one small corner of the universe

1. Today a kid asked, out loud, during class time, “Why do we have so many principals around here?” I started to tell him (one, because one of our assistants spends half the day here and half the day at our other sites, and two, the new principal for next year is going to be with us for the rest of the year), and he looked at me and said, “I wasn’t talking to you.” Asshole.

2. We are reading Romeo and Juliet, and I have a few kids in one class who refuse to even TRY to follow along with the tapes (I let them listen to the Kenneth Branaugh stage production on audio tape and we follow along in the book) because it’s “too confusin’, yo.” I know it’s hard to understand at first, so I also show them, one act at a time, the 1968 Zefferelli film because it’s a good rendition of the original. The kids who complain are either a) talking or b) sleeping. And I am expected to prepare these children for the state end-of-course test.

3. At least once a week, in at least one of my classes, someone will fart, make a big scene about the smell, and blame it on someone else. On the rare occasion, a kid will actually raise his hand during a class discussion or while we are reading and ask to go outside to pass gas. Hilarity ensues.

4. All of my classes are required to read a novel of their choice by May 10. I am taking them to the library tomorrow, and today we discussed the assignment that will accompany the reading. I met with cooperation and agreement in both of my standard classes, but in my honors classes I was asked or told the following:

• “I only read on a 4th grade level. Can I read Green Eggs and Ham?”
• “Can I read a Captain Underpants book?”
• “What? We only have 2 weeks to read a whole book?”
• “Can I do mine on Sports Illustrated, yo? I don’t read books.”

4. In that same class I took away two iPods during the viewing of Romeo and Juliet. They were listening to Ron White (They Call me Tater Salad). I like Ron White, and I like the Tater Salad story, but in this situation it reminds me of an old saying: you can’t make chicken salad out of chicken shit. Too bad, because boy, do I have a roomful of it.

I am stabbing myself in the eye right now.

…to be continued.