Q: How can you tell when your students have found your blog?
A: When they start referring to themselves as peeps and leaving notes on your desk signed LY!
Oh, and when they ask you to tell the class about the time you went to the Jr. High to pick up your twins . . .
So, yeah, cat's out of the bag, which, unfortunately means I'll be cracking less jokes around here, and giving more assignments.
In fact, please take out your text book right now and turn to page 323. Read the first section and then write an analysis, beginning with a thesis on the dangers of reading your teacher's private diary, and ending with a list of the first 16 presidents--names, dates and noteworthy accomplishments, please.
And no, you can't go to your locker and get your book, because SERIOUSLY?
BRING YOUR BOOK TO CLASS, peeps! Unless you enjoy watching my head spin around and my eyeballs pop out of my head.
One of my students suggested I write about my classes on this blog.
"Oh, good idea," I said. "Super idea. Best idea ever."
There are no students named Wolfgang in my classes, and none of them sparkle like vampires or think we should push Jean Val Jean down the stairs, but we are not completely devoid of excitement in Happy Valley. Just this week we went through two boxes of Kleenex instead of one. And in a single day 16 students came unprepared to read their Huck Finn journals, and I caught five students studying calculus during class, nine students on their cell phones, and one student simultaneously playing his Gameboy and reading The Top 700 Things You Can Do to Annoy Your Teacher.
Not to mention the German exchange students with their heads on their desks, or the student making tangelo peel art in the corner.
You might think I would be discouraged by this, but think again. I get it. My own son has told me how much more he learns at school if he is playing Tetrus, so, except for the student who wrote on my teacher evaluations, "This class is boring!" I'm pretty sure I will be nominated for best teacher on the face of the earth.
(For the record, that student was probably absent on the day I did my famous people power point presentation.)
And this is the bathroom that Obama used at Turtle Bay.
And this is the top of Fergie's head in the viewfinder in front of me.
And this is Jim Halpert from The Office as I race toward him entering Regis and Kelly.
And this is Nick Jonas checking me out.
And this is me in NYC with the Double Decker Brochure guy.
My class, boring? Come again?
Say that to my face!
Say that to my face!
I think the biggest difference between high school students and college students is in the amount of Kleenex used and questions asked. Teenagers, as you know, are full of questions, particularly rhetorical questions where no answer is expected, because the question itself is asked to make a point.
Sometimes the questions begin even before I finish my instruction.
"Teacher, can I go to the bathroom?"
"Can I go fill up my water bottle?"
"Can I go get another box of Kleenex from the office?"
"Will this be on the test?"
"Can I text my mom to check me out?"
"Can I write my whole paper in hashtags?"
"Should I get my hair cut?"
"Have you seen the gallon smashing video on YouTube?"
"Can we watch Duck Dynasty now?"
By this time the kid making tangelo peel art is usually taking "selfies" with my cell phone, or drawing stop motion animation on my sticky note pads.
What can I say, I'm inspiring.
But now it's Spring Break, which means I am down south on vacation, which means the only rhetorical questions I am not expected to answer are the ones from my twins about when we are going shopping for a new pair of basketball shoes, and my MIL about when we are going to eat Chuck-a-Rama.
In some warped and twisted place deep inside, this almost makes me miss my . . .
Ah students! Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.