Often, My Job Is Weird

So I'm sitting in English class, sitting at a desk and helping a student with her work, when D- comes up from behind me, carefully inspects the top of my head, and then gleefully pronounces, "So, Mr. Wright is finally going gray!"

It's not the fact that I'm going gray that concerns me, or that D- noticed, but the odd interjection of "finally" into his pronouncement. Why finally? I know that being 26 is ancient to a 13-year old, but surely he knows at what age most folks go gray? And he's only known me for 2 years - has he been waiting this whole time for me to start show signs of aging? Of weakness? Of the daily grind of working in a middle school?

Or has he been working on a hex to cause me to age prematurely so that he won't have to stay after school with me and serve his detentions?

Sometimes, My Job Is Awesome

I am currently working in a 6th grade drama class, aiding an autistic, semi-verbal student named M-. Today, we were designing posters for our play that we will be putting on later this year, School Daze, by Lindsay Price. The parameters for our project were simple: include the title and author, the time and place where we will be putting on the play, use color, and make your poster somehow relevant to the play. (i.e., illustrate a scene or a major theme from the play, etc.) It seemed pretty straight forward, right?

Like a doofus, I went ahead with making my own poster, an ingenious illustration of a cartoon middle schooler stuffed into a locker with all of his school accoutrements. However, after about twenty minutes, I looked over my shoulder, and saw what M- had been busy at:

A beautiful, 11x18 work of art depicting what I believe to be several vampires attacking and slaughtering what looked like Santa's elves.

In color.

I think he ought to get at least partial credit.

Kids Say The Darnedest Things, Day 78

Today, in the 7th/8th grade writing class, we were writing paragraphs on what the students were learning in their Social Studies classes. J- has been learning about American history, and he wanted to write about the Yankees teams of the 1930's and 40's, and about how important they were as public heroes to the American people. An excellent topic, I thought, but J- needed a little help first.

"What was the name of that guy who played for the Yankees?" he asked.

I turned to look at him.

"What?" I said.

"What was the name of that guy who played for the Yankees?" J- repeated, obviously becoming irritated with my inability to know the name of that guy.

"Babe Ruth." Sure, I thought. Why not.

"Nooo, Mr. W!" exclaimed J-. "The other guy who played for the Yankees!"

I paused, intending to make it a pause pregnant with meaning, hoping that J- would pick up on it. But just in case he didn't:

"Lou Gehrig."

"NO!" I was getting worried that J- was about to spring up out of his seat, and possibly take off his shirt, he was so upset. "His name was, like, Najeeo, or something."

"You mean Joe DiMaggio?"

"Yeah! That's it!"

Pleased with myself, and with the fact that my answer got J- writing again, I turned to help the next student.

"Mr. W?" I heard from behind my back. "Can you write that on the board?"