He wouldn't leave.

What do you do if you have a student that flat out refuses to leave your classroom? 

If you say call security, I did.

If you say contact an administrator, I did.

If you say let his next period teacher know, I did.

If you say tell him to get his little punk butt out of your class, I SO did.

But he had different ideas. Here is how it went down:

Me: J, you know that 3rd period is over, and 4th period is now going, thus meaning you are in the wrong classroom?  I think you need to shut down that laptop, put it back in the laptop cart, and go to your 4th period class.

J: Naw, I'm gonna stay here and finish this assignment.

Now... Maybe he was confused. Maybe I wasn't clear enough in my expectations. So I tried again.

Me: No, J. You have to go now. There is no other option.

J: No.

Random 4th period student: Dude, she told you to leave. So you should leave.

J: You know what, dude, mind your own business.

Random 4th period student:  This IS my business. You're in my damn seat.

J: Oh... Sorry, man. (He scooted over one seat.)

At this point, I did the following things in this order:

1. Settled down my 4th period class and had them begin reading silently.
2. Tried to call security, but received no answer.
3. Thought about calling the office, but with the way J was getting more and more angry, I didn't because I didn't want him to know I was calling administration. I mean, my classroom is quite a ways away from the office, and I wasn't going to deal with this kid being mad at ME until they showed up.
4. I emailed his teacher and administrator letting them know that he flat out refused to leave my classroom.
5. Emailed my friend (also a teacher) about his refusal.
6. Read her reply, which was: hahahahahaha.
7. Tried not to bust up laughing after reading her reply.
8. Emailed security to let them know I had a student who wouldn't leave... which seemed like an odd thing to complain about, even as I was writing the email.

Now, by this point, J was super upset.  He was sitting there saying things like "Whoever fucking erased my essay from this laptop is a punk, you know? Like, dude, who would do that?"  I tried over and over to tell him this language was not appropriate, but he was clearly in his own little world.  Another random student spoke up and was all like, "Hey, she's asked you to stop numerous times and to LEAVE. Why won't you leave????"

J: I don't have to, man. I can be here all day if I want.

Me: No, J, you can't... You know, you're really disrupting my class.  I don't even care if you leave. Just go sit in the hallway with the laptop and finish your essay.

J: Nope.

Me: Ok... Then just be quiet.

J: Fuck this. I hate this. Dude, like, my essay is gone, and like, I can't write it. And this is so gay.

Me: Woah. That's enough! You need to stop now. Give me the laptop.

J: Naw. I'll be quiet.

At this point, I was honestly at a loss as to what I should do next.  I was almost to the point of moving my entire class into the hall and barricading this student in my room like a rabid animal.

But then, just as randomly as he refused to leave, he quietly stood up and walked out.  Just like that.  I was so shocked, I watched him walk down the hall just to make sure he would actually leave.

When I returned to my classroom, I started laughing.  Some of the students were all like, "Why didn't you make him leave?"  To which I responded, "Short of dragging him out of here, there was no more I could do."  They all agreed... and a few of them even offered to drag him out if he decided to hold a sit-in in my class in the future.  I told them that would be a bad idea (but we all know the thought had crossed my mind).

Now, every day, I cross my fingers and hold my breath when the 3rd period bell rings.

Sometimes I am serious...

But not too often.  Here is a short story I wrote. Like all my stories, it's a (never ending) work in progress.  Feedback is always welcome, as long as it is in the form of "You are SUPER awesome."  Ok... other less enthusiastic feedback is welcome, too, I suppose..

Days Like These

            Sam hated days like these.

            Pulling into his driveway, Sam recalled meeting his mother for breakfast that morning.  His wife had pleaded with him not to go, since she knew how his mother could be, but he went anyway.

           

            His eyes stared at a knot in the wood on the table while he slowly stirred his coffee.  His mind was on other things, allowing him to hardly acknowledge what his mother was saying.  Some would think this quite the accomplishment, as she talked an awful lot.  But to him, this was just the way life was. 

            “Samuel,” his mother sighed.  She refused to call him Sam.  “When will you give me a grandchild?  I’d thought I always wanted a granddaughter, but at this point, I don’t care. Maybe it’s not conventional, but you could still name a girl Charlie, I suppose.  Charlotte, you know, and call her Charlie? That way you’d still be honoring your grandfather?”

            “Yea, Mom.  Could you pass the ketchup?”

            “Oh, Samuel.  Wouldn’t it be great? A little girl to wake up to on Christmas morning, seeing the excitement on her face as she saw the new dollhouse Granny got her!”  She leaned over and brushed his hair back.  “Really, Samuel, sit up.  We’re in a restaurant.”

            He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell her to give up. He wanted to stand up and leave.  He wanted to stop this thirty-year conversation once and for all.

            “Mom, look, I’m just not in the mood.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous, Samuel,” his mother replied as he knew she would.  “This is what mothers do. Should I stop caring about you…”           

            He always went and listened to her whining.  He put up with her complaining.  He comforted her when he needed comforting.  Not everyone could be perfect and live a storybook life.  It had been a long time since he had tried to convince his mother of this.

            “What a lie,” Sam said.  Still in his car, he looked at the house he and his wife shared.  Everything, from the white picket fence to the petunias bordering their walkway, was perfectly arranged around their perfect little home.  “What an outrageous lie.”

            Hoisting himself out of his car, Sam slowly made his way toward the front porch.  He knew the moment he opened the door his wife would be right there waiting, ready to ask a million questions he did not want to answer.

            Ah, damn, Sam thought as he heard the door open before he made it to the front steps.  Her hands on her hips, she peered down at him through cool blue eyes.  Her brown curls were pulled back into a ponytail, making her look more like a cheerleader than the lawyer that she was.

            That is definitely not a cheerleader look; Sam smirked as he noticed the expression on his wife’s face.  Her small lips were drawn tight, and her forehead was wrinkled in that accusatory manner Sam hated.  He almost turned and walked straight back to his car, wanting to avoid what he knew what was coming next.  If people would leave me alone, he thought, the world would be a much happier place. Well, at least MY world would be, damn it.

            “Hi, honey,” his wife said as he hung his coat in the hall closet.  “How was your day?”  The words that came out of her mouth were not angry, but the tone gave them a whole new meaning.  She was trying to hide her emotions, make everything seem like it was still bearable.  He knew she wanted to know if he had gone to see his mother that morning.

            “Fine,” he replied, not even glancing her way.  He was still fighting the urge to turn and walk out the door.  He just wanted to disappear for a little while. He didn’t want to deal with disappointments or annoyances anymore.  But instead, he made his way to the kitchen table.

           

            They sat on opposite ends of the table, neither one saying anything as they ate their dinner.  The clanging of forks on plates was the only sound to be heard.  He was afraid to look toward his wife.  He could feel her staring straight at him, waiting for an opportunity to break the silence he cherished so much.

            “That was pretty darn good,” Sam said as he pushed his chair away from the table.  “You do know how to cook.” 

            “Well… thanks,” she said.  She looked puzzled, as if she did not believe him.  “Is everything okay? How was your breakfast with your mom this morning?”  He swore he heard a critical tone in her voice.  “How is she doing?”

            “It was fine. I went. She bitched. I listened. I ate. I went to work. I came home. She’s the same as she always has been and always will be.”

            “You don’t have to be smart with me. I was just asking.”

            “I know. But don’t you think I’ve answered enough questions for one day?  That’s all I get from anyone: hound, hound, hound.  Can’t you think of anything better to do?”

            “What’s gotten into you today?” Her voice was rising.  He knew she didn’t want to yell. He knew he shouldn’t be so cross with her.  He knew it wasn’t her fault.  But everything was so hard now.  “If your mother upsets you so much, maybe you shouldn’t visit with her.  Or let her know she’s upsettin—“

            “I don’t want to get into it,” he said. He could feel the heat rising up his neck.  “I’ve dealt with it enough for one day.  There is no need to get you involved.”

            “Get me involved?” He had broken through her shell.  Her blue eyes narrowed.  “I just want you to be happy, Samuel.”

            “Screw you.” He threw his napkin on his plate and stood up.  He could not put up with any more bickering.

            “Where are you going, Samuel? I made you your favorite dessert…”

            Her voice trailed off as he walked down the hall.  Sam did not even slow down as he walked toward the living room.  Nothing good could come from continuing this conversation.  He needed time to think.  He needed something, anything, to make him feel worthwhile once again.

            As he walked down the hallway, he passed the room.  He had decorated the room himself, with rubber ducky wallpaper and a white antique crib.  There were teddy bears and other stuffed animals lining the shelves he had built.  The peach colored baby blanket his mother had knit hung over the back of the rocking chair that sat unmoving in the corner.  No matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t help but stop and look into the room, everyday hoping that things would be different.

            He tried so hard for the past six years to keep it together.  Six years full of disappointment after disappointment.  Six years of miscarriages that had led to their last pregnancy ending in the stillborn birth of their son.

 Now he questioned if it was all worth waiting for or if he was hoping for something that could never be.

Sam slept on the couch on days where he was reminded that noting would ever turn out the “right way.”  Lately, these days blended together, causing him to forget the last time he held his wife as he fell asleep.  She stood in the entrance to the living room, silent tears falling from her eyes.

Sam hated days like these.

If I didn't want to shoot myself in the foot before, I do now.

Some conversations make my brain hurt. Like literally hurt. It's as if someone is taking a needle and sticking it into my ear, but really it's just the sound waves emanating from their being slowly gnawing away at my sanity.  

After writing that last sentence, I was curious if sound waves "emanated." A page titled "The Propagation of Sound" thinks it does.  They used the words sound waves and emanate together in the following sentence: "Two sound sources are available: a spherical source, in which initial sound waves emanate uniformly in all directions; and a planar source , in which initial sound waves emanate in a single direction." If you are interested in knowing more about emanating sound waves, go to http://www.jhu.edu/virtlab/ray/acoustic.htm.  If the creator of this page sees my "shout out," he/she should reward me. Monetarily.

Back to the original premise of this post: Some conversations are so bad that I want to shoot myself in the foot so I can be taken to the hospital and be away from the person who is continuing said conversation with me.  While this is only a temporary solution, it is still a much needed and appreciated reprieve.

Take this following conversation for example.  In the example, I will be T (teacher) and the other person involved will be S (student). This is because typing out teacher and student over and over feels unneccassirly redundant and time consuming.  And since I am a strong believer in being precise and quick in my daily activities, I will only write T and S instead of teacher and student.  If you are a strong believer in avoiding redundancy and unneeded time consumption, you probably shouldn't have read this paragraph.  I apologize.

S (from across the room, he wasn't even sitting near me, which made the whole conversation even that more annoying): If this classroom was the United States, which state would I be?
T: What does that even mean?
S: Well.. if this was a map of the United States... which country would I be?
T: Why are you asking me this? Have you completed your writing assignment?
S: Well... Kind of.
T: Then I will kind of answer your question... I have NO idea which state you would be if this were a map of the United States. I have no idea which state I would be either, so please do not ask.

At this point, the student worked for approximately five minutes on his assignment.  And then he continued the conversation, which I was hoping he would have forgotten about.

S: Ok... You would be Hawaii. If you were Hawaii, which state would I be?
T: So... you mean that Tommy would be California, since I'm Hawaii?
S: I guess so.
T: Then you'd be Florida.
S: What if I moved back one desk?
T: I don't know. I teach English, not social studies... I guess you'd be Georgia or something.
S: Hmm... Where would North Dakota be?
T: Alannah.
S: But why Alannah? Seems it'd be closer to your side of the room than that?
T: Is this conversation really taking place?  Nathan, can you hear this conversation right now, or is this all happening in my mind?
N (short for Nathan; once again, conserving energy): It's definitely taking place.
T: Wow... Ok. Trevor (also known as S), I'm sorry, but this is a really strange conversation. Please do your work.
S: What about when I'm done?  I was kind of wondering what color of the rainbow I'd be if you were red.
T: If you'll quietly finish your assignment, I will have a discussion with you on which Power Ranger you'd be if I was the pink one. Until then, please be quiet.

This happened. No joke. No lie. This exact conversation took place in my high school classroom.  And what makes it even more priceless: the student was dead serious the entire time.  Why? I have no idea. Probably for the same reason he accidentally knocked everything off of every possible surface in my room with his backpack on a daily basis.


You may also ask yourself why I engaged myself in this conversation any in the first place.  To which I would respond, "I have absolutely no idea."  Perhaps after he asked the first time, I began mapping out the states via students in my classroom, pretending I was a great explorer, like Magellan (cool name).  I'm not saying that is what happened... But probably.

Try not to laugh... I dare you.

Teenagers.

Instigators.

Pot stirrers.

What would be the most fun thing to do in your English class?  Probably making the teacher bust up laughing.  I believe it is some students goal to make me laugh hysterically in front of the class by the end of the year.  And some of them have gotten damn close.  But seriously.  With some of the things they say or do, you have to be very quick and witty with your comebacks AND/OR try not to laugh.

Exhibit A
Student A: You saying I'm stupid?
Me: No... I'm saying you could be smarter.
Student B: Dude, I'm saying you're stupid.
(I had to turn my back and walk away when Student B chimed in.)

Exhibit B
Dead silent classroom:
Student: It's hotter than the devil's vagina in here.
...
Me: Rather than comment on the temperature of the room, I'd like you to be silently reading the assigned chapter like the rest of your classmates.  And I'm pretty sure you've mixed your metaphors, because I'm relatively positive the devil is male. So if you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to stay after class so we can talk about being appropriate in class and have a discussion on mixed metaphors.
Student: Yea... Ok.

Exhibit C
I'm telling the class a story.  It wasn't a particularly humorous story.  But one student in this class of seniors had a rather pronounced case of Asperger's Syndrome. This sometimes caused him to not have appropriate responses to certain things. 

Well, at the end of the story, he starts busting up laughing.  Nobody else is laughing. It's silent. All eyes on this student.

And then, as suddenly as he started laughing, he stopped. His face was completely serious. He sat looking dead ahead. No signs of a smirk or a smile or anything.

And I lost it.  I had to turn around.  I stared at the board stiffling my laughter for at least a full minute.  The rest of the class was stifling their laughter, too. 

I felt bad... But come on!  It was freakin' hilarious!

Streams of thought...

I came upon the idea of starting a blog when I realized how completely random streams of thought can be.  I've often thought that if people could hear or see what I am thinking most of the time, they would either think I am insane or a genius.  The first is most likely the case... but then again, being insane and a genius sometimes go hand in hand.

Don't misunderstand me.

My streams of thought today do not make me a genius.  They don't even put me in the ballpark of being of "above average" intelligence.  They merely illustrate what teaching a high school writing class where you watch students write essays for a week straight in complete silence without having a lunch break to recuperate (because some students cannot finish an on-demand, in-class only essay in seven full class periods, apparently) can do to one's psyche.

This is my madness.

How can she handle wearing two layers of pants? I can hardly handle wearing one layer of pants... Wait, why would I even think that? I always have at least one pair of bottoms of some variety on every day, and I've never thought man, I'd like to strip the bottom half of my clothing off right now...Evidently, I enjoy wearing one layer of pants. 


I wonder if Jenna Elfman is related to Danny Elfman.  I must find this out... now... Upon reading, Jenna Elfman IS related to Danny Elfman by marriage.  He is her uncle-in-law... But man, her husband is named Bodhi Elfman.  Is that pronounced "body" or "bo-dee"? Either way, interesting combination... Perhaps they were continuing the tradition of interesting name combinations with their own sons, naming them Story Elias Elfman and Easton Quinn Monroe Elfman... I want to be their child... Why am I even reading this again? Oh yea, my Danny sent me a video of this Danny singing. I shall watch it again.

Danny thinks I'm crazy.


I wonder how many Daniel's go by Danny.  If I had a name like Daniel or Robert or William, I would totally go by Danny or Bobby or Billy.  I'm just that cool.


Fortunately my mind was saved by my 6th period 10th grade college prep English class.  Today we had a discussion on ethical issues and religious choices to go along with To Kill a Mockingbird. But I'd be lying if I said my train of thought was always directly related to the discussion taking place.  Halfway through the class period, I say a student squirm and squint because of a fly... I wonder if they call that animal a fly because it flew by him.  But if that is the case, there wouldn't be very many names for different living beings; all birds and bugs that flew would be called "flies", and humans would be lumped in with the other "walks."  But this would REALLY simplify biology class and people need to memorize when it comes to species and families and genus and order and... the rest of that classification system... Wait... Religion... Back to teacher mode.


This is my madness.