTCHU! IT'S DEM BIG-BOOTIED STRIPPERS!!"

Well I was going to say "the DJ" but that works just as well.

"The Endoplasmic Reticulum moves materials throughout the cell. What in the club gets people moving?"

"DAT GREY GOOSE!!"

"Nawww dat PATRON!"

"Mannn dat's dat HENNY!"

"Ms. M know all about dat! She be sippin' dat stuff on Fridays soon as she pull outta the parkin' lot! She be gettin' LOOSE after teachin' all these bad kids!"

They had me rolling by the end of class.

Then.

After lunch I told a group of four boys twice that we were leaving the lunchroom. Twice they ignored me.

"Okay, I'm not trying to wait on anyone, so let's put it this way: If you're not in my room by the time I shut my door, I'm calling security and writing you all up for being out of area."

They stared blankly at me. Ten minutes later they strolled through my door.

"Oh no. OH no." I said, handing them them their referrals. Armani (freshly back from boot camp) took his, ripped it up and threw it on the floor. I raised my eyebrows.

"FUCK this class. G'on and give me ten days and Imma tell you what Imma do for those ten days. Imma spend them smoking weed and planning my revenge. And at the end of those ten days--guess what? I'm coming back for you."

I looked up at him. "What do you need ten days for? No time like the present. Whatever it is you're thinking about doing, go ahead and do it now." He stared at me. "Yeah that's what I thought. You're not going to do anything. Get out."

"Where you want me to go?"

"When you walk out the front doors, take a right or a left on States; you can't go straight."

"Imma tell 'em you said I could leave."

"Tell them whatever the hell you want."

HAPPY FRIDAY!!!

don't read if you're easily grossed out.

Sperm, table-humping, stink bombs...I don't know why things have been so disgusting in my classroom lately.

Oh yes I do.

I teach ninety 14-year-old boys.

ANYWAYS. Today we had to administer a field test. It wasted class time and was a pain in the ass to keep them silent for that long. They didn't know the material, so they spent most of the allotted time forcing out audible farts to liven the mood. Charming.

Fourth block rolled around and Armani asked to step outside "to fart."

"Nope. You like to wander too much. Just let it rip; you won't be the first today."

Armani grimaced, furrowed his brow, lifted up one side and let out one of the most disgusting poots I have ever heard.

"UMM. That sounded...wet," I told him, horrified. "Like you really might need to go check your pants." Armani threw his head back and just laauuuuggghhhed.

Five minutes later, Anthony interrupted me. "Ms. M! I can go to the bathroom?"

"No."

"But I gotta gooo!"

"No."

"But my doo-doo is comin' out!!"

My face was now white as a sheet and my overly-sensitive gag reflex was flaring up. "DEAR JESUS WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE TEACHING ALL TEENAGE BOYS!?" I prayed out loud.

"I don't know but it musta been BAD," Anthony responded. "Dis worse than jail time!"

I pondered that for a second....

"But forreal Ms. M, my butthole gettin' tired."

Insert Foot

I reaaallllly wanted them to know the four functions all life forms carry out. I really did. I made them repeat them several times, I made them write it down twice, then I had the brilliant idea to make them stand up and do a motion for each function.

Good thing I can think on my feet so well!!!

1. GROW! (we stretch our arms tall)

this is going quite nicely

2. RESPOND TO STIMULI! (we pretend to touch a hot stove and jerk our hand off)

damn i'm clever

3. ORGANIZED BY CELLS! (we pretend to neatly stack papers)

a stretch, but it works...

4. REPRODUCE!

oh shit....what have i done? no turning back now......

I stand uncomfortably still at the front of the classroom, praying I can quickly distract them. Twenty-eight pairs of eyes stare expectantly at me. They let a split second elapse...then proceed to enthusiastically hump the desks.

Kill me now.

dey trynna hook a sista up

My students are very concerned that I am not married. Ever eager to help, they've tried to set me up with every white male staff member at our school--regardless of age or marital status.

"Ms. M--Imma talk to Mr. L dis afternoon in fourth block for ya. Put in a good word, ya feel me?"

"Yeah, Ms. M. I told Mr. C you said 'wassup.' I told him you was single an' all and you was trynna holla. He said you seemed like a nice lady."

*Mr. C is the creepy new gym teacher*

"Ms. M you seem stressed out an' it's probly cuz you ain't got no MAN to come home to. Imma talk to Mr. F an' see if we can't get you no HUSBAND."

"But Mr. F is already married with two children."

"Yeah but from what I understand things is goin' downhill...Ain't no reason why you couldn't at LEAST start puttin' yoself out there."

After I told my fourth block that I was going to quit and never come back (I say that probably once a week), I received this letter from "my youngest best friend Kenneth." Click to enlarge.

Mr. E--I'm down if you are. Kenneth highly recommends you.

ZING!

It's going to be a culture shock when I return to normal society in a few months. I'm going to have to readjust before I enter the professional world because I've been anything BUT professional for the past two years. Case in point:

"There are three major factors that affect ocean life: STD. No, not Sexually Transmitted Diseases; Sunlight, Temperature and Depth."

My one-liner has worked; all 28 heads snapped up at the mention of 'STD.' Raquon, the class smartass, was among them.

"Ms. M got an STD!!"

"Yup, that and these shoes were the only two things your dad gave me when we were together."

I watch with satisfaction as the tiny chuckles in response to Raquon's quip turn to wide-eyed, hysterical laughter.

Twenty minutes later we're talking about producers and consumers. Producers make their own food, consumers must eat other organisms to gain energy. I ask the class what humans are, and they correctly answer 'consumers.' Raquon wants to come out on top again, so he tries to trip me up. "Naww, humans producers. I'm a producer."

"You are? How so?" I ask.

He gives me a self-assured grin. "I produce my own sperm!"

"Yes but do you eat it?"

"WHAT!?"

The class explodes again.

"I said producers make their own food. So if you eat the sperm, then you've made a valid point... Of course that's only assuming it's your own. If it's someone else's, you would still be a consumer."

My students don't really know what to do with themselves at this point. They're falling out of their desks and Raquon, for once, is silent. I didn't really want to go there, but who could have predicted that drastic change in topic? I'm just trying to keep up, here. Talking about eating sperm with a classroom full of 14-year-old boys was definitely not on the short list of things I'd envisioned myself doing when I accepted Teach for America's offer.

But then again, what has been?

You live you learn.