Words from the diary of your beloved, exhausted Ms. Pro-snot.

On Tuesday a student kicked himself out of class. I told him to stop talking while I was explaining something, and he stood up, slammed his books on the desk and said, I'm SICK OF THIS! I'M GOING IN THE HALL and then just walked out and had a seat.

If only it was that easy. If only kids just knew when it was time to get kicked out of class. What a trailblazer, this one.

I continued on with the explanation, got the kids started on something else and went to talk to him.

The conversation led to him saying, I'M SICK OF THIS SHIT about three times in a row, then me, trying to figure out what the hell "shit"meant, then him accusing me of picking him out to yell at him when everybody else is talking in class too, then me trying really, really (unbelievably) hard not to take that personally (because it's not true--I, of course, yell at everyone) and then me trying to figure out, still, what the "shit" was that he was sick of. MY FRIEND IS IN THE HOSPITAL he said, and I can't believe you would treat me like this when my friend is in the hospital! And I calmly explained that there was no way I could've known without him telling me, because how could I, and then we talked more and he cried and sort of calmed down and I just let him sit out there the whole time because he didn't want to go the counselor. We had a quiz that day, we did, but a curly-haired boy doesn't cry over a quiz, so I believed him. You can't think about quizzes when your friend is in a white styrofoam bed.

He was great the next day. He was, apparently, no longer sick of my shit.

I was incredibly content with yesterday. I walked out of school yesterday feeling confident, feeling like I'd done something right. The night before I'd planned a little lecture for my seniors about how to grow up how to be appropriate, and when I gave half of the 10 minute I'm digusted with you speech they seemed ashamed and averted their eyes. I can only take this as a good sign, as a tail between the legs, snout-down sort of response.

And a PowerPoint I'd planned for the freshmen went well. I had plenty of jokes, I said to the class, I know you're shy and that's so cute about you, but you can do this, you can, I had plenty of good things to say, and even though the frosh were taking down lots of notes, they didn't seem too upset because I was giving them a show up there, feeling very much like the Ms. P self that had been in front of the students in Rochester--at the end of the year, the part of the year when they liked me. Not the beginning of the year, which students reminded me last year, had been a rough start, but I really, really got better as time went on! It was a solid day yesterday. Went by fast, problems handed smoothly. I pulled a pencil out of my hair and a kid said I was totally ninja and I took it as a big compliment, students laughed when I said regarding the "no food or gum" rule while giving speeches: Basically, don't stand up here and eat a bag of Doritos in front of the class. And I know I chew gum up here when I teach, but you don't want to take that risk when you're giving your speech. I mean, imagine if it flew out of your mouth and landed on L's desk. You'd be the gross-gum kid.

One kid smiled that I'd never seen smile. He was the one who, in a journal, indicated that "a time when he was embarrassed" was when "he spilt a shake at the restaurant accidently and his dad was so mad and yelled at him so loud that the entire restaurant looked at him." He came up to me after class to make snide comment about his speech.

I kicked a kid out of class yesterday for the second time, a problem kid who'd missed school for a week, and because of our "kick-out" policy and his second kick-out, that meant a mandatory meeting with his parents. I wasn't nervous for the meeting because his mother and I have been communicating and she was clearly on my side, but it was still my first meeting regarding student discipline. Administration was on my side, which I'm grateful for, his parents were on my side, which I was grateful for. And I said what I needed to, and I shook hands, and I couldn't have been more professional had I had little business cards with my name on them to pass out after the meeting. Or maybe clicky pens with my name on the side of them.

I complimented him. I nailed the problem on the head even when the others couldn't: it's not that he's not smart--it's not that you're not smart--it's that you just want attention in class. You just want all eyes on you at all times, and it's not fair to the class. He said, English isn't my subject. And I said, sorry. I just have to disagree with you. He proceeded to look no one in the eyes the entire time and pick off his pink nail polish. He proceeded to take nobody seriously.

I wanted to say, I think you're afraid of what you're capable of--but it felt a little too "After School Special." Then we'd all have had to break out our 80s hair, some soft jazz would've had to come out of the speakers, and I'd have to put my arm around his shoulders and refer to him as champ. Or bud. Or tell me what's really getting to you! While he proceeded to cry.

Of course, if it had been an After School Special, the scene after the commercial break would've involved a shot of my classroom the next day, everyone finally shutting the hell up with their "we're so funny freshmen" comments, everyone getting along, students raising their hands and giving answers with a "thumbs up!" from the teacher on the sly as a reward for good behavior, big, gross smiles and crooked kid teeth or braces from every student in every row, kids saying aloud, I get this, Ms. P., I get it! Me over-acting, using dramatic, wide gestures, me with curled bangs and a fuschia sweater with shoulder pads, me in a knee-length skirt with an elastic waist band and stitched pockets, me with sensible nurse-looking shoes, beige.

But instead, the shot of my classroom today involved the aforementioned kid from the meeting refering to me as Ms. Pro-snot.

Instead, the scene from today invovled me kicking out another student, one who is just as bad as the first, the one who I talked to in the hallway yesterday about growing up, the one who has decided he's not only not going to do work in my class, but he's going to stop everyone else from doing work, the one with the blonde hair and the freckles and the goofy student picture that I have to stare at and curse in our school system every time I look up his information to call his number. As he left, he said, THIS IS BULLCRAP. Now I get to have a meeting with his parents. Imagine the joy. Imagine me at this meeting, feeling a little less professional, imagine me, feeling like I really have to prepare because I have this inkling that I'm just going to get snowballed, that when it comes to me explaining how awful he is in my class, that I'm not going to be able to physically explain how bad it actually is, how bad he actually is, how he has a comment for everything, how it's like he's been sent from hell to try my patience, how he uses ADHD as an excuse but he's never been tested for it, how I told him that he can't impose his "disability" if he has one on other students in our class, how it's ridiculous that he would use a disability to explain why HE'S A FUCKING DICK.

Today I gave students a Post-it and a paper clip and I asked them to create a symbol with those two items (Chad, I didn't have time to get tinfoil) that represented them, that would allow them to talk about themselves for ten to fifteen seconds. One student drew a mushroom on his paper. When I reminded him that they couldn't draw anything, he rolled his Post-it into a roach and pretended to light it.

On the plus side, nobody stabbed each other with paperclips. But we're giving the speeches tomorrow, so I'll let you know.