In which my kids are possessive.

So, I've been working one-on-one with Mister En since late November, when he had ISS (In-School-Suspension for the untutored) after...something...and I was available and willing. I'd had him in class a couple of times, and this kid was clearly bright, and clearly a pain in the ass. He was doing the classic teenage-rebellion-as-a-mode-of-finding-your-own-self/space/whatever, which I cannot fault by any means as I and everyone on the planet went through this.

Despite this, however, I liked the kid. I like smart kids, I like the ones who are a little fucked up, and I like the ones who maybe don't have a whole lot of avenues left open. Maybe it's a little narcissistic, being that I was one of those kids throughout my middle-school career, but without knowing anything about these kids' backgrounds, I've consistently picked as my favorites the ones who came from single-parent households, had a recent layoff, were on medication, failing a class, whatever. Something going on that was not optimal.

Mister En and I began working together, and have been about two, three times a week since then. A couple weeks ago, I began working with a few more kids for my Wednesday Group, and I actually decided to keep him mostly separate. He's the only boy, he's terrible in a group, and I figured it was not worth the trouble. When he stays after with me, he stays on a different day.

However, I actually had him for a period with another of my students, Loud Girl. Now, Loud Girl and Shy Girl are actually best friends, and terrible when they're together. When they're apart, though...well. Shy Girl is not terrible. She gets her work done, but she doesn't hand it in, so. We're working on that.

Loud Girl is key to getting my group to like me. Or was key, I should say, because ever since she found out my actual age, she's been all over me. But I'm distracting myself from my point.

I had Mister En and Loud Girl together in a room and Mister En was...polite. I've only ever had him in a situation where he was with me, solo, or with me and thirty other kids, at which point he becomes someone who cannot and will not behave in any shape or form. But Loud Girl engaged him in conversation numerous times - despite my attempts at getting her to focus - and he responded. Politely.

However, Loud Girl is currently under the impression that she's the first kid I began working with, since I started working with her about a week before the start of Wednesday Group. So, I've got Mister En in there with her, and while she's supposed to be working on the first half of a Spanish packet, Mister En and I are just finishing up that packet for him to hand in later.

Mister En: But this is stupid. I don't wanna do this. ("Stupid" is one of his favorite words, and one of my least. It loses all meaning after the millionth time you hear it come out of a student's mouth.)
Me: Aww, too bad. Now, read me th-
Loud Girl, Interrupting: You can't say things under your breath. [SVT]'ll hear you. She's young.
Mister En, staring with a look on his face that says "what is this girl talking about?": Uh, I know. I was talking to her.

And the staring contest begins.

It was over in a matter of seconds, but I've never been fought over by students before! It was kind of adorable.

On the bright side...

I still have wonderful kids. Honestly, I don't know how they manage to keep giving me the nice, funny, interesting, intelligent kids. Do they keep all the crappy kids for themselves? Where the heck are they hiding them?

And I finally got an involved parent. In fact, he's so involved I'm on the verge of inviting him in so he can grill me in person instead of over the phone. And it's a serious grilling. I think there's charcoal and aluminum foil involved. Occasionally he'll poke me with a barbecue fork, just to see if I'll give him any other answers that are more satisfying. I think he wants me to write an autobiography so he can read it and be sure I'm good enough to interact with his (frankly delightful, if obstinate) daughter. Cracks me up.

A long rant. Feel free to skip.

Can't my kids catch a fucking break? Not only is Tall Andy off my list of approved kids - possibly permanently after what he did and what his parents are pulling - but Mister En gleefully informs me today he is a fan of the ganja. Gleefully. With great joy, and a wee bit o' trepidation because he knows this is BAD FOR HIM AND DOESN'T HE KNOW I AM A MANDATED REPORTER? (And while this, thankfully, doesn't fall into the "abuse" category, the "danger" category is slightly more nebulous.)

Boy is 13, and I'm sorry, but that is fucking young. (On another note, why the hell are kids so incredibly comfortable telling me of all their illegal activities and making racist jokes in my presence? Do I somehow look like I think this is oh-so-awesome? I think this is an instance where my youth works against me. No racism, child. And, yes, Asians are a race, Shy Girl.) So now, after fucking months of work getting Mister En to trust me and be willing to work with me, talk to me and somehow see me as a safe person, a safe place, someone who actually thinks he's worth a goddamn, I have to go to the fucking counselor and rat the little shit out.

I say this with love. And it's the right thing to do, but (and this is where I whine) I wish the right thing wasn't so fucking hard. And wouldn't set me back a million years with this kid. Fuuuuck. How do I get him to trust me again? Candy will only go so far.

Oh, and get this: his dealer? His older brother. Sigh, siblings. Isn't is nice how they help each other out? Fucker.

So I told him that the party line was that it was bad for him, and it makes you stupid, and that I knew people did this, but I had a few friends who got a little too happy on weed and were dumb dumb stoners. And that addiction is nothing to laugh at, and it is entirely possible. And blah blah blah. I mean, what can I say? He's 13. And, as much as it pains me to say, he thinks of himself as in charge of his life but he is far from it.

I am so angry, I really don't know who I want to hit in the face more, me, or the first dumbshit who let a little kid toke up.

Sometimes you go lah di dah di dah di dah dah 'till your eyes roll back into your head

I had the weirdest fucking dream last night that, suffice to say, was entirely born of my own anxieties. I'm starting an after-school club for some of my favorite kids (the kids who definitely do not get enough attention at home and, consequently, happen to be failing multiple classes), and I had to call all they damn parents Friday morning. Yes, I felt like that emphasis via my grammar and italicization of "all" was appropriate and needed.

So I had to get all of them on the phone, and let them know about the club (where/when - and now I need to give the kids individual reminders in their respective homerooms because, what if their parents don't remember where the hell we're meeting? I mean, come on, it was a 2-minute conversation with someone who's name they are sooo not going to remember. I'm not any of their child's usual teachers, and what if they forget? Or something? See? Tense!) and I tried on Thursday and couldn't get anyone, so I said screw it, I'll do it Friday. And every single conversation went the exact same way.


Briiing briiiing. Briiing briiing. [Translation: the telephone is ringing. Really? You wanted that translated?]

Me: Ohgod, please pick up. No, don't be home. Shit! I don't want to have to try another phone number! Ohgod, please pick up. No -

Mrs. (I got all mothers, for some reason) X: Hello?

[Translation: Shit. I'm getting a call from my son and/or daughter's school. I am expecting bad news and hoping for good news.]

Me: Hello, is Anne X available? (Feel free to assume that Mrs. X answers in the affirmative. Because all of them did.)

I'm SVT with Anonymous Middle School, and we're starting an after-school club for students who might benefit from a little extra attention. Your son and/or daughter is a student we thought would be a good candidate.

[Translation: Hey, wassup. ::cough:: I'm SVT, and I work where your kid goes. Your son and/or daughter is failing. He or she is failing HARD. And, well, the way he or she is burning bridges, we thought it might be a good idea for him or her to spend some time with an authority figure who really, really likes him or her. Because I appear to be touched in the head. (And I find angry children hilarious.)]


Mrs. X: (Wildly enthusiastic. Off-her-meds wildly enthusiastic. And I'm not being facetious about that part; a good chunk of these parents are not on the meds they are supposed to be on. Thanks a lot, fucking recession.) That sounds wonderful!!!!! (Waaay too many exclamation points is needed to convey the excitement. I stopped at...5?) I was so worried, I was like, Oh no, what did he/she do now...

[Translation: I think my faith may be restored in the world. My child will get the care he or she deserves! And I don't have to provide it! Woohoo! (Takes off shirt and runs around topless in New Orleans. Or, at least, this is what I assume from the sound of plastic beads smacking against the phone and the phone-holder.)]



Me: (Somewhat taken aback at the enthusiasm - seriously, it was like I'd told them they had won the lotto. "Oh my god! Oh my god! I'm gonna pay off the mortgage! I'm going to Fiji! Oh my god!") No, no, nothing like that! We just thought that this club might be beneficial to little Student X. (Fill in some personal information...)

[Translation: Oh my god, don't hate me for something I haven't said! Ahhh! No! No hating! Let me tell you more about why your son or daughter really, really needs this club so you won't hate me!]

Mrs. X: Oh my god, I'm gonna go to Fiji! (Kidding. No, really. Joke. Still wildly enthusiastic, though.) That would be great! I'd love to have Student X go on Wednesdays.

[Translation: Oh my god, I'm gonna go to Fiji!]


Me: Excellent! I'll look forward to seeing him or her on Wednesday, then!

[Translation: Sweet! You don't hate me and I got what I wanted! I think I'll collapse now!]



So my psyche apparently took this nightmare of a task - that I completed on FRIDAY, thankyouverymuch - and decided I needed to relive it, but in PERSON. My dream went like this:

Show up at parent's house. Introduce self, talk with child, with parent. Everything seems to be going fiiiine. Then:

Mrs. X: I don't like you.

Me: (confused) I'm sorry?

Mrs. X: I don't want you working with my child.

Me: Uhhhh...Please?

~WAKE UP~

I already DID THIS, brain. Please to be moving on now, kthanx.

Riiiight over my head.

In Which I Prove Just How Far Removed I Am From My Teens, Despite Barely Being Out Of Them. Relatively Speaking, That Is.

I got to work with Mister En in English today, instead of my usual study hall periods with him, and I, apparently, was determined to embarrass the shit out of him.

Scene: They're in eighth grade, so they're doing mythology work, and just learning about all the Greek gods and goddesses al momento. The homework was to make a Venn DIagram (two overlapping circles on two different topics/ppl, etc. The overlapping area is what these two things have in common, and other areas are for disparate characteristics.) about Poseiden and Zeus. Mister En got called on to put something up that wasn't already up, and, typically for him, protested.

Him: "I don't know what to put up!"

His English teacher doesn't really have the time to babysit him, wonderful though she is, and since I was covering for a Special Ed teacher today who just hangs out in that class during that period and helps out in general, I headed over to see what the problem was.

Me: Okay, [Mister En], whatcha got?

Him (whisper): Mumblemumblemumble.

Me: Uh. Okay...well, why don't you let me see? (I get the paper kind of shoved towards me, and, sure enough, most of what's on his paper is already up on the board.)

Me: Hey, [Mister En], what's this one? I can't read your handwriting.

Him (whisper): Mumblemumblemumble.

Me: ...What?

Him (whisper): MUMBLEMUMBLEMUMBLE.

Me: I'm sorry, could you say that again for me?

Him (in a whisper): THEY HAD MANY LOVERS.

For some reason, I completely blanked on the fact that 13-year-olds get friggin' embarrassed by anything pertaining to love or sex.

Me: Oh, great! No one else has that up there; why don't you put it up?

Him: I don't wanna.

Me: Come on, Ms. T asked you to go up to the board, don't be a jerk.

Him: I don't wanna.

Me: Go ahead, just put it up.

Him (whisper): I'M NOT PUTTING THAT UP THERE, IT'S EMBARRASSING.

Me, finally hit over the head with the clue stick: OHHHHHHHHHHH. Okay. (Mentally smacking myself.}

A minute later, when he's gotten away safely: You see, if I don't go up, I don't get in trouble.

I wish that sentence didn't encapsulate his entire outlook on school.

Money? Who needs money? I get paid in smiles.

Me, working with Tall Andy (who is a performer whenever he does anything. Seriously, you ask him where his books are, and he strikes a pose and strokes an imaginary beard while answering. I swear, he's a natural) on his paragraphs:
Me: TA, that is not okay. First of all, I know you can write better than that. You *speak* better than that. Second of all, Mrs. E (his regular teacher) specifically said 5 sentences per paragraph, or she'd slam you. And I don't want to see you with a broken nose.
Tall Andy: ::looking down at the paper:: That's retarded.
Me: Well, okay, it kind of is. (Because, seriously, 5 sentences? It should be at least twice that length. They're thirteen, not incapable.) But, hey! You know you shouldn't use that word like that. You don't know who has a special-needs brother or sister around here. What if they're listening?
Tall Andy: Well, I sure hope they're not eavesdropping!

Cue me, smacking forehead.

Do I have the funniest kids or what?

Blog Post The First : Keep On Keepin' On

Me, helping Mister En with his Spanish flashcards. Trying to get him to say "heart" for "corazón": Okay, go ahead.
Him: blank stare mixed with frustrated blinking
Me: Okay, so, here. When you see a pretty girl, you give her a...?
Loooong pause
Him: ...aaaa compliment?

Ohgod, is he special.