Shari.com: Snarking with Superlatives

Despite the one "bad" day, it's been yet another fairly productive week. I taught AGAIN today. I could almost see a shimmer of Yoda beside me, nodding. It was an Agatha Christie story, even, instead of yet another Spanglish "multicultural" piece. I taught them all how to say Poirot. Then we all ate focaccia and laughed, and laughed.

Maybe not quite. I'm leaving out the ant invasion (they were after a wrapped Jolly Rancher, from last year, in the back of my file cabinet). I'm leaving out the girl (not quite a student, I see her weekly as part of a state-mandated "every 9th grader must have a mentor" program) that I wrote up for refusing to take her assigned seat. "No quiero!" she said, as she stood in the corner, refusing to talk to me. We started out with simple but unlaboured conversations, and I thought, yeah!, this is going to be the year to mend some fences. I can practice my Spanish and we'll all pull together. Except then she stopped working, only wanted to giggle with her friend, and our dialogues of the first few weeks ended as she completely lost - so queer! - her ability to speak English. (As she smothers the giggles.)

The only satisfying bit was when she smugly rattled off a chain of espanol, only to have me immediately reply in English. "Miss! You understand Spanish???!!!" (from several amazed students). "Eh," I say, and shrug modestly, glad to know enough to keep 'em guessing.

Anyway, I recommended she be moved to a mentor who speaks Spanish. As I type that, I feel like an idiot for feeling like an idiot when I made the request. I tried. I put her by Spanish-speaking girls who are very sweet and always eager to help. (I have them in other classes.) Her sitting away from the others, chatting with the same two girls, not working, lying to me - this wasn't helping.

Why do I feel guilty? Her English is limited - I was hoping for a universal language of trust and goodwill, but doesn't she deserve a mentor who can get beyond the equivalent of, "How you? You good? You make-um good grades? We check. Oh, D in science. Why D? D bad. Bad D. You want C. Bring C next week. You good girl. Study! Bring C. C good. Buh-bye." She deserves better, right?

I stayed until 8 to(last)night writing up people for not attending detentions. Then I came home and used the heated back massager. It looks a little like the "head" from Short Circuit. Does anyone else have a, you know, vibrating massager? A, you know, real one? Because I want to know if I'm the only person who gets insanely itchy after my skim's been pummeled for awhile.

I'm surrounded by people who are having my last year this year. One of my teacher-friends teaches the sophomores, and she's aghast at how poor their skills are. "Yeah. Sorry." And I am. But no, she's already discovering that she can't get anything to "stick" to them despite her mighty skills, what with them so not caring, and she's one of the cool teachers that everyone loves, and her kids get to do all kinds of fun, insightful games and projects.

I asked her for a list of the worst offenders. One of my cross-curricular teammates from last year was sitting with us. My friend kept naming names, and each time my ex-teamie and I would look at each other. "Uh, no, never heard of them." The friend didn't name a single one of ours, even though I know many of our students from last year have her. "Wow, and we thought we had it bad." Maybe last year I dodged more bullets than I'll ever know.

The kids keep asking me if I'm in a bad mood. It has been a week for yelling. One of this year's teammates has come into my room twice this week at lunch to say, "WTF? These kids are so crazy!" I worry that I'm being too harsh, that I'm scaring the wrong ones, and that I'm blinding myself to the possible ill omen of having assigned the following essays this week (mostly for specific individuals):

"What 'silent vocabulary time' means to me."
"Why I am better than everyone else and deserve to talk all I want... or not."
"How I plan to ditch my F and be a success."
"How to avoid failure, even when surrounded by it."

I am really trying to dial down the sarcasm this year, although I admit I've said "You are not a special little snowflake" more times this week than I want to admit. When I feel I've gone too far, been too cutting in my "shut up and get back to work" mode, I try to temper it with the usual grufflove. I know that's Mistake #3, but what do you expect from "The Teacher That Always Smiles"? I'm soft. Worse, it's all probably pretty lame on the receiving end.

(Example 1: "So stop acting like a dork and breaking my heart, okay?")

(Example 2: "Hey, I already yelled at Jenny for talking. I can't yell at you for talking, too. That's Jenny's thing. How do you think Jenny feels, when you get yelled at? That's her thing. Don't be rude.")

("Gee, Todd. I thought you were working hard. Remember that time I came over to help? Remember? Like, eight minutes ago? It was so awesome. I thought we had a plan. You were going to finish those vocabulary notes, and then we were going to take over the world. I thought we were going to be out there, Todd, fighting crime, making the world a better place, looking up antonyms. And now look. You. Turned around, paper abandoned, flirting with Julia. Wow, Todd. Way to save the planet, Todd. Wow.")

At these times the kids just look worried, like they've just been locked in a room with Stranger Danger.

I will also leave out the part where I cautioned an overexcited student not to break wind.

And I will leave out the part when, during the last period of the day, I couldn't seem to teach foreshadowing without bringing up "Hello Kitty grapefruit porn." Believe me, if you and Monsieur Poirot are careful with your words and message, it makes wonderful sense.

I will mention the part where I was invited to the secret lunch club of another department. I will also mention the part where another teacher decorated me with Homecoming beads. Spirit bling is fun.

And on the homefront: Arthur loves his 'nana drops. June tried to do a pre-midnight run in the tiny, baby hamster wheel. Snorre is as happy-go-lucky as ever in his own world. He will share his pumpkin seeds, if you like.

P.S. Happy National Cake Decorating Day, Heather!

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