Nearly every day, I come home and tell my roommate or inform my boyfriend about something nutso that happened at work. I am an English teacher, so of course I love writing far more than the students do. I’ve been told that I have a lot of good stories to tell, and more than anything, I don’t want to forget the ones that make me laugh. So, I recently decided to take up writing a blog; hopefully because of this, when something horrifying happens to me at work, which happens often when teaching urban, middle school students, I can at least reconcile myself with the fact that I will be able to write about it later on.
Something happened today that reminds me that the students don’t think that I have feelings like they do. It was casual Friday, which means we get to wear jeans and our school apparel. I, personally, love Fridays. I think I look cute in jeans and a sweatshirt and have always felt that I can rock the sporty look. I was an athlete in college, and continue to work out fairly religiously, so this outfit (minus the jeans) is very natural to me.
Well, first hour rolls around I am trying to get class to start. I am beginning with their directions in a fairly loud voice, signifying a lack of complete control. Collin, a student that never really participates looks up at me and raises his hand. I am pretty excited because Collin is one of the less engaged students. “Yes Collin, what’s up?” I ask.
“Ms. B, how come some days you look beauutttifulll and some days you’re just uggllly?”
Now, I don’t know if Collin was still salty because I told him that I told him that it was inappropriate for him to ask me if I would go to the school dance with him, but I would like to think that this was the reason.
How do you answer that question? As somebody who is never at a lack for words, I just stood their, all ugly and everything. I raised one, ugly eyebrow at him and then I pointed my ugly, sporty sweatshirt at the door and said, “Alright class, we’re returning our books, let’s go!”
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