sunday motivation (because tomorrow, of course, is monday)

click it. do it. peer pressure.

i be trippin so hard i didn't go to work today

i just reread my past few entries. noticed three things:

1. this blog has more ups and downs than a roller coaster.

2. i am so melodramatic sometimes. (my sisters are shouting "DUH." at the computer screen right now)

3. (and this is the worst) oh gosh. i've turned into one of those ohthishasbeensuchahorribledayi'mgoingtogohomeandblogaboutit! types.

forgive me.

Nothing like opening a text book at the end of the day to find yourself crudely drawn in a sexual position with the caption "SUCK IT, GIRL!"

Come to think of it, there's also nothing like starting the day to find that someone has located your lotion, taken it and spewed it all over the back of the room for fun.

Nothing like realizing that at the end of the day, no matter how hard your work or how patient you are, you won't gain an ounce of respect from the people you do it all for. That you're not going to change the lack of respect and integrity that has plagued a culture for generations. That you absolutely can't force anyone to value something, even if that something is the best thing for them. That tomorrow, you can be absolutely 100% certain you will be disrespected on a personal level. Just like you were today. And yesterday. And the day before.

I'm not speaking about race. I'm not speaking about socioeconomic status. I'm speaking about a self-repeating culture. A pervading mindset that explains why many of the parents of these kids schedule conferences not to collaborate on a plan to help him succeed in the future, but with a list of grievances with the school/administration/teachers to explain why their kid is in trouble in the first place.

HELLO. It's not my fault. IT'S YOURS. And maybe it's not yours entirely. But it's DEFINITELY not mine.

I hate this job.

I want to punch whoever drew that picture in the face repeatedly.

I know we're talking about middle-schoolers. Stupid, hormonal middle-school boys. But those are the people I interact with more than anyone else. So I feel violated. I feel cheapened. I feel like there is no value in what I'm investing my time, heart and energy into. I don't want to go back.

But I will. There's no promise that tomorrow will be better, but there's a promise that this ends in four months. And that somehow the Lord is working in those dark, sinister hallways of RMS. I know because I'm in those same hallways, and He's in me.

BAKED.

Learned a new one today. "Baked." "Work" is less than "Flame" is less than "Bake." All of them mean to make fun of someone. Today during third block, that's all they wanted to do. Again. I quelled it 'til HAC (outside) time, where I employed a little selective hearing. Here some snippets I "didn't hear."

Quabi [as he peers into the dumpster outside the lunchroom]: "Malik! You need to come here! Yo house gettin' robbed!!"

Malik [as he stares at Quabi's pimpled brow]: "Yeah but tell me how yo forehead's got AIDS?"

Quabi [inspecting the pleats in Malik's pants]: "Same reason you wearin' yo dad's church slacks to SCHOOL!"

Chy [the Asian, as he ponders Quabi's lazy eye]: "Quabi's eye like a security camera. It only blink like once a month!"

Quabi: "Yeah an' I got a hangnail; you gonna give me a manicure?"

I couldn't help it. I was rolling. I guess it doesn't translate as humorously in print, but trust. Maybe I should feel guilty for laughing at their expense...but these kids are hilarious. It's one of the perks of my jobs; they're nothing if not entertaining.

Then: "MS. M! We see you laughin'...over there in them busted up BOOTS!"

"Honey, if you have a problem with my boots you're gonna have to take it up with your Daddy; he's the one that bought them for me!"

"OH SHE TRYNNA FLAAAMMMMEEEE!!! MS. M TRYNNA WORK!!!"

Later we were back in class listening to Pandora while doing our review packet. Usher's "Burn" came on and by the middle of the first verse, all pencils were down and 28 boys' voices belted out in unison. I looked at them for a second, thought about getting on to them, then passionately joined in the chorus, "But you know that's it's over, we knew it was through, let it burn...let it burn...gotta let it burn..."

Slow Jams and...Salmon

Je'Cory: "I wonder what is white people's holidays like anyways, Ms. M. Y'all listen to slow jams? I bet y'all like eat calamaris or salmon [pronounced SAL-mon] and stuff. And y'all act all proper and stuff wit' yo pinkies out."

Me: "Umm--"

Je'Cory: "An' if y'all eat chicken, it's all grilled. I bet you ain't never eaten a fried chicken before in yo life!"

Me: "Je'Cory. I'm from Alabama. The dirty dirty south. And we don't eat chicken UNLESS it's fried. I guarantee my grandmother could beat yours in a collard greens, fried chicken and pinto beans cook-off."

Je'Cory: "Oh wow. We got more in common than I thought! Maybe we related...what's yo grandma's name?"

gut check

Khalil got back today. He's been suspended for ten days because he stole money out of Mrs. C's wallet. When he got caught, he merely said, "Ain't no need to lie about anything. Yeah, I took it to buy some kush."

He comes to school high a lot and says some pretty crazy stuff. I generally like him, but he can either be wonderful or terrible (remember this?).

"Really?" I greeted him. "Ten dollars from an old lady to buy weed? When does that turn into $100 from someone else, then $1000 from some cash register?"

I paused, not really sure whether to elaborate. What exactly does one say here? I did have one thought that had been nagging me since I'd found out what he'd done. "Tell me something, Khalil. And I want you to answer me honestly. Honestly. No BS. If I had left my wallet on my desk, would you have taken from me?"

"No."

"Promise?"

He nodded emphatically. "Promise."

I don't know if I believe him, but I guess it's irrelevant. I would never, EVER bring my wallet inside RMS!

thanks, bruh-bruh.

My favorite thing ever is when my boys get protective of me. It doesn't happen very often, I assure you. Most of the time they're way more eager to cause me pain than save me from it. But there are always a few moments when someone will say or do something toward me that makes them bristle, and I think it's the cutest thing ever.

One of my classes spends 90% of the time "working" each other. For those of you who don't know, to "work" someone is to make fun of him relentlessly. When taken to the next level, it is called "flaming" someone. The topics they exhaust every time include but are not limited to footwear, mamas, clothes, oddly-shaped or sized body parts (heads, ears, feet) and lack of success with females.

Occasionally, someone will cautiously throw a boot joke my way in the midst of a flaming session. For some reason, the fact that I wear boots a lot is a popular topic of conversation among them. I guess from that paired with my accent they assume I ride horses and lasso cows after school. Anyways, this is as far as they've ever come to "working" me.

Today I yelled at this class for playing too much, then told a few of them they'd be sitting with me during gym time instead of playing basketball. Needless to say, those few were pissed. When we got to lunch, the flaming session I'd stopped in class immediately resumed. Jokes were thrown back and forth between the boys. After a few minutes, someone got my attention.

"Ms. M!! Ramone jus' worked yo boots! He trynna flame!!"

Immediately, two of the boys who had just been furious with me for having to sit out during gym started scolding Ramone. "BRUH. You better NOT be trynna work her! I'll come across the table atchu in a hot minute!"

"Yeah, you work her and you finna get flamed SO BAD by all of us!"

Another: "Yeah, bruh. I ain't never worked a lady and I ain't finna start now."

Ramone threw his hands up. "I wasn't! I wasn't going to! I swear!"

I smiled to myself. Apparently their frustration with me didn't negate their loyalty to me!

It's definitely an uphill battle with those kids; holding on to the little things like that is crucial to my sanity! Speaking of which, thank you so so much for reading and leaving your thoughts here. Those of you who helped narrow down which stories to submit and everyone who leaves encouraging words: you make my day! Really, truly. It is so fun to hear that people I've never even met and people all the way across the ocean (hey Callie!) are keeping up with these stories and these crazy boys!

Happy MLK day, homies.