Hello, My Name is Dr. House.

Shakeem is sort of a baby thug. Not a real one, but he wants to be. He steals stuff all the time and has been sent off to boot camp more than once for getting caught with weed, weapons, etc. He basically raises himself and has a pretty shady life outside of RMS, from what I know.

I kind of like Shakeem because he's really chill and he looks after me in his own strange way. For whatever reason, he's decided that he likes me, so I do my best to cultivate that relationship (I'd like to keep my speakers and phone, pleaseandthankyou). It's difficult to balance the fine line of keeping him on my side and still exercising my authority over him.

Today: "SHAKEEM. I swear if you open your mouth ONE more time while I'm teaching..."

"I'm sorry Ms. M but I gotta 'mergency. Maybe you can help 'cause you a science teacher."

I sighed. "What?"

"Whatchu think dis is on my arm?"

I took a quick look as he lifted up his sleeve. "Honey, that's ringworm and you need to get you some cream, STAT."

Devin burst into laughter beside him.

Shakeem looked horrified. "I slept on dis guy's couch..."

"Did that guy have a cat?" I asked.

"Naw he ain't got nothin.'"

"Well what he 'got' was ringworm, and now you've got it it too, baby doll."

"Is it...is it gon' crawl out of my arm??" Shakeem looked like he was about to throw up.

"No, it's not actually a worm. It's a fungus."

"EEEEWWWWWWW!!!!!" the whole class screamed in unison. I had to hide my giggle as I watched all the color drain from Shakeem's face. No, Shakeem, you are not a gangster. You are a 13-year-old boy with a fungal problem and you are scared out of your mind.

real tawlk.

4:00 p.m. found me at my duty post in the breezeway watching kids stampede to the buses. Ever the multi-tasker, I was supervising and finishing up my piece of cake from our staff meeting. I had about four bites left. Before I could sink my fork into it, a boy snatched it off my plate and popped the whole thing in his mouth as he passed by.

I'm not making this up.

"Are you SERIOUS!?!?" I ran after him, took the icing/cake-smeared plate and smashed it in his face.

This type of gut reaction tells me one of two things:

1. I probably do not need to be teaching middle school boys.

or

2. I was probably made to teach middle school boys.

damn it feels good to be a gangsta

"Hey, where da party at?!" begins Jae Qwon.

"Girls is on dey way, where da Bacardi at?!" I finish. My kids sigh and roll their eyes. "Jagged Edge?"

"Whatchu know bout dat?" Jae Qwon asks.

"No...WhatCHU know about that? I believe you were like seven when that came out." I remind him.

"Ms. M a GANGSTA, y'all." Leontay says from the back. His expression is dead serious, and he nods his head for emphasis. "She a skraight up THUG, forreal."

It's true. You heard it here first. I'm a thug.

Today I was a thug in cranberry-colored flats.

You know. My white girl swag.

Keepin' it fresh with my lanyard.

You arready know what it is.

Ya digg?

Worst? Worst.

I can safely say that this was my worst birthday ever. There. Now that I've said it, let's keep in mind the following:

1. Last year my birthday fell on a weekend. If it hadn't, I'm sure it would have taken the cake. Pun intended.

2. I've never had a bad birthday. I've been blessed to be around thoughtful friends and family every February 21st of my life--which is all I could ever want or ask for!

This year, I'm so glad I celebrated my milestone with the people that love me best...my...students.....

....

...

..

.

I got a really "sweet" "card" with a portrait of me on the front!!!!! I was naked!!!! And the caption said, "Ms. M. Small tits. Skinny legs in boots."!!!!

First of all, Jaylon Barker, YOU WOULDN'T KNOW A PAIR OF "TITS" IF THEY SLAPPED YOU IN THE FACE. Because you are 13. And even if you were twice that age, girls do not like you. Period. Thanks for once again stripping me of dignity and any illusion that I'd earned an ounce of respect up in hurr.

When I found the note and confronted him (wouldn't you be absolutely mortified?), he just shrugged. Didn't even deny it. Said I'd made him mad when I got on to him for walking around the room not doing his work.

Duh.

When my boss gets mad at me for not doing my job, my first inclination is to sketch up an unflattering rendering of his genitalia.

Ughhhhhh. These children. I forget that they're children. Tell me how I'm supposed to love that? But I am.

Let me stop before I go on a tirade, telling you how terrible they all were today and how I couldn't get through half a lesson. Instead, I'll tell you how Jimmy brought me a tacky crystal dolphin and weird homemade "sesame balls" and made me cry a second time today. Only the good kind, because he remembered from the beginning of school when he'd asked what my birthday was. I'll tell you how Raquon and Anthony got in trouble for running out of their English class to fling open my door and crush me with their birthday hugs. I'll tell you how past students sent me messages telling me they loved me and were thinking about me today.

I guess if this is my least happy birthday, I've been blessed beyond measure.

Thanks for making it special.

I love you.

Good night!

full moon Friday=school lockdown and power outage

Today the power went off. We walked to lunch down the dark hallway, lit only by the eerie emergency lights.

Je'Corey: "Mann, dis how you KNOW we in the ghetto. Even our SCHOOL didn't pay the electricity bill. Dis just ridiculous."

WIN.

I made 85 fourteen-year-old hard-ass boys sing:

"Water travels in a cycle, yes it does!"

to the tune of "She'll be comin' 'round the mountain when she comes!" With gusto. Complete with hand motions.

Ms. M for President.

happy v-day.

As in...

Vexing day?

Victim's day?

Vile day?

Villain's day?

I don't think I've ever felt such hatred on a day meant to celebrate love! I threw an eraser at one child. I escorted another out of the room BY HIS FACE. And I squeezed one boy's arm so hard as I was lecturing him he jerked out and started trynna FLEX on me.

{to "flex" means to bow up on, get aggressive with}

Don't worry. He's about 90 lbs. And has a gimp arm.

Him: WHY YOU TOUCHIN' ME!? Bruh, you betta get off me RIGHT NOW. You trippin. You ain't ABOUT to get in my face.

Me (instead of a professional, composed response): YOU'RE THE ONE ACTING LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW YOUR HEAD FROM YOUR ASS AND I'M TRIPPIN?? Oh no. Oh NO. Whose class are you in!?!? That's what I thought. So you "AIN'T ABOUT" to tell me what I "AIN'T ABOUT" to do in here. If you had been in here acting right, I wouldn't BE in your face or BE touching your arm. SO IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH PEOPLE IN YOUR FACE DISRESPECTING YOU, THEN DON'T DISRESPECT ME!!!!!!

What the what.

I think I'm so trill.

Somehow, in front of the classroom I transform from passive, even-tempered skinny white girl to...Madea or something. I need a glass of wine and some ibuprofen. 14 more Mondays and I'll be peelin' out of that parking lot so fast you'll break your neck trying to watch me leave. Imma throw them deuces up.

Before I leave you with that disheartening Valentine's post, I'll show you the card my autistic student made me. I'm not really sure what the poem means, but I'm feelin' it. You feel me?

In case you can't read it, it says:

Roses are red,

Violets are blue

I like to be with my teacher

the more than you

lunch break?

I'm starting off this post with a word on lunch breaks. For most of the working world, "lunch break" means about an hour off the clock to go pick up some food. Have some adult conversation. Maybe squeeze in a quick errand.

If you are a teacher, "lunch break" is a break from teaching only. Babysitting continues as you herd children through lines, yell at kids to sit down in between bites, and supervise table clean-up. I'm not trying to tell you my job is a whole lot worse than yours (but it is); in fact, I'm sure the conversations I engage in are way more stimulating than most. Here is a sample to whet your appetite this lovely Thursday evening.

Kenneth is a H.U.G.E. nerd. First of all, he's a young black kid whose name is 'Kenneth.' Secondly, he comes from a military family, so he has a certain...stiffness about him. Thirdly, his vocabulary belongs to an older generation, leading me to believe he's around adults much more than kids his own age. He is CONSTANTLY irritated at something or someone, and he's very vocal about it.

Today at lunch I was sitting next to Essa aka the coolest kid in school (track star, football star, ladies' man, and general badass. but not really.) and across from Kenneth. I was asking Essa about his Valentine's Day plans.

"Why you worried about ME on Valentine's day? I'm Essa. WhatCHU gon' be doing dat day?"

"Welll...I'm not sure yet but I'm going to look great wherever I go because I just acquired a FRESH new Nike hat!" I pulled his confiscated toboggan out of my jacket and put it on my head.

"Chillllll, Ms. M!"

Kenneth suddenly piped in from across the table. "My girlfriend said she wanted something shiny and sparkly for Valentine's Day."

Essa, who rarely interacts with Kenneth, burst out laughing. "OH OKAY, KENNETH! I SEE YOU BRUH! Kenneth be pullin' da FEMALES all DAY!" I tried not to giggle.

Kenneth ignored Essa and continued talking to me. "I'm not sure what to get her."

"Well you know she means jewelry, don't you?" I offered.

"Yeah. And she also said she had a big surprise for ME when I get home that day!"

I tried not to read into this statement, but my face must have revealed something, because Kenneth immediately clarified.

"Well not like sex or anything. Her dad said he'd rip my skeleton out of my body if I tried anything funny."

I spewed my water across the table. Essa threw his head back. "Bruh already skinny! Bruh can't be losin' no skeleton!"

Annnnnd that about sums up lunch for me today.

A Wrinkle in Time. And on mah face.

"Why you don't look like that in real life??"

My students were looking at my family's Christmas card picture. Granted, it was a flattering picture of all of us (isn't that the point of a Christmas card?), but I couldn't possibly look that different from a photograph taken little more than a month ago, could I??

"Maybe she got on makeup there."

"Naw she don't look so white. I mean not white like you a white person but like yo skin color look different."

I resisted the urge to get offended. Sighing an exaggerated sigh, I dropped my hands to my side. "You're probably right! I probably DO look pretty haggard right now. That picture was taken over Christmas. I hadn't been to work in two weeks. My skin is glowing, I'm smiling, I've taken the time to fix my hair, I don't have bags under my eyes...Now look what you've done to me! My hair's falling out, I'm getting wrinkles, I look tired all the time...I'm wearing TEACHER SHOES, for goodness sake!"

They laughed.

But it's kind of true. This could be the beginning of the end. If you see me in a themed sweater, please slap the shit out of me.

On a different note, meet Lamaric.

Okay, so that's not Lamaric, that's Will Smith's kid. But the cute-factor is equal and since I can't put Lamaric's real picture up, this will have to suffice. Lamaric is the tiniest 8th grader I've ever seen. What his body lacks in height, though, his eyelashes make up in length. He always wears this huge, black puff jacket, and his little tiny head sticks awkwardly out of it like a turtle.

PRECIOUS.

Lamaric would be the first person in his family to graduate high school if he does so. He is quiet, shy and mischievous and I just want to take him with me wherever I go. I guess it works out for me, because for some reason he comes to me whenever he's finished his work in any of his other classes. He always sits by me in the cafeteria and reminds me if I leave the classroom without my lunch.

Yesterday, Lamaric popped in during my planning period. "Boo!"

"Hey Lamaric! Whatcha need?"

"Um...we weren't doing anything in gym. I need to finish bubbling in my test."

I knew he was finished with his test, but I let him stay while I graded papers. When I looked up, he was picking at his pencil eraser. I put my pen down. "What's your favorite kind of book, Lamaric?"

"I don't really read very much."

Duh. If any one of my students told me they read in their spare time, I'd fall out of my chair. "That's okay. But I have a book I think you'd really like. It was my favorite book in middle school and it's called A Wrinkle in Time. It's kind of like science-fiction, and since you're so good at science, you'd love it!"

I grabbed his hand and drug him to the library. "Well, I don't see it. Guess we'll have to forget about it," Lamaric said with a grin.

"Not so fast!" I found the book and held out both copies the library had. "Which one do you want?"

"The one with the most pictures." His grin faded when he realized neither copy had pictures.

I checked the book out under his name and sat down with him. For the rest of my planning period, I read aloud the first chapter to him like he was six instead of 13. I didn't look up, but I could feel him watching me while I read. The bell rang, he put the book in his backpack and walked outside to his bus.

Today, the first thing Lamaric said to me when he walked in the room was, "I GOT TO CHAPTER THREE."

I didn't believe him. "You did!? That's great! What happened?"

"That lady Mrs. Whatsit came."

I smiled and threw my arms around him. Like I said, doesn't take much to make my day at that place.

Free

Before I open my eyes, I am aware of the stench that can only be escaped by sleep. The stale air smells of mildew and rancid meat and human waste. I turn my face to the side and wretch. Mustering my strength, I sit up and rest my head against the cool, damp walls of my cell. My mouth is dry and tastes of bile. My head pounds. A single ray of light pierces through the darkness from a chink in the ceiling and slants to the far corner. I stare at the dust lazily falling there. It shimmers weakly while suspended in the glowing stream, then disappears as quickly as it came. Reaching my hand out, I watch it tremble in the brightness. It must be sunny outside.

I don't know how long I've been here; this is the first day I've been able to tell morning from night. I know only the rain that has fallen for days now, trickling down the stones and gathering at my feet. I know only that I've been here a long time, and that today is my last day. Last night the guards brought me a piece of old meat to go with my bread.

"Feast, for this meal is your last."

My stomach heaves again. I cradle my head in my hands and begin to sob.

I have not cried since I was a boy, when my mother died. I've killed many men without remorse, watched them die with eyes open and blood pouring from their mouths. I've listened to respected leaders snivel and beg for mercy like blubbering infants. I've seen wives and children weep at the feet of their dead husbands and fathers, heard their bitter wails in my sleep at night. Yet still my eyes were dry.

Now, for my own life I cry. The blood of many is on my hands, and I know my fate; it has been decided. The finality of my judgement shrouds me in an impenetrable darkness. I've heard that death on a cross is the closest you can come to hell on earth, but it is leaving this earth that fills me with unbearable dread. It is for that fear that I would accept a lifetime in this foul cell. Maybe a lifetime would be enough penitence to cover my crimes. Shudders rack my body and heave my broad shoulders as I inwardly acknowledge the hopelessness of even that thought. A lifetime might absolve me of one man's blood.

When I open my eyes again, the stream of light has moved from the corner and now falls vertically from ceiling to floor. I hear voices from above.

"Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!"

The crowd outside is hungry for my blood. I hear the hatred in their voices, tangible as the words themselves. They violently spit the phrase from their mouths. It drips with venom and turns me cold. Even though I am a murderous man, I am amazed at the passionate anger I have aroused in these people. It sounds as if thousands have gathered outside to damn me.

I hear the clanging of metal. The trap door has been removed and footsteps approach. Two guards slide open my cell and spit at my feet. My palms are cold and my stomach is twisted. I think of the faces of those sniveling men in the last moments of their lives. I remember the loathing I felt for them, how base they seemed when stripped of their pride. I am harshly lifted on either sides by my armpits. As we pass under the light, I look up. For a moment, I am blinded.

I am not aware of climbing the stairs, not aware of passing through the guards' quarters, I am only aware of the fresh air and the breeze that is now on my face. We are outside of the jail, and it is beautiful outside. I have never seen a clearer day or a bluer sky, and the cruelty of it is too much for me. After days of rain, the clouds have receded so that even the sun may mock my cursed end. The guards throw me to the ground, and my tears mingle with the dust. "From dust you were created, and to dust you will return." I roll to my back and squint at the light, the light that is too bright, too intense for my unaccustomed eyes. One of the sentinels speaks.

"Go, Barabbas. You are free."

The breeze shifts, and lift I my head. Though tears stream down my face and blur my vision, I know the guards are gone. I repeat the sentinel's last three words, unable to fathom their weight. I cannot trust it, yet before me lies only a boundless horizon. The sun has not appeared to mock me, but to illuminate the beauties that are mine again, somehow. The crowd still chants in the distance, but it is not me they are shouting for.

I am free.

Mid-Year Survey

After their chemistry final, I gave my kids an "anonymous" mid-year survey about the class and me. Only it's not anonymous because I know all of their handwriting like my own. Some of their answers made me sigh, some made me laugh out loud, and some of them made me smile and remember why I'm still there. Here are the high(and low)lights:

These are not edited...

If you put 'disagree' for any of the statements, please explain your answer:

"Because sometime it be to many peopel to help me." (so, so true)

"Cause Ms. M is a nice teacher and can get mean when she want to."

"Ms. M is a good teacher and she appreciates her students when they finish their work and when they work hard just like how she works hard."

What is your favorite thing about Ms. M's class?

"Ms. M! I love you Ms. M :)"

"We get to have fun not like the other classes."

"She a good, nice, cool teacher."

"The way she helps me understand."

"She do her thing."

What is your least favorite thing about Ms. M's class?

"Having lunch with her."

"I suffer with the other kids who cause all the trouble."

"The music we listen to."

"Having to stand up in the back when I'm in trouble."

"The bad kid."

"All the rules and when she say 'get on the second block' when we in the halls."

What do you wish we did differently in class?

"We should have 20 to 30 minutes of free time." (that's half the class)

"Give more time for warm up and have a little fun (not to much)"

"Let me sleep."

"Pick another conquence other than standing up."

"Give us least rules to follow."

"Give more candy."

If another student asked you to describe Ms. M's class, what would you say?

"She don't play when it comes to work but she is fun sometimes."

"I would describe her as the best science teacher I'd ever had."

"She be trippin sometimes but she is a nice teacher."

"Loud and very chaty."

"That she is nice she is special."

"One of the best classes in RMS."

"She nice sometime but mostly mean."

"Unpredictable"

"She funny she would help you with anything."

"That she a optimist teacher and she makes everyday in her class interesting."

"That she is caring can teach and respectful."

"I would probably just say its alright."

"We try to master everything."

"It is a respectful classroom that you can feel comfortable and learn."

Are you learning science? What's helping you learn OR what's keeping you from learning?

"No. I never feel like learning anything except elements." (??)

"Yes because she tell me to stay focus."

"Yes. because she breaks it down."

"Yes, the thing that is helping me in her class is mostly her motovation."

"Yes the way she teach helps me learn."

"No I dont cause I talk to much."

"Yes I'm learning because Ms. M break it down and give us a lab to learn it better."

"Yes she tell us to write down note's or she'll put us on a video." (....?)

"Cells, reactions, and atoms." (?? and we haven't talked about cells once)

Please share anything else you want Ms. M to know.

"Ms. M is an AWESOME teacher! xD " (bless him)

"Keep doing what your doing cause you are still my fav. teacher." (I'm smiling as I type)

"1. Give me back my hat.

2. You are cool on your days.

3. 4th block the best block."

"Some students act a little gayish."

"ILY Ms. M!!"

One student took the questions a little too literally:

What's your favorite thing about the class?

The projector.

What's your least favorite thing about the class?

The sinks.

Hope you're having a great week!

xoxo

Ms. M