Two Six Packs Away

I hurried to my car in the early morning darkness, determined to arrive at school on time.  I spotted the spider web right before I walked through it, feeling web on my face and tangled in my hair.  A large bodied brown spider hung over my head.

Five kids wandered aimlessly around the classroom, right in the middle of my "lesson".
"Have a seat, Nina, have a seat Javon...look you are not spending another whole class playing with the pencil sharpener.....hey...Aiden....."
"Give it to me!"  Abe shrieked, "Give me my pencil!"
"It doesn't belong over here!" Yusuf yelled back, crossing the room to stand in front of Abe.  A physical tussle over a fucking pencil was beginning.  Nina and Javon continued wandering around as another kid got up.
"What a douche!"  one of the fourth graders exclaimed.  
I looked up to see the principal standing in the doorway, a concerned look on his face.  My class was completely out of control.
An incredibly loud gigantic fart ripped out of one of the students.  All of the kids started howling and pulling their shirts over their faces. 

This was exactly the image I wanted in my boss's mind of my teaching style and classroom atmosphere.  

I roamed through the school, entering and exiting various classrooms to teach my class, inadvertently itching myself all over whenever the big brown spider entered my mind.  I saw the tough little boy from the crazy class standing in the hallway, his face as adult and serious as always, but something was different in the eyes.  I've noticed he wears the same clothes everyday.
"Hey Tyrone, are you okay?" I asked.
"Yeah, no yeah, yeah, yeah...." he responded.
"Um, okay....but really, what's wrong?"
"I'm embarrassed....about class...." he responded, his eyes getting a little wetter.
"Oh God, about what happened?  Really, I have fifth graders that do it on purpose and are proud of it!  These kids will forget about it in an hour, really...".

"Give yourself a check." I commanded the boy that was spanking his own ass in the middle of my lesson.  He had simulated taking an actual shit in my last class.  I have to admit that I am curious about what else he might do with his butt next time.
 
I continued wandering the school, scratching even my ankles now. 
"It smells horrible in here!" I heard a teacher yell at her class.
"Line up for a bathroom break, it smells like somebody needs it!".

I headed down to my stairwell to monitor dismissal, my daily work duty.  I was relieved to be able to scratch at will.  The large headed boy skipped down the stairs, came within an inch of my face to tell me goodbye and continued on his way.  Bailey gave me a boyish goodbye after explaining the war game he intended to play at his afternoon camp.  The river of kids continued for about twenty minutes.
"Adios Tyrone" I called as he slid down the stairs.
He paused.

"You have a good weekend" he instructed with a little head nod and brief eye contact.  I think I saw the corners of his mouth move upward, just slightly. 

Fart-a-Rama

"Hey, motherfucker" I greeted my co-worker, sailing through our office on my way to my first class.

"Okay, I need to have the fart conversation with you," I announced after several proudly laid, smelly noisy farts by some of the boys in the class.  One of them was hunching over his chair, imitating taking an actual shit.
"At some point, probably soon, you are going to start thinking the girls around you that you have known your whole life are kind of cute...."
"That's already happening" a little ginger boy growled lowly.
"This is a small community.   You are going to be around these same girls probably until twelfth grade.  When the time comes that you want to ask one of them to walk around the square, go to Chick Fil-A, whatever, the last thing you want to flash through their mind is an image of you, hunched over a chair pretending it is a toilet or remembering the noisy farts you let out in fifth grade.  Ladies, am I right?"
The girls nodded emphatically.
"Okay.  Chicos, what has been seen cannot be unseen and females have long memories.  Please think about that before you proudly let out a noisy fart that burns our noses off or replicate a fart by putting your hand in your arm pit, which is gross and unsanitary".

It was dusk.  I sat at my kitchen table with my distressed neighbor.  The man that she had just had an altercation with was standing outside of our fence peering through it, about four feet from the window.  Fucking creeper, and the second time in a matter of weeks.  I grabbed another beer.

The small, quiet fourth grader raised her hand.
"The skin is peeling off of my scalp....I think that is why I feel weak"
"Whaaa, what's happening?"
She repeated herself.  I could feel a little bit of throw up climbing my throat.  What is wrong with ordinary scrapes and bruises?

The bell rang to end the school day, the last before our first week long vacation.  Kids were tearing out of the building as if they were on fire.  Disneyland, beaches and Europe awaited them.  I smiled.  I couldn't wait to hear the tales the little motherfuckers would bring back with them. 

Mother F****r

"I am the meanest teacher in the world" I mentioned offhand to my friend Robert as I trudged up the stairs to my next class. 

"Not as mean as me" he responded, trudging down the stairs with a serious look on his face.  A crying girl followed him. 

I like my job.  I like where I work.  But these new state mandated pre-tests are turning me into a fucking raging bitch.  I'm like Jekyll and Hyde.  The kids are looking at me, wondering where this new mean Spanish teacher came from.

"When piranhas bite your private parts!"  I looked up from my grading toward the hall.  I had never heard anything rhyme with that before.  

I walked outside to my next class.
"It's a pre-test!  It doesn't mean anything!" I overheard another teacher barking at small group of kids.

"I saw a bad word written on a piece of paper today" announced a kid that has befriended me, eyes widening. 
"Really?" I answered, imaging this word was 'poop' or 'butt hole' or something equally offensive. 
He looked around suspiciously, then leaned closer to me.
"MOTHER FUCKER"
Jesus. That is a word.

I received a note from a 'secret admirer' stating that I am the 'best Spanish teacher in the business'.  I got another little note today, applauding me for being 'caring' and making Spanish fun.  I suspect it is the child with the big head writing these clandestine messages, or some other strange creature.  I don't care.  I carry them around in my wallet and pull them out to re-read several times a day.  

I piled my stuff into my school bag to head out.
"Oh man, I have to go to the variance meeting tonight about some construction plans my neighbors have...." I mentioned off hand to a co-worker, grimacing.

"Oh!  I know what you should say to them!  'I hate you, you hate me, you're a big fat bitch, hate your bitch family, MOTHER FUCKER!'" she sang triumphantly.
"I learned that from a piece of paper I found at school today!"  she added, smiling merrily.  

Kids these days. 

All the Madmen

Abe locked eyes with me and wiggled his finger at me clandestinely to come over.  He sat with his legs in a strange tangled position, eating a small pile of grapes in the school cafeteria.  I like this kid and was glad to walk over.
"Why are you just standing there?" he asked.
"I have lunch duty" I responded.  He looked at me blankly.
"They make me do it.  I used to just stand here on Thursdays while everyone ate, but the schedule changed so now I will just stand here on Mondays".
"Oh, okay...." he responded, nodding, as if that was a logical explanation. 

I watched another child drive his finger into a long bread stick and stuff the hole he had created with mashed potatoes before eating it. 

I checked my phone, which was filled with texts and voice mails from a new neighbor that did not like our decision to not allow encroachment on our property.  I did not have time for this. 

As I walked from the classroom after finishing my lesson, Hassan sidled up next to me during their locker break.
"Do you think I am skinny?" he asked randomly.  I was surprised that he was engaging me in conversation.  I have been riding his ass for four weeks because he talks to much.  Because of this, I just assumed that he would not like me and avoid speaking to me if he didn't have to. 
"Yeah, you're on the skinny side".
"The doctor told my dad that my brother and I are both underweight and have to eat more, but I don't really like a lot of foods".
"Where is your family from again?  I can't remember".
"Pakistan.  EVERYONE is skinny there".

Suddenly, Oliver's face crumpled and he put his face in his hands and started to cry.  I was horrified.  He is one of my cognitively disabled students and I like him very much.  I can tell when I talk to him that we are not fully connecting, or better said, not connecting at all and it frustrates me.  I didn't know what had made him cry and without thinking, stopped what I was doing to try to help him.  His hand brushed at something and I saw a wet spot on the front of his shorts.  He was crying and humiliated and I didn't know how to get him out of the classroom without the other ten and eleven year olds noticing that he had peed his pants. The class was silent and staring as another teacher ushered him out of the room, head in hands. 

"To what degree does Bailey identify as male?" I asked the teacher of one of my students. 
The child is biologically female but in every other way is clearly a case of gender misalignment.  I have read about this, but never have seen such a clear cut case, especially at such a young age.
"None of her classmates know that she is a girl.  And that's how she wants it".
"Okay, I wanted to be sure.  I want to support Bailey and be sure to use the male pronouns and shit, with Spanish, be sure to make the adjectives male".
"Fuck, that's right!" the teacher responded.
"That's a can of worms!  I just don't know what she is going to do in middle school....I mean, what is he going to do?"
"The middle school will accommodate him, they have to" I answered, feeling frustrated that that could even be a source of speculation. 

I sat in the back of the house at the kitchen table, decompressing with Alec.  Through the window, our new neighbor came into sight, mere feet from out home yet thankfully, on her own land.  My phone began exploding with texts requesting that we come outside. 

I pulled the curtain shut and looked at Alec, wondering how many different ways "no" could be interpreted. 

Lola

I'm not sure if I have mentioned this but my dog, otherwise known as the love of my life, is a bit of a handful.  Instead of it making me love her less, I think it makes me love her more.  Lola is a large dog, a ninety pound Pit Bull.  Ninety pounds of gorgeous.  She, unfortunately, is not very fond of other dogs.  The sight of one basically turns her into a barking, jumping, lurching terror that frightens everyone on the street.  Various dog trainers have said that she actually is not aggressive toward other dogs, but afraid and putting up a big show.  Others have said that my poor Lola basically has no social skills.  With people, she's a charmer.  But with other dogs, she doesn't get it that barking and snarling is not a way to get other dogs to play with you, even if your tail is wagging and hackles are down.

Alec says that my relationship with Lola is evidence that if we ever had had kids, I would be the mom blaming everyone else's child for my kid's misbehavior.  I have noticed that though I pursue positive dog training for my princess girl, Alec always seems to light up at the mention of "prong collar", "electric shock collar for barking", "muzzle", "choke hold" and "drugs". 

He thinks one day he'll get his way, but he won't.  Lola and I simply won't have it and there are two of us and one of him. 

Champagne Wishes and Caviar Dreams

I looked at Lola, fast asleep and rolled up in blankets like a burrito on my bed, wishing I could curl up and go back to sleep with her.

"I just have the worst writers block...." the nine year old wined, grasping his large head in his hands.
"You can't have writer's block when you are copying something off of the board" the tiny, Indian child with giant black rimmed glasses responded, writing casually with a Ticonderoga pencil that seemed too large for his small hand.
"But I have just had it for months!" the other continued, eyes to the ceiling and hands outstretched.
The little Indian boy sighed, shaking his head slightly from left to right, his hand continuing the required copying.

"Well, as for future goals, I plan to be a rocket scientist by the time I'm twenty-four".  I gagged on my coffee.  The scholarship applicant was pushing twenty years old and had a 1.3 grade point average.  Nice.
"But since my grades in science aren't so great, I might try switching majors.  If that doesn't work, I'll just stick it out and be a rocket scientist".
Nice B plan, I thought, wanting to send him a personal bill for taking ten minutes out of my Sunday before giving him the lowest possible rating for the scholarship. 

"So, you really have to let me try that tocino.  I simply can't stop thinking about it!" the large headed boy stated on his way out, waving his hands in the air.
"Lola's dog treat?" I asked, incredulous.
"Yes!  It just looks great.  Promise me you will make it for me".
"Uh, okay, I promise.  Do you have any allergies?"
"None what soever" he answered, giving me a direct look in the eye and a quick nod, as if we had just closed an important deal.
 "By the way, I got my behavior clip moved back up from yellow to green after you left".
"That's great.  I am glad you got back on your game".
"Of course" he stated, turning on the stairs and walking down, his backpack hanging unzipped and wide open.

I rushed home and got on the virtual conference to caucus about the scholarship applications.  Buzz whir and we were all connected to DC and staring at the same spreadsheet that reflected our common applicants, organized by who we had ranked the highest to lowest, as well as a comparison of our individual scores for each applicant.
"I just didn't see a lot of leadership there and her grade point average wasn't that great..." one of the co-judges commented, his voice ringing through the speakers of my computer into my kitchen.  I crept across the room and quietly opened a beer, hoping it couldn't be heard through the speakers. I clandestinely sat back down, took a deep breath and moved closer to my computer.
"She is undocumented.  Her whole family is undocumented.  She is working multiple jobs at sub-par wages to contribute to her household.  She has completed two years of college, paying out of state tuition and has a 3.3 grade point average, without the ability to get federal loans, though there is no reason for her to think an education will ever pay off for her in any way.  If she finishes, she still won't have papers.  For me...., for me, that is a tremendous burden for a young person to carry and I stand by my top rating".
"I would like to raise my score..." the third judge announced.
"I could go higher as well" the other acquiesced.
I sipped my beer quietly.
"Are we ready to move on?" the moderator asked.
"Yes, we are" we answered in unison.

The Italian triplets skipped down the stairs waving goodbye, their skin so transparent it was almost blue, but their eyes were large and excited, accompanied by little shy smiles on their faces.

"Ciao...." I called and raced home myself, to rip Lola's cage open and let her run free into the backyard, butt wiggling and legs galloping. 

Well Hello There

“¿Qué hiciste el fin de semana pasado?”  I asked the fourth grade class.  I am back with the little ones again, all day, no more high school.

“Hice plans for our vacation,” a small boy with a largish head answered, lowering his voice an octave. 

“And I am so flipping EXCITED!”  he shrilled, his voice pitched in an Esther Merman vibrato as his eyes widened and glowed.

“Theo says to tell you he loves you and wants to know why you aren’t teaching him Spanish this year.” Emma announced, tossing her bag into the car as I picked her up from the high school, my former job, after my day at the elementary.

“Okay, next step.  After you have your hombrecito, your little man, cut him out, then you can decorate him for a minute before you attach him to your carpeta de español”.

I wandered the room as they finished up the project.  I have a few kids in this class with some pretty severe cognitive problems.  I like them.  They remind me of Emily.  One of them grabbed a peach colored crayon and began coloring in the face of his hombrecito.

“I like…this…skin….” he whispered definitively, his breath heavy, while dragging the crayon precisely across the hombrecito, though the color was a complete opposite of his own skin. 

The fire alarm went off. 

“Line up”. I instructed, forcefully.  Fire drills are normally a joke, but for some reason, with the little ones, I feel a greater sense of urgency.  The sound of the alarm is shrill, blaring.  I plug my ears while I walk with the students; it makes my teeth clatter and oddly makes me nauseas.  The worst part is the corridor right before we get to the exit.  The alarm changes to an air raid-like siren while an automated voice repeats over and over again:  “There is a fire in the building”.  I always feel a panic in that room.  I don’t know why.  I look out at the sky so that the students won’t see it in my eyes.

It is the same kind of feeling I had a couple of months ago, late in a summer night.  I was awoken by the low wail of an ambulance.  Alec was out of town.  It was a lonely sound.  I could tell the ambulance was driving slowly.  Someone was already dead in there and the horrible wagon rolled through the streets, it’s shrill yet low sound echoing through the night.   The smell of blood filled my nostrils and I felt bottomless, down in the sea like the time I floated over a coral cliff and couldn’t see what might come up at me.   Drifting, looking into an abyss. 

“Are you doing okay here?  Are you happy?” the administrator asked me.

“Yes, I really am.  It’s awesome,” I answered.

“Good.  GOOD!  Because we are so happy to have you”.

I swiveled around backward in my chair to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else. 

I was on my way out.  Certain mornings, Alec is NOT awake and at work before me and I actually leave the house before he does.  This morning, I was on my way out.  Alec sat at his computer with his coffee, Lola halfway in his lap.   I bent down while he kissed me on the cheek goodbye, and Lola simultaneously reached up and licked my chin.

Then, the sun came out and the clouds parted as the day greeted me and whispered, “Hello, gorgeous, YOU are amazing”.