Hello friends, family, and strangers (I flatter myself)! I am a recently-graduated girl finding my way in the "real world" (apparently, I've been floating around the fake world for the past two decades). Many of my friends' "real world"s consist of cubicles, nine-to-fives, marriage, babies, and other such grown-up things. My real world looks a little different. Yes, I still get up and go to work every morning, same as they do. But instead of battling fax machines, computer programs, disgruntled spouses and dirty diapers, I arm myself against a legion of 14-year-old boys. Well, 83 of them to be exact. You see, I teach 8th-grade boys' Science in an inner-city, high-poverty school. What it is not: glamorous, prestigious, boring. What it is: humorous, heartbreaking, and the most challenging thing I will ever do.

The stories I tell and the people I describe are real; you can't make this stuff up. If you are new to my blog, I hope you'll start at the beginning and fall in love with its characters, just as I have.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

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'!"
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3 comments:

  1. AnonymousMay 10, 2011 at 8:48 PM

    and you right!

    ReplyDelete
  2. callieMay 11, 2011 at 3:49 AM

    oh my gosh... i feel your pain. sometimes i wish i could change my name, I have heard "Mrs. Kurtz!" already more than enough for a lifetime in my short 13 weeks of teaching.... summer is coming soon for you, Kiley, horray!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Sarah Cooper SmithMay 24, 2011 at 5:08 PM

    your tales make me laugh out loud by myself then again when i read them to steve. i know it is tough to get through these last days--but you're almost there!!

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