It had to happen. Just as when you haven't been picked for jury duty for years, and the summons is on its way in the mail... it's that little feeling that tickles at the base of your skull, near the pituitary, and works its way up. Your turn's next.
I had that feeling before I even got to the buses. On larger field trips, the students are separated by gender: boys on one bus, girls on the other. The girl bus is rank with privilege: good smells, lady-like laughter, and enjoyable conversation about shoes, makeup and clothes. The boy bus is...well...jammed with 13 and 14 year old boys. On this field trip to visit area universities, I drew the boy bus. My turn had finally found me.
I love my male students and female students equally. I enjoy the direct communication style of boys; their take charge attitudes, and their budding gentlemanliness. But the boy bus is...well...the boy bus. I was to be the only female on board this day on a lengthy field trip. I had some misgivings, but I pasted on a smile, even as I glimpsed my colleagues jovially laughing on the girl bus, and resolved to make the best of it.
I learned some things.
On the boy bus:
1. In your instructions to the boys as you are leaving the school, as you try to delicately broach the subject of controlling body odors (because of a prior bus incident found here) and fumble for words, the straightforward boys will understand when one raises his hand and says, "Oh, you mean for us not to fart too much?"
2. In preface to a question as to why a certain girl might act like she does, a boy across the aisle asks you, "You used to be a girl, right, Mrs. M.?"
3. The boy who is sitting immediately behind you begins his conversation with you like this, at approximately 30 decibels louder than normal conversation, "IgotupSUPERSUPERearlythismorning!Howhasyourmorningbeen?Huh?Huh?OMG!OMG!WearegoingtohaveSOSOSOmuchfunonthisfieldtrip!!!" You see three Venom drinks in his open backpack (super-caffeinated energy drinks) and the empty cans of another two. You pick up the three and hide them away.
4. The boys have won a behavior incentive and get to choose the radio station that will be playing on the bus stereo system. They have chosen a heavy metal station whose catchphrase is "Loud and Proud, 24/7" and covers even the 7:30 AM hour. The air guitars and air drums being played all over the bus do provide a respite of entertainment from the battering ram active inside your head.
5. As you near the first university, a faint odor whiffles past your nose. It is only moments later, though, when a runaway train of smells barrels through your sinuses. Behind watering eyes and a narrowing throat, you investigate and find at least 12 boys liberally spraying themselves, their arm pits, and even their shoes with all manner of manly body sprays and colognes. Hair gel is being passed around and all variations of spikes are coaxed from short hair styles. In answer to your choked inquiry as to why, they smile and one answers, "College girls!"
6. On the return trip, allow yourself to become an active participant in conversations about Hemi diesel engines, which rims are the best for a Ford F150 truck, and how much torque is required to really pull a trailer up the hill near the school. Wantonly sprinkle the conversation with words like head gasket and turbocharger without regard or knowledge as to even what part of speech they are.
7. You imagine you are swimming in a sea of testosterone while they talk excitedly about the newest line of Case tractors, the great scope one of the dads got for a hunting rifle, and why A-Rod costs his team too much money. Look at your cute shoes and let your mind longingly spin what you could have been talking about on the girl bus, all the while nodding your head and pretending to understand what they are talking about.
8. Smile when one boy tells you he's glad you rode the bus with them because, "You're cool!" and other boys nod, smile, say thank you, and express their appreciation on the way out of the bus.
The boy bus...is...well...maybe not so bad after all.
Showing posts with label middle school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label middle school. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Middle School Wisdom
Words of wisdom from middle schoolers who have been there, done that. Listen wisely, Grasshopper, lest you repeat the same errors.
1. If you are crazy hungry, and chocolate is your thing, be careful if you find the librarian's stash of chocolate brownie Fiber One bars. When you take four of them and eat them all at once during the passing period, your sins will betray you soon in the form of multiple and urgent trips to the bathroom.
2. Dye a wild blue streak in your hair. When your principal sends you home with the admonition to not come back until it's a natural hair color, dye it blonde. Then, when your friends tell you "it just doesn't look like you", dye it jet black. Do not let it surprise you when your hair that is now the texture of aged straw falls out in chunks. But don't despair. The bald look might become the new in thing.
3. You see rappers on MTV who have shaved sections of their eyebrows off. You replicate their deed, because come on, face it, rappers are the shizz and the arbiters of high fashion. You get to school and are pulled into the principal's office. Your dad arrives at school after the principal's call to him. He has strong words to say about your rappers. He asks the principal for a black Sharpie marker. She gives him one. Your dad then colors in your eyebrows with the black Sharpie. It is a risky move to let your dad color in your eyebrows when he's angry because now you are a dead ringer for Groucho Marx.
4. You know your teacher has serious rodent trauma. She's told your class how she freaks when she sees one. Do not be surprised, then, when you decide to prank her by putting a realistic plastic rat on her desk chair that she steps on both your feet hard as she runs screaming past you out the classroom door.
5. You sneak a forbidden cell phone into class and hide it in the left side of your bra. You congratulate yourself in first period math class because you even remembered to turn the ringer off. Think quickly when you realize the phone is set to vibrate and that it does so repeatedly until the teacher stops teaching and stares at you. Tell her you had a heart pacemaker installed over the weekend and that's what is actually doing the vibrating. Those teachers are gullible. They'll believe anything you tell them.
6. Become aware after class has started that someone around you has stepped in dog poop on the way to school. People are sniffing and contorting their faces in disgust. Crack a loud joke about what kind of a loser steps in dog poop and doesn't even know it. As the teacher tracks the dog poop from the door straight to your desk, peek at the bottom of your shoe and realize that loser is YOU.
7. You are naive and you look up to your older brother who is full of worldly knowledge. When your teacher assigns the class to write a poem near Valentine's Day, ask your brother's help in finding just the right word to describe a unique present a boy can give to a girl to win her love. When you read the poem in class and the teacher turns red and gasps and some of the other kids snicker in shock, take the time to realize you shouldn't have been so trusting. Your teacher hands you a dictionary and you know then your prankster brother has actually given you a word that describes a very specific sexual act.
Learn from the stories of those who have gone before you, wise middle schoolers. Ignore not the lessons from the past.
1. If you are crazy hungry, and chocolate is your thing, be careful if you find the librarian's stash of chocolate brownie Fiber One bars. When you take four of them and eat them all at once during the passing period, your sins will betray you soon in the form of multiple and urgent trips to the bathroom.
2. Dye a wild blue streak in your hair. When your principal sends you home with the admonition to not come back until it's a natural hair color, dye it blonde. Then, when your friends tell you "it just doesn't look like you", dye it jet black. Do not let it surprise you when your hair that is now the texture of aged straw falls out in chunks. But don't despair. The bald look might become the new in thing.
3. You see rappers on MTV who have shaved sections of their eyebrows off. You replicate their deed, because come on, face it, rappers are the shizz and the arbiters of high fashion. You get to school and are pulled into the principal's office. Your dad arrives at school after the principal's call to him. He has strong words to say about your rappers. He asks the principal for a black Sharpie marker. She gives him one. Your dad then colors in your eyebrows with the black Sharpie. It is a risky move to let your dad color in your eyebrows when he's angry because now you are a dead ringer for Groucho Marx.
4. You know your teacher has serious rodent trauma. She's told your class how she freaks when she sees one. Do not be surprised, then, when you decide to prank her by putting a realistic plastic rat on her desk chair that she steps on both your feet hard as she runs screaming past you out the classroom door.
5. You sneak a forbidden cell phone into class and hide it in the left side of your bra. You congratulate yourself in first period math class because you even remembered to turn the ringer off. Think quickly when you realize the phone is set to vibrate and that it does so repeatedly until the teacher stops teaching and stares at you. Tell her you had a heart pacemaker installed over the weekend and that's what is actually doing the vibrating. Those teachers are gullible. They'll believe anything you tell them.
6. Become aware after class has started that someone around you has stepped in dog poop on the way to school. People are sniffing and contorting their faces in disgust. Crack a loud joke about what kind of a loser steps in dog poop and doesn't even know it. As the teacher tracks the dog poop from the door straight to your desk, peek at the bottom of your shoe and realize that loser is YOU.
7. You are naive and you look up to your older brother who is full of worldly knowledge. When your teacher assigns the class to write a poem near Valentine's Day, ask your brother's help in finding just the right word to describe a unique present a boy can give to a girl to win her love. When you read the poem in class and the teacher turns red and gasps and some of the other kids snicker in shock, take the time to realize you shouldn't have been so trusting. Your teacher hands you a dictionary and you know then your prankster brother has actually given you a word that describes a very specific sexual act.
Learn from the stories of those who have gone before you, wise middle schoolers. Ignore not the lessons from the past.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Why I Love Teaching in a Rural School
My big city counterparts regale me with their tales of opulent classrooms, teacher restrooms on every hall, and regular field trips to large museums, plays, and other cultural offerings.
It doesn't bother me in the least. When I hear that, I even feel a little sorry for them. My list of blessings in teaching in a rural, small school district is abundant.
My commute is along peaceful highways and country roads. The only traffic jams I encounter are when a flock of chickens wanders from their coop into the road or when a particular bull successfully outwits the gate on his pasture. If he is wandering on the road, I sometimes get out of my car to shoo him back in if I don't have to get my shoes wet.
Not all my students ride the bus. One boy from several years ago rode his horse most fair weather days to school and pastured the mare next to the baseball field. Another student was dropped off by his dad each day on a large tractor, plow attached. Still another adventurous fellow rode the half mile to school each day on a bladeless riding lawn mower, obeying his mom's admonishment that he wear a helmet even though his speed never exceeded three miles per hour.
Most of my students come to me already saying, "Yes ma'am," and "No ma'am." The vast majority of my male students hold the doors open for women. Chivalry is more the norm than the exception. When I took a stupendously embarrassing fall one day at school (Spectacular Fall), the four 8th grade boys who unfortunately witnessed it were ready to carry me to the office in their bony arms even though I was already on my feet by the time they got to me.
I have taught a couple of generations of the same families. I've also taught multiple branches from a number of family trees. They treat me as if I am grafted into that family. I go to their weddings, the christenings of their babies, and sadly, sometimes their funerals.
It is a school holiday when the livestock show rolls around. Students have pictures of their show animals taped inside of their lockers more often than they do pictures of movie stars or famous singers.When the fire alarm siren wails at the volunteer fire station one block away, most of the men on campus rush over to man the trucks.
We don't have a working school bell in my building, but it is of no concern. A nearby rooster crows every morning at almost the same time to welcome his day's start and ours.
The school is the heart of the community in rural areas, and ours is no exception. Turnouts for Christmas programs, 8th grade graduations and such events are held in front of standing room only audiences.
I'm not trying to get everyone to sing the theme song to Green Acres. Not everything about rural life is desirable. And are rural schools, including mine, perfect? By no means. I could actually even make substantially more money by teaching in a large city district.
Some things are worth more than money, though. The big city lights aren't attractive to me. The lights I like best are the warm hues of the sunrise that unfold over us as we begin each school day.
It doesn't bother me in the least. When I hear that, I even feel a little sorry for them. My list of blessings in teaching in a rural, small school district is abundant.
My commute is along peaceful highways and country roads. The only traffic jams I encounter are when a flock of chickens wanders from their coop into the road or when a particular bull successfully outwits the gate on his pasture. If he is wandering on the road, I sometimes get out of my car to shoo him back in if I don't have to get my shoes wet.
Not all my students ride the bus. One boy from several years ago rode his horse most fair weather days to school and pastured the mare next to the baseball field. Another student was dropped off by his dad each day on a large tractor, plow attached. Still another adventurous fellow rode the half mile to school each day on a bladeless riding lawn mower, obeying his mom's admonishment that he wear a helmet even though his speed never exceeded three miles per hour.
Most of my students come to me already saying, "Yes ma'am," and "No ma'am." The vast majority of my male students hold the doors open for women. Chivalry is more the norm than the exception. When I took a stupendously embarrassing fall one day at school (Spectacular Fall), the four 8th grade boys who unfortunately witnessed it were ready to carry me to the office in their bony arms even though I was already on my feet by the time they got to me.
I have taught a couple of generations of the same families. I've also taught multiple branches from a number of family trees. They treat me as if I am grafted into that family. I go to their weddings, the christenings of their babies, and sadly, sometimes their funerals.
It is a school holiday when the livestock show rolls around. Students have pictures of their show animals taped inside of their lockers more often than they do pictures of movie stars or famous singers.When the fire alarm siren wails at the volunteer fire station one block away, most of the men on campus rush over to man the trucks.
We don't have a working school bell in my building, but it is of no concern. A nearby rooster crows every morning at almost the same time to welcome his day's start and ours.
The school is the heart of the community in rural areas, and ours is no exception. Turnouts for Christmas programs, 8th grade graduations and such events are held in front of standing room only audiences.
I'm not trying to get everyone to sing the theme song to Green Acres. Not everything about rural life is desirable. And are rural schools, including mine, perfect? By no means. I could actually even make substantially more money by teaching in a large city district.
Some things are worth more than money, though. The big city lights aren't attractive to me. The lights I like best are the warm hues of the sunrise that unfold over us as we begin each school day.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Stuck In the Elevator With 7th Graders
The delicate octogenarian who greeted us at the door of the Lyndon Baines Johnson Presidential Library was gentle and sweet. I was relieved as some trips there in past years had partnered my middle schoolers and I with docents who didn't like young teenagers.
"How much time do you have here, darlin'?" she asked me. I told her we had about an hour.
"Come on in, boys and girls. We have a lot to see about this fine president. You know, my father and LBJ once worked on a road crew together when they were 18, paving some roads north of Austin."
We continued on the tour as she continued the story.
We stopped at the next exhibit. "Students, let me tell you about how my father and LBJ worked on a road crew together when they were 18..." After the fourth time she told this story, several girls walked with me at the back of our group to the next exhibit.
"I think she has Alzheimer's," one girl whispered in my ear. I put my finger up to my mouth as I didn't want our lovely guide to think anything was amiss.
Another girl caught up with me. "Do you think it's Alzheimer's?" she asked quietly.
Again, I put my finger up to my mouth even as the docent caught my eye and again asked, "How much time do you all have here today?"
I answered her as she led us to the elevators.
"We won't all be able to fit on the same elevator, so we will go up in groups," she informed us. An elevator opened in front of me. Another teacher (who is also my friend) and I stepped in. Students streamed in while we held the doors open until we could fit no more. As the doors closed, I could hear the sweet docent telling our other teacher and students, "While we're waiting for this elevator, let me tell you about how my father and LBJ once worked on a road crew together..."
I pushed the button for the 10th floor, our next stop. The students chattered, mainly about how repetitive our guide was being. I told them they were not to let on that they had already heard it, but to be polite. The elevator started to rise and then abruptly shuddered to a stop.
"Oooh- that felt weird!" one boy said.
My friend caught my eye and raised her eyebrows. I was closest to the control panel, so I pushed 10 again. The elevator shook briefly and then stopped, dead in the air. No amount of button pushing produced any movement. The lights for 3 and 4 were blinking, so I assumed we were between those two floors.
"We're stuck!" one of the girls loudly announced.
"No, we're not," my friend said. "It will start to work in a minute. Be calm and you'll see."
"I have to go to the bathroom!" one boy said, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Really, really bad!"
"You didn't have to go when we stopped at the bathrooms 10 minutes ago," I reminded him.
"It just came on! What am I going to do?" he panicked.
"You will be fine. It will start up in a minute," my friend said.
"Who's got food? What if we have to stay here for a long time?" a chubby boy asked.
"You will not be needing food for the few minutes we will be in here," I assured him.
One girl, eyes wide, announced loudly, "I'm claustrophobic! I need to get out of here! I throw up when I can't get enough air!"
Before I could even answer, her friend dramatically chimed in, "I can't see people throw up because then I throw up, too! I feel really queasy right now." She put her head into her hands.
Things were escalating. Without using words to further inflame the kids, I tried to signal to my friend whether we should use the phone to summon for help. She shook her head intensely back and forth, knowing that we would have a full scale panic in a very small space if they heard us trying to use the phone.
I pushed the 10 button again. Nothing.
The chubby boy looked at his classmates. "You know, I read about a soccer team that was in a plane crash and they were stranded and they had to eat their friends to stay alive."
"You'd be the one we'd have to eat, " another boy shot back at him. "You've got the most meat on you!"
"No one's going to eat anyone," my friend said. 'Stop and be patient."
I continued to work the buttons.
The boy with the full bladder said, "Maybe I could go right here in the corner. You'd all have to close your eyes, but I don't think I can hold it any longer!"
At that moment, the elevator whirred back to life and we moved upwards to the 10th floor. The doors slid open and our guide was there to greet us with the rest of our group. "There you are," she said. "Sometimes we have trouble with these elevators. Now, how long do you all have here?"
I found my full bladder boy and pointed him in the direction of the restrooms. "Hurry!" I encouraged him.
"I guess it was a false alarm. I don't have to go anymore," he replied as we followed the group.
As we caught up, the docent waited for us to reach them and said, "I want to tell you the story of how my dad and LBJ worked together on a road crew when they were 18..."
"How much time do you have here, darlin'?" she asked me. I told her we had about an hour.
"Come on in, boys and girls. We have a lot to see about this fine president. You know, my father and LBJ once worked on a road crew together when they were 18, paving some roads north of Austin."
We continued on the tour as she continued the story.
We stopped at the next exhibit. "Students, let me tell you about how my father and LBJ worked on a road crew together when they were 18..." After the fourth time she told this story, several girls walked with me at the back of our group to the next exhibit.
"I think she has Alzheimer's," one girl whispered in my ear. I put my finger up to my mouth as I didn't want our lovely guide to think anything was amiss.
Another girl caught up with me. "Do you think it's Alzheimer's?" she asked quietly.
Again, I put my finger up to my mouth even as the docent caught my eye and again asked, "How much time do you all have here today?"
I answered her as she led us to the elevators.
"We won't all be able to fit on the same elevator, so we will go up in groups," she informed us. An elevator opened in front of me. Another teacher (who is also my friend) and I stepped in. Students streamed in while we held the doors open until we could fit no more. As the doors closed, I could hear the sweet docent telling our other teacher and students, "While we're waiting for this elevator, let me tell you about how my father and LBJ once worked on a road crew together..."
I pushed the button for the 10th floor, our next stop. The students chattered, mainly about how repetitive our guide was being. I told them they were not to let on that they had already heard it, but to be polite. The elevator started to rise and then abruptly shuddered to a stop.
"Oooh- that felt weird!" one boy said.
My friend caught my eye and raised her eyebrows. I was closest to the control panel, so I pushed 10 again. The elevator shook briefly and then stopped, dead in the air. No amount of button pushing produced any movement. The lights for 3 and 4 were blinking, so I assumed we were between those two floors.
"We're stuck!" one of the girls loudly announced.
"No, we're not," my friend said. "It will start to work in a minute. Be calm and you'll see."
"I have to go to the bathroom!" one boy said, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Really, really bad!"
"You didn't have to go when we stopped at the bathrooms 10 minutes ago," I reminded him.
"It just came on! What am I going to do?" he panicked.
"You will be fine. It will start up in a minute," my friend said.
"Who's got food? What if we have to stay here for a long time?" a chubby boy asked.
"You will not be needing food for the few minutes we will be in here," I assured him.
One girl, eyes wide, announced loudly, "I'm claustrophobic! I need to get out of here! I throw up when I can't get enough air!"
Before I could even answer, her friend dramatically chimed in, "I can't see people throw up because then I throw up, too! I feel really queasy right now." She put her head into her hands.
Things were escalating. Without using words to further inflame the kids, I tried to signal to my friend whether we should use the phone to summon for help. She shook her head intensely back and forth, knowing that we would have a full scale panic in a very small space if they heard us trying to use the phone.
I pushed the 10 button again. Nothing.
The chubby boy looked at his classmates. "You know, I read about a soccer team that was in a plane crash and they were stranded and they had to eat their friends to stay alive."
"You'd be the one we'd have to eat, " another boy shot back at him. "You've got the most meat on you!"
"No one's going to eat anyone," my friend said. 'Stop and be patient."
I continued to work the buttons.
The boy with the full bladder said, "Maybe I could go right here in the corner. You'd all have to close your eyes, but I don't think I can hold it any longer!"
At that moment, the elevator whirred back to life and we moved upwards to the 10th floor. The doors slid open and our guide was there to greet us with the rest of our group. "There you are," she said. "Sometimes we have trouble with these elevators. Now, how long do you all have here?"
I found my full bladder boy and pointed him in the direction of the restrooms. "Hurry!" I encouraged him.
"I guess it was a false alarm. I don't have to go anymore," he replied as we followed the group.
As we caught up, the docent waited for us to reach them and said, "I want to tell you the story of how my dad and LBJ worked together on a road crew when they were 18..."
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Homecoming
Jay's eyes shone as he talked so fast I could hardly keep up with it. "I've got the idea! I'm going to make a difference! Want to hear what I'm going to do? Do you want to? Do you want to?"
I had to chuckle a little. "Slow down some and let me unlock my door. Then you can come on in and tell me."
Jay was one of my 8th graders and well liked among the kids. He was usually quiet, but his athletic abilities and handsome, square jawed face made the girls orbit around him like he was the sun.
"You know how we've been talking about making a difference?"
I nodded. We had spent time discussing how even small things can make big differences. As a class, we had come up with a plan for each student to do one thing, large or small, that would make a difference in someone else's life.
He continued, "I thought about it all night and I've decided what I want to do."
"What is it, Jay?"
"You know how homecoming is next week? I didn't think I wanted to ask anyone to the dance. But then I started thinking about the girls. I know some of them have already had more than one guy ask them to the dance. That made me wonder about some of the other girls, the ones...maybe who won't have anyone ask them."
I was intrigued. "Go on," I encouraged him.
"I want to make a difference in a girl's life and ask her to go to the homecoming dance with me," he said as he shyly lowered his eyes. He looked back up. "Some of them don't want to go to the dance at all, and some are just going with their friends. That left Julia."
I caught my breath as I thought of Julia. She was a transfer to our school and a very intelligent girl, but she had difficulty in social situations. She wore her hair long and usually not brushed very well. It mostly hung down in her face. She had the scourge of teenager-dom, acne, and wore clothes that were often ill fitting and unmatched. She was very quiet and although different kids had to tried to include her in their lunchtime groups, she declined, preferring to sit alone and read her book.
"Are you sure, Jay? This is a big deal, you understand. Girls don't take these invitations lightly and you don't want her to think you are just messing with her."
"Oh, I am sure," he nodded emphatically. "I'm going to let her know I'd like to get to know her as a friend. I've seen some of the books she reads and they are the same type I like. I'm going to try and ask her today. I'm kind of nervous, but my dad tells me I have a lot of gumption, so I'm going to use it."
"I hope it goes well for you, Jay, " I said as the bell rang.
I did not see Jay or Julia until the next day when their class came through the door for third period and we were so busy I did not get a chance to ask Jay about it. It actually slipped my mind until the day the homecoming mums were delivered.
Julia walked into class first, wearing her large purple and gold mum. Jay walked in later wearing one of the garter belts on his arm the girls traditionally buy for the boys.
After class, Jay stopped by my desk. "So, did she accept?" I asked him.
"Yes, she did, " he said with a blush. "When I asked her, she thought I was doing it to make fun of her. I told her I liked her as a friend and I thought she was very smart. I even showed her the book I was reading because it's by the same author as the book she's reading."
I nodded. He went on, "She took her time, but she finally said she'd go with me. She got me this garter belt for my arm and I got her that mum she's wearing."
The next time I saw the two of them was that night at the homecoming dance I helped to chaperon. Julia had taken time with her hair and it was pulled back with a small rose pinned to the side of it. She was wearing a dress that most likely was her mom's and heels she wasn't quite used to, but what struck me the most was the radiant smile she had on her face. I don't think I'd ever noticed what a beautiful smile she had, probably because she didn't show it off very much.
At our middle school dances, most of the dancing is just done by girls in the middle of the dance floor, with the boys sitting it out. This was the case this homecoming night, as well. I did see Julia and Jay at a table with other kids, talking and laughing, with Julia even joining in.
When the DJ announced the last dance, the boys scrambled to grab a girl and make it to the dance floor. I hadn't noticed either Jay or Julia dancing with each other or anyone else, but this time he grabbed her hand and led her to the middle. The first strains of the slow song came on, the lights dimmed and the big mirrored ball on the ceiling sent sparkling snowflakes of light floating over the dancers.
Neither Jay nor Julia appeared to have much experience with dancing as they held each other at arm's length, watched their feet, counted as they stepped, and moved in that awkward way teenagers do. But it was evident from their comfortable way with each other and how they laughed at their missteps that it was a good time for both.
Afterwards, I went in the girls' restroom to make sure everyone was on their way out. I saw Julia looking in the mirror.
"Julia, you looked beautiful out there!"
"Thank you," she said shyly as she averted her eyes.
"Did you have fun?" I asked.
She looked up, took a deep breath, and said, "I honestly think this is the best time I've ever had in my life." She broke out in that lovely smile. "And, what's even better, I think I have a friend I'll be friends with for a long, long time."
Sometimes it just takes a little gumption.
I had to chuckle a little. "Slow down some and let me unlock my door. Then you can come on in and tell me."
Jay was one of my 8th graders and well liked among the kids. He was usually quiet, but his athletic abilities and handsome, square jawed face made the girls orbit around him like he was the sun.
"You know how we've been talking about making a difference?"
I nodded. We had spent time discussing how even small things can make big differences. As a class, we had come up with a plan for each student to do one thing, large or small, that would make a difference in someone else's life.
He continued, "I thought about it all night and I've decided what I want to do."
"What is it, Jay?"
"You know how homecoming is next week? I didn't think I wanted to ask anyone to the dance. But then I started thinking about the girls. I know some of them have already had more than one guy ask them to the dance. That made me wonder about some of the other girls, the ones...maybe who won't have anyone ask them."
I was intrigued. "Go on," I encouraged him.
"I want to make a difference in a girl's life and ask her to go to the homecoming dance with me," he said as he shyly lowered his eyes. He looked back up. "Some of them don't want to go to the dance at all, and some are just going with their friends. That left Julia."
I caught my breath as I thought of Julia. She was a transfer to our school and a very intelligent girl, but she had difficulty in social situations. She wore her hair long and usually not brushed very well. It mostly hung down in her face. She had the scourge of teenager-dom, acne, and wore clothes that were often ill fitting and unmatched. She was very quiet and although different kids had to tried to include her in their lunchtime groups, she declined, preferring to sit alone and read her book.
"Are you sure, Jay? This is a big deal, you understand. Girls don't take these invitations lightly and you don't want her to think you are just messing with her."
"Oh, I am sure," he nodded emphatically. "I'm going to let her know I'd like to get to know her as a friend. I've seen some of the books she reads and they are the same type I like. I'm going to try and ask her today. I'm kind of nervous, but my dad tells me I have a lot of gumption, so I'm going to use it."
"I hope it goes well for you, Jay, " I said as the bell rang.
I did not see Jay or Julia until the next day when their class came through the door for third period and we were so busy I did not get a chance to ask Jay about it. It actually slipped my mind until the day the homecoming mums were delivered.
Julia walked into class first, wearing her large purple and gold mum. Jay walked in later wearing one of the garter belts on his arm the girls traditionally buy for the boys.
After class, Jay stopped by my desk. "So, did she accept?" I asked him.
"Yes, she did, " he said with a blush. "When I asked her, she thought I was doing it to make fun of her. I told her I liked her as a friend and I thought she was very smart. I even showed her the book I was reading because it's by the same author as the book she's reading."
I nodded. He went on, "She took her time, but she finally said she'd go with me. She got me this garter belt for my arm and I got her that mum she's wearing."
The next time I saw the two of them was that night at the homecoming dance I helped to chaperon. Julia had taken time with her hair and it was pulled back with a small rose pinned to the side of it. She was wearing a dress that most likely was her mom's and heels she wasn't quite used to, but what struck me the most was the radiant smile she had on her face. I don't think I'd ever noticed what a beautiful smile she had, probably because she didn't show it off very much.
At our middle school dances, most of the dancing is just done by girls in the middle of the dance floor, with the boys sitting it out. This was the case this homecoming night, as well. I did see Julia and Jay at a table with other kids, talking and laughing, with Julia even joining in.
When the DJ announced the last dance, the boys scrambled to grab a girl and make it to the dance floor. I hadn't noticed either Jay or Julia dancing with each other or anyone else, but this time he grabbed her hand and led her to the middle. The first strains of the slow song came on, the lights dimmed and the big mirrored ball on the ceiling sent sparkling snowflakes of light floating over the dancers.
Neither Jay nor Julia appeared to have much experience with dancing as they held each other at arm's length, watched their feet, counted as they stepped, and moved in that awkward way teenagers do. But it was evident from their comfortable way with each other and how they laughed at their missteps that it was a good time for both.
Afterwards, I went in the girls' restroom to make sure everyone was on their way out. I saw Julia looking in the mirror.
"Julia, you looked beautiful out there!"
"Thank you," she said shyly as she averted her eyes.
"Did you have fun?" I asked.
She looked up, took a deep breath, and said, "I honestly think this is the best time I've ever had in my life." She broke out in that lovely smile. "And, what's even better, I think I have a friend I'll be friends with for a long, long time."
Sometimes it just takes a little gumption.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Making Glass Out Of Sand... A Holocaust Lesson
Many of the students wiped tears from their eyes as we exited the museum auditorium. We had heard the harrowing saga of a Holocaust survivor's escape as a child from the Nazis who brutally executed her family.
The survivor told us that in Lithuania, her country of origin, over 98% of the Jewish population had been wiped out. Her own grandparents had been taken to a large ditch, stripped, and machine gunned. Her speech was soft, but her words had a hard hitting impact. We stood inside an actual sweltering boxcar that had been used to transport Jewish people to the death camps. All we had seen produced a somber, reflective mood.
We wandered through the displays in the bookstore area in a somewhat stunned silence. I heard my name. "Come over here! We want to show you something!" The two boys who came to get me were wide eyed and obviously excited.
They pulled me over to a display case filled with incredibly exquisite works of glass art, some so fragile in appearance that a hard breath could have brought disaster.
They pointed to the placard telling about the glass artist, whose name was Rubin. The picture showed an elderly man standing next to his work with a gentle smile on his face.
"Look, look, there he is!" one of them exclaimed.
"Yes, I see. I'm sure he's got quite a story to tell," I replied.
They were urgent. "No, look!" the other one said, pointing from the placard to the front desk. "We think that's him!"
I looked the direction he was pointing and saw an elderly volunteer working at the front desk of the museum. He had the same gentle smile, so the boys and I moved closer.
"Sir, we were admiring the glass works in the display case and we couldn't help but notice you bear a striking resemblance to the man in the picture. Is that you?" I asked.
"Well, yes! That's me!" he heartily answered in a charming Polish accent. "I made all those glass pieces, as well as the stained glass windows in the library. It keeps me off the streets, you know."
He continued, "I start with sand and take all the way through the process to come up with what you see there. I've been doing glasswork for a long time now."
"How long?" one of the boys couldn't resist asking.
"Actually, I learned it in the concentration camps." He reached out his hand to shake each of ours and as his hand turned, we saw the blue black number tattooed into his arm.
"I was seized when I was 15, not much older than you two. They took my father, too. My mother and sisters, we never saw again. We heard stories later that they were gassed at Auschwitz, but I've never been able to find out for sure. My two sisters were only 7 and 5, and my mother was pregnant. There wasn't much hope for the children and pregnant women."
More of my students had gathered around him and were listening in rapt attention.
"I was so scared that I wanted to give up, but my dad was with me for the first few months and he kept telling me I couldn't quit. I had to live to make it out, to tell our story."
"We never had enough to eat, although my dad always tried to give me some of his portion. One morning, he didn't wake up. I could see he was gone. I kept hearing his voice inside my head... Don't give up. So I forced myself.
"I learned to work glass in the concentration camps. I was in four camps, and because I had this skill now, I was worth a little something to them as a slave laborer. After liberation, I first thought I would never want to work glass again. But, I decided I had a choice. I could either make the best of what I knew, or I could shut it off and pretend like it never happened. I thought the best way to honor my family and all the others who died was to create beauty out of something that had been so horrible. So I create glass out of sand.
"You know, you have that saying in English, When life gives you lemons, make lemonade? Well, I say, When life gives you sand, make glass!"
He chuckled and his eyes shone brightly as we filed past him on our way out.
"Don't forget- when life gives you sand, make glass!" he called out.
The survivor told us that in Lithuania, her country of origin, over 98% of the Jewish population had been wiped out. Her own grandparents had been taken to a large ditch, stripped, and machine gunned. Her speech was soft, but her words had a hard hitting impact. We stood inside an actual sweltering boxcar that had been used to transport Jewish people to the death camps. All we had seen produced a somber, reflective mood.
We wandered through the displays in the bookstore area in a somewhat stunned silence. I heard my name. "Come over here! We want to show you something!" The two boys who came to get me were wide eyed and obviously excited.
They pulled me over to a display case filled with incredibly exquisite works of glass art, some so fragile in appearance that a hard breath could have brought disaster.
They pointed to the placard telling about the glass artist, whose name was Rubin. The picture showed an elderly man standing next to his work with a gentle smile on his face.
"Look, look, there he is!" one of them exclaimed.
"Yes, I see. I'm sure he's got quite a story to tell," I replied.
They were urgent. "No, look!" the other one said, pointing from the placard to the front desk. "We think that's him!"
I looked the direction he was pointing and saw an elderly volunteer working at the front desk of the museum. He had the same gentle smile, so the boys and I moved closer.
"Sir, we were admiring the glass works in the display case and we couldn't help but notice you bear a striking resemblance to the man in the picture. Is that you?" I asked.
"Well, yes! That's me!" he heartily answered in a charming Polish accent. "I made all those glass pieces, as well as the stained glass windows in the library. It keeps me off the streets, you know."
He continued, "I start with sand and take all the way through the process to come up with what you see there. I've been doing glasswork for a long time now."
"How long?" one of the boys couldn't resist asking.
"Actually, I learned it in the concentration camps." He reached out his hand to shake each of ours and as his hand turned, we saw the blue black number tattooed into his arm.
"I was seized when I was 15, not much older than you two. They took my father, too. My mother and sisters, we never saw again. We heard stories later that they were gassed at Auschwitz, but I've never been able to find out for sure. My two sisters were only 7 and 5, and my mother was pregnant. There wasn't much hope for the children and pregnant women."
More of my students had gathered around him and were listening in rapt attention.
"I was so scared that I wanted to give up, but my dad was with me for the first few months and he kept telling me I couldn't quit. I had to live to make it out, to tell our story."
"We never had enough to eat, although my dad always tried to give me some of his portion. One morning, he didn't wake up. I could see he was gone. I kept hearing his voice inside my head... Don't give up. So I forced myself.
"I learned to work glass in the concentration camps. I was in four camps, and because I had this skill now, I was worth a little something to them as a slave laborer. After liberation, I first thought I would never want to work glass again. But, I decided I had a choice. I could either make the best of what I knew, or I could shut it off and pretend like it never happened. I thought the best way to honor my family and all the others who died was to create beauty out of something that had been so horrible. So I create glass out of sand.
"You know, you have that saying in English, When life gives you lemons, make lemonade? Well, I say, When life gives you sand, make glass!"
He chuckled and his eyes shone brightly as we filed past him on our way out.
"Don't forget- when life gives you sand, make glass!" he called out.
Friday, September 2, 2011
How to Entertain Your Teacher on a Field Trip
Dude, listen up. If you're a teenager going on a field trip, especially a 13 hour one, here are some cool things you can do to entertain your teachers. Those teachers work hard for you, and they deserve some fun in their lives.
1. In the dark hours of the morning before the sun has come up, open the sack lunch your mom made for you. Pry open the sandwich, see that it is tuna, decide you don't want it, and stick the sandwich under your seat. Later on in the day, when the temperature is over 100 and the bus air conditioner has quit working, your teacher will have a great time searching for what is creating that crazy smell.
2. With a group of your friends, sing The Lazy Song by Bruno Mars over and over and over and over and over again until it sticks so well in your teachers' brains they cannot get it out of their heads and are haunted by it. They need good music in their lives, too.
3. Especially if you are male, engage your other male classmates in a silent-but-deadly fart off contest. It is automatic disqualification if any one makes a noise with it. Your teacher will appreciate you keeping those around you quiet.
3. In the restroom of the museum, wait until your teacher is fully engaged in her stall. Then, loudly yell out, "OMG! Annie just walked out of the museum with a strange man!" Annie is your best friend in the 8th grade and you don't want to see harm come to her. When your teacher bolts out of the bathroom stall, wild-eyed, and Annie walks out of another stall in the bathroom, just shrug and say, "Oops, my bad. Must have been someone else." Teachers need more excitement in their lives.
4. In the middle of a freeway you and your class are having to cross on foot in one of the largest cities in the U.S., stop in the center of the freeway, place your folder between your knees and take your jacket off to readjust it. Move slowly when your teacher implores you to hurry. Your rural upbringing has made you savvy to the ways of traffic in large cities and you want your teacher to know you are mature enough to handle it.
5. Repeatedly motion to passing 18 wheelers to honk their loud diesel horns. This will break up the monotony of a quiet bus and your teacher will appreciate you keeping it lively.
6. If a classmate in the back of the bus throws up in the aisle, stare at it as it sloshes past long enough so that you throw up, as well. Your teacher will be happy that her lesson about empathy for others has taken hold in your heart.
7. When your bus driver drops your group off at a Jack in the Box that is a gathering place for scary/homeless/tranny/crackheads, smile widely at some of the citizens therein while your teachers organize the back of the line. When one approaches you and begins talking nonsense, remember your teacher's admonition to you not to talk to strangers. Reach in your backpack and find the information paper on the field trip you were supposed to have given your mom, you know, the one with your teacher's personal cell phone number on it. Give it to the crackhead tranny, because this person probably just wants information on your trip.
8. Later, on the bus ride home, when your teacher's cell phone rings and she becomes agitated, hangs up, and asks who gave a crackhead her phone number, let her know that it is probably the cool person you met at the Jack in the Box. She's been teaching you all about characterization, and she will be happy that you found a very interesting person to write about.
9. Write a note of thanks to your teachers for taking you and your classmates on the field trip and get everyone to sign it. You've had a great day and you want them to know it.
10. Smile widely when you see how much it has melted their hearts.
1. In the dark hours of the morning before the sun has come up, open the sack lunch your mom made for you. Pry open the sandwich, see that it is tuna, decide you don't want it, and stick the sandwich under your seat. Later on in the day, when the temperature is over 100 and the bus air conditioner has quit working, your teacher will have a great time searching for what is creating that crazy smell.
2. With a group of your friends, sing The Lazy Song by Bruno Mars over and over and over and over and over again until it sticks so well in your teachers' brains they cannot get it out of their heads and are haunted by it. They need good music in their lives, too.
3. Especially if you are male, engage your other male classmates in a silent-but-deadly fart off contest. It is automatic disqualification if any one makes a noise with it. Your teacher will appreciate you keeping those around you quiet.
3. In the restroom of the museum, wait until your teacher is fully engaged in her stall. Then, loudly yell out, "OMG! Annie just walked out of the museum with a strange man!" Annie is your best friend in the 8th grade and you don't want to see harm come to her. When your teacher bolts out of the bathroom stall, wild-eyed, and Annie walks out of another stall in the bathroom, just shrug and say, "Oops, my bad. Must have been someone else." Teachers need more excitement in their lives.
4. In the middle of a freeway you and your class are having to cross on foot in one of the largest cities in the U.S., stop in the center of the freeway, place your folder between your knees and take your jacket off to readjust it. Move slowly when your teacher implores you to hurry. Your rural upbringing has made you savvy to the ways of traffic in large cities and you want your teacher to know you are mature enough to handle it.
5. Repeatedly motion to passing 18 wheelers to honk their loud diesel horns. This will break up the monotony of a quiet bus and your teacher will appreciate you keeping it lively.
6. If a classmate in the back of the bus throws up in the aisle, stare at it as it sloshes past long enough so that you throw up, as well. Your teacher will be happy that her lesson about empathy for others has taken hold in your heart.
7. When your bus driver drops your group off at a Jack in the Box that is a gathering place for scary/homeless/tranny/crackheads, smile widely at some of the citizens therein while your teachers organize the back of the line. When one approaches you and begins talking nonsense, remember your teacher's admonition to you not to talk to strangers. Reach in your backpack and find the information paper on the field trip you were supposed to have given your mom, you know, the one with your teacher's personal cell phone number on it. Give it to the crackhead tranny, because this person probably just wants information on your trip.
8. Later, on the bus ride home, when your teacher's cell phone rings and she becomes agitated, hangs up, and asks who gave a crackhead her phone number, let her know that it is probably the cool person you met at the Jack in the Box. She's been teaching you all about characterization, and she will be happy that you found a very interesting person to write about.
9. Write a note of thanks to your teachers for taking you and your classmates on the field trip and get everyone to sign it. You've had a great day and you want them to know it.
10. Smile widely when you see how much it has melted their hearts.
Monday, July 18, 2011
My Spectacular Fall
It was one of those days where everything was RIGHT. The sun shone, the birds chirped, and I knew it was going to be terrific. I was especially pleased with the way I looked. My hair was having a great day all unto itself, I was wearing a new, flippy, white skirt that I loved and a pair of fierce heels that boosted my height to over 6' tall.
I wanted to look my best because after school I would be presenting some information to a group of area superintendents. Confidence oozed from me.
I looked out my classroom window between 2nd and 3rd periods and saw raindrops. I remembered I had left the window cracked a bit in my car and breathed a prayer of thanks I had just enough time to get to the parking lot and get it rolled up before my next class came in.
I took off at a trot towards the parking lot. Not five steps out the door, my fierce heel caught on the edge of the sidewalk. The momentum of my trot stole my balance and I knew I was going down. It wasn't a dainty, drop to your knees fall. Not even close.
I drove myself headfirst into the dirt and grass on the other side of the sidewalk, Superman style. My knees dragged on the sidewalk while my feet flailed in the air. My hands and face plowed a furrow in the newly watered grass. My face became my anchor, slowing my slide through the grass and mud.
At the precise moment my slide stopped, five of my 8th grade boys turned the corner to where I was. By now, I had picked up my head. Streaks of mud marked my face and grass fell from my mouth. Part of my skirt was arranged somehow now around my waist. The top two buttons on my blouse had separated themselves from the fabric.
Both knees were bleeding, staining the bottom of my white skirt a bright red. I was stunned. They were equally as stunned.
They all dropped their books and hopped from one foot to the other. They each lost the power of speech momentarily. Their eyes were wide and their mouths agape.
The first one to regain his voice could only say, "Oh oh oh oh!"
The others just continued to jump in panic. I managed to roll myself over and sit up.
Finally another one choked out, "Uhhhh, ma'am, did you fall?"
Most of my students have seen me after the the after-school Insanity workouts I lead in my classroom for other teachers. It is a time when I am drenched in sweat, hair askew, and not looking my best. However, this took looking bad to a whole new level.
They were sweet and quite concerned for my welfare. Perhaps they thought I had lost my hearing and mental capabilities in the fall, because they talked to me loudly and slowly. "LET....US....HELP....YOU...GET....UP."
By now, I had picked myself up off the ground and tried to wipe off the mud, grass, and blood. "Thanks, fellows, but I'm OK," I replied.
"WE...CAN...CARRY...YOU...TO...THE...OFFICE," another emphasized, stretching out his bony arms.
"No, thanks, I can make it there by myself," I reiterated.
"YOU...FELL," a third one explained to me.
"ON...THE...GROUND," the fourth intoned, nodding slowly.
"Yes, I know, but I'm OK."
Finally, I convinced them I was going to be fine and they could go on their way.
Somewhere in that dirt, along with my blood and bits of my skin, is a large piece of my dignity. Fierce heels, you won't be going with me to school anymore.
I wanted to look my best because after school I would be presenting some information to a group of area superintendents. Confidence oozed from me.
I looked out my classroom window between 2nd and 3rd periods and saw raindrops. I remembered I had left the window cracked a bit in my car and breathed a prayer of thanks I had just enough time to get to the parking lot and get it rolled up before my next class came in.
I took off at a trot towards the parking lot. Not five steps out the door, my fierce heel caught on the edge of the sidewalk. The momentum of my trot stole my balance and I knew I was going down. It wasn't a dainty, drop to your knees fall. Not even close.
I drove myself headfirst into the dirt and grass on the other side of the sidewalk, Superman style. My knees dragged on the sidewalk while my feet flailed in the air. My hands and face plowed a furrow in the newly watered grass. My face became my anchor, slowing my slide through the grass and mud.
At the precise moment my slide stopped, five of my 8th grade boys turned the corner to where I was. By now, I had picked up my head. Streaks of mud marked my face and grass fell from my mouth. Part of my skirt was arranged somehow now around my waist. The top two buttons on my blouse had separated themselves from the fabric.
Both knees were bleeding, staining the bottom of my white skirt a bright red. I was stunned. They were equally as stunned.
They all dropped their books and hopped from one foot to the other. They each lost the power of speech momentarily. Their eyes were wide and their mouths agape.
The first one to regain his voice could only say, "Oh oh oh oh!"
The others just continued to jump in panic. I managed to roll myself over and sit up.
Finally another one choked out, "Uhhhh, ma'am, did you fall?"
Most of my students have seen me after the the after-school Insanity workouts I lead in my classroom for other teachers. It is a time when I am drenched in sweat, hair askew, and not looking my best. However, this took looking bad to a whole new level.
They were sweet and quite concerned for my welfare. Perhaps they thought I had lost my hearing and mental capabilities in the fall, because they talked to me loudly and slowly. "LET....US....HELP....YOU...GET....UP."
By now, I had picked myself up off the ground and tried to wipe off the mud, grass, and blood. "Thanks, fellows, but I'm OK," I replied.
"WE...CAN...CARRY...YOU...TO...THE...OFFICE," another emphasized, stretching out his bony arms.
"No, thanks, I can make it there by myself," I reiterated.
"YOU...FELL," a third one explained to me.
"ON...THE...GROUND," the fourth intoned, nodding slowly.
"Yes, I know, but I'm OK."
Finally, I convinced them I was going to be fine and they could go on their way.
Somewhere in that dirt, along with my blood and bits of my skin, is a large piece of my dignity. Fierce heels, you won't be going with me to school anymore.
Monday, July 11, 2011
The End of Summer, the Beginning of a New School Year
For the 28th consecutive year, I've unlocked my classroom door to begin preparing for the new school year. My summer is over (we are a year round district) and I'm ready to roll.
It always makes me a little nostalgic to walk in for the first time in a new year. I think of all the literally thousands of middle schoolers I have taught, some of whom are now my colleagues.
I think of those who have gone on to smashingly successful lives and careers, and those who haven't.
I remember Johnny Joe, a doughboy of a teenager. He was his mama's only son and she spoiled him. She disappeared from his life to pursue her addictions just before I got him. He gravitated toward women teachers. I lost track of him after he went to high school, only to see his picture and name as the lead in a story about how he'd been arrested for a senseless murder he'd confessed to. I cried for hours the day he was executed several years later.
I think about Troy, who was such a perfectionist. He loved to argue and debate the finer points of literature. He questioned everything, a trait that is exasperating at times, but is also the sign of a great thinker. He is now the senior pastor of a very large church in a very large city.
I smile to think of Wesley, whose dad dropped him off at school every morning on a tractor, and Jesse, who rode his horse to school on fair weather days (we are a very rural district). They also make me recall Andrew, who rode a bladeless riding lawn mower to school. Although he never went faster than 3 mph, he followed his mom's instructions to wear a helmet.
I think about Rebekah, the shy girl who came alive in her journal writing. Her mother told me she'd been concerned about her being so withdrawn until she found her voice and outlet in writing. Today Rebekah is a professional writer, composing music reviews for magazines and newspapers.
I remember Lucy, the very unique girl with a half grin who would speak in only one word snatches. "Water," if she wanted to get a drink, and "Restroom," if she needed to go to the bathroom. I grieved several years later when she died giving birth to her first son. I did chuckle, though, when that son, now in middle school, showed up in my class last year with his mom's half grin and asked, "Water?"
I also recall Brian, a troubled boy who often got into fights and sneered at rules. It really gave me a kick when he showed up at my school as part of an elite SWAT team on career day. My students were open mouthed as he told them, " I was a real jackass when I was your age. I hope you make better decisions than I did." They were delighted when he fastened me into his body armour and helmet and handed me his unloaded automatic rifle to pose for pictures with him.
I think of Donny, who was new to our school when Christmas rolled around. The last day before Christmas break the kids brought baked goods and sweets to share with each other. He showed me little round concoctions he said he'd made with his grandma the night before. When I inquired as to what they were, he answered, "Deer Balls".
I was thinking along the lines of spice balls and Rudolph, so I asked what they were made of. My own jaw dropped when he answered, "Deer testicles".
As I pray the silent blessing I pray everyday in my classroom, I know endless potential and possibilities are soon going to be walking through my door. It can't happen soon enough for me.
It always makes me a little nostalgic to walk in for the first time in a new year. I think of all the literally thousands of middle schoolers I have taught, some of whom are now my colleagues.
I think of those who have gone on to smashingly successful lives and careers, and those who haven't.
I remember Johnny Joe, a doughboy of a teenager. He was his mama's only son and she spoiled him. She disappeared from his life to pursue her addictions just before I got him. He gravitated toward women teachers. I lost track of him after he went to high school, only to see his picture and name as the lead in a story about how he'd been arrested for a senseless murder he'd confessed to. I cried for hours the day he was executed several years later.
I think about Troy, who was such a perfectionist. He loved to argue and debate the finer points of literature. He questioned everything, a trait that is exasperating at times, but is also the sign of a great thinker. He is now the senior pastor of a very large church in a very large city.
I smile to think of Wesley, whose dad dropped him off at school every morning on a tractor, and Jesse, who rode his horse to school on fair weather days (we are a very rural district). They also make me recall Andrew, who rode a bladeless riding lawn mower to school. Although he never went faster than 3 mph, he followed his mom's instructions to wear a helmet.
I think about Rebekah, the shy girl who came alive in her journal writing. Her mother told me she'd been concerned about her being so withdrawn until she found her voice and outlet in writing. Today Rebekah is a professional writer, composing music reviews for magazines and newspapers.
I remember Lucy, the very unique girl with a half grin who would speak in only one word snatches. "Water," if she wanted to get a drink, and "Restroom," if she needed to go to the bathroom. I grieved several years later when she died giving birth to her first son. I did chuckle, though, when that son, now in middle school, showed up in my class last year with his mom's half grin and asked, "Water?"
I also recall Brian, a troubled boy who often got into fights and sneered at rules. It really gave me a kick when he showed up at my school as part of an elite SWAT team on career day. My students were open mouthed as he told them, " I was a real jackass when I was your age. I hope you make better decisions than I did." They were delighted when he fastened me into his body armour and helmet and handed me his unloaded automatic rifle to pose for pictures with him.
I think of Donny, who was new to our school when Christmas rolled around. The last day before Christmas break the kids brought baked goods and sweets to share with each other. He showed me little round concoctions he said he'd made with his grandma the night before. When I inquired as to what they were, he answered, "Deer Balls".
I was thinking along the lines of spice balls and Rudolph, so I asked what they were made of. My own jaw dropped when he answered, "Deer testicles".
As I pray the silent blessing I pray everyday in my classroom, I know endless potential and possibilities are soon going to be walking through my door. It can't happen soon enough for me.
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