"What do you mean community service, shooooot you get paid AND summers off", they exclaimed. To that I reply, and speak for all educators, What- the- f*%*- ever!!
Now, over the past 3 years of working with our beloved black and Latino babies, I have experienced every emotion: happy, glad, sad, mad. BUT Friday, oooooohhhhh boy, Friday?? This was something new.....
After taking attendance, I noticed 3 of my darlings had gone missing! Out of 30 kids, you may say "Big Deal!" But these were unlikely absences from folks likely to be together. Hmmmm......
Armed with my Blackberry, prepared to call parents, I taught my 1st period class...2ND period rolled around and Oh My! in strolls 3 little children of God [for lack of a better, OK maybe not better, but more suitable term]. They sashayed in with black bodega bags and matching pajama pants on [ they swear they are linen pants, but when your swag is on -5, they're PJs shorty]
Kicked out on impact, they found themselves exiled to the white line in the hallway awaiting my presence as I changed into Bitch-On-Wheels regalia. I proceeded to seek out and destroy all black plastic bags like a government issued thermal missile. And like a screaming-while-beating-parent I commenced to talk to the remaining students about thinking twice before crossing me with such blatant kiss-my-ass techniques.
The other kids sat stunned, pencils in hand, as I raced through the maze of desks, wild eyed like a crazed discipline junkie, shrieking phrases like "YOU WILL NOT WALK UP AND THROUGH HERE LIKE YOU RUN THINGS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND??" In meek unison they replied,nervously, "yes miss Ayersssss", and nodded their heads uncontrollably.
They nodded, chorally answered my rants, and copied work from the board and pretended not to notice me winding thru the pathways collecting bodega bags, going to the trash bin, unraveling warm "chopped cheese" sandwiches and candy, squashing the sandwiches and disposing (because it will not be in tact for you to even THINK about eating it)
They pretended not to notice me float on my witch broom carrying soda bottles under more pressure than I was, trying to unscrew tops hastily while the soda exploded into the sink and the bottles flew into the trash.
As corn syrup and red dye #4 dripped through my weary, trembling-from -intense-anger fingers, so did 3 little girls' hopes of having a good day, week, weekend, hell, rest of the school year!!
The emotion that day?? Slaphappy. And no longer does that mean "extreme delight"...