"These Things Are Sent To Try Us"

Before school begins, B pulls me aside to ask a "huge, huge favor". Can she take 30 minutes to finish typing a paper that is due the following period, she asks. She was absent on Friday when we started this new unit on color theory and today is Monday. I tell her that I would like to help her but she has to be here for all of the work we are going to do today. Distressed, she says she will "just leave, then, because I have to do this". Why didn't she do it over the weekend, I ask? She says her computer wasn't working. I apologize, but tell her she needs to be here today - I don't want her to fall behind in my class (she is very often absent or late).

She walks out.

I write an administrative referral before the day has even begun.

During the next period, SH ignores the warm-up activity to methodically pick out her hair weaves, leaving them in a pile on the table in front of her. When I (politely) ask her to stop, she reminds me that "it's just hair" and that apparently I have hair, too. When I, in calm and friendly voice, tell her she has to stop grooming herself and instead do her work, she becomes indignant and defensive. "I'm not grooming myself, Mr W! God! Why do you gotta be like that??"

Why do I gotta be like that, I ask myself? For a moment, I try to think if it's alright that there is a pile of hair in front of my student, who is not doing any work. Ultimately, I resolve that it is still not OK, even if it means in deciding so that I'm going to have to continue this absurd conversation.

"This isn't Cosmetology class", I jab. "I know that! Duh!" she parries. After discussing the way she talks to teachers ("I've got to work on that, I know"), she sweeps the hair debris into the trash can and starts to draw.

This was only a quaint warm-up for what would happen in fourth period.

As students filed in after the late bell for fourth period, a crowd began to gather around perennially disengaged SP (an anecdotal aside: she is the only student I've ever had who has not turned in a single project). They were watching - loudly watching - the bootiest of booty-shaking rap videos on a video iPod. One of the more cavalier boys shows me the video on the iPod, certain I will get swept away in its charms. Without giving a customary and admittedly wimpy warning, I confiscate the iPod. Goes straight into a drawer in my locked office.

After getting the class settled, I begin to give a brief introduction to color theory when I am interrupted by JH, who is raising his hand. This class never raises hands, unless there is a joke or a bathroom request.

"What is it, JH?"

He farts.

The rest of the class reacts in the only natural way a room full of teenagers could react. And inside I am cracking up. But I've got to keep it together - I am supposed to be in charge. I stammer through some more requests for order while going over the quickest, most abbreviated intro to color theory ever performed.

JH farts again. SP says I am "boring". Other conversations continue, oblivious to the art class that has stalled out. If pairs of eyes looking at a teacher indicate the number of students paying attention, then I have zero students paying attention.

I conclude the color theory lesson (with a few token, reassuring "I was listening Mr. W"s) and move back to my desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an altercation in the corner. It is JH. He is wrestling... no, humping a girl in the corner. It is playful, I hope, and everyone seems to be laughing, but I have actually spoken to him about this at least a half-dozen times ("Sexual harassment, JH! You don't want to mess with that!"). I tell him to gather his things, he is going to CHOICES (a kind of separate setting time-out). He makes big stage tears and cries "boo hoo!" and preens his way to the door.

While I am filling in the CHOICES form, SP has discovered a passion for her confiscated iPod, and is demanding it back immediately. And in no uncertain terms (unless "motherf***in" is an uncertain term). She wants it back right now, and is not going to wait for me to finish what I'm doing.

"SP, you will get it back at the end of the period, now have a seat, please."

"No, this is bulls**t, I want my g**d*** iPod!". She is now opening the drawers of my desk.

"SP, you need to sit down!"

JH continues to mock me with big baby cries, rubbing his eyes that he has to go to CHOICES.

Meanwhile, a student is walking around the class with his pants around his ankles. It is KM. He wants to go to CHOICES, too, to be with JH. He is putting on an act. Other parts of this act will include incredible sailor-like profanity, dancing on the counter, and making himself gag in the sink. I make him suffer through having to stay in art class.

JH is on his way to CHOICES (I will later learn that he never made it there). SP is also out the door. She is cussing me out, saying I need to take control of my "motherf***in class", that my class is "bulls**t", and that she is not coming back. An assessment I understand, but can only feel is ironic coming from the most out-of-control element.

Later, it is revealed that the iPod did not even belong to her. It was borrowed from another student in the class. The day begins - and now ends - with an administrative referral.

"These Things Are Sent To Try Us"

This phrase often runs through my head on days like today. It is the title of a song by the band Clearlake, and actually it is the lilting chorus featuring the title that runs through my head. The song is about romantic dissolution: not my particular problem today, thank goodness, but after a day like today I can share the sentiment that the things we endure must be the product of a curious and mischievous higher power.

There are 27 days left until summer. I count them down now, but there will soon be 180 days until the next summer. And then another 180 days. And another. I must remind myself that the goal is not to get out of this, but to be in it in the best possible way. These things are sent to try us. And it can be won.

Right? ... Right??

Is Target still hiring?