Kid (super excited): “My friend and I wrote a whole thesis about why and how human blood can be used to power cars. Because blood has iron. We have a diagram and everything, and explain all the science behind it. We’ve been working on it for months. It’s like 20 pages long. Do you want to read it?”
Me: “DO I?!?”
No. I do not.
I’d actually rather you stab me repeatedly and use my blood to power said car.
If that’s an option.
Kid: “My mom is definitely going to vote for Hillary Clinton. And my Dad said that you are definitely going to vote for her too.”
Me: “Why– because I’m a woman?”
Kid: “No. Because you’re poor.”
“Oh my god Miss Emily– you’re a beautiful woman!” –kid, when I returned from my lunch break wearing makeup.
Mental Note: Put more effort into self.
Also: Be nicer to said kid.
Me: “Make sure the cover of your test booklet says ‘2015 Common Core English Language Arts Test’ followed by ‘Grade 4, Form A.’ Raise your hand if your book does NOT say this.”
Kid (raising hand): “My book doesn’t say ‘followed by.'”
This is going to go well.
Kid (in complete unamused deadpan): “Happy first day of state testing.” (Looks at floor, puts head in hands)
Ah, young squire. I’ve taught you well.
Soon you’ll be saying such things over a plate of nachos salted with your own tears.
Kid: “I wanted to bring you back something from our vacation in London but my mom said the best thing we can get you is a date.”
A simple “she’s sick” would have sufficed.
Me (to male student): “Wow, look at you! You look older!”
Kid: <blank stare, blatant discomfort>
Oh. Right. You’re pre-pubescent. This conversation is your worst nightmare.
Tutoring a 5th grader…
Kid: “Do you ever feel sadness?”
Me: “Sure.”
I call it “Winter.”
When it happens in the fall, I call it “Mental Health Disorder.”
When it happens in the summer, I call it “Hangover.”
When it happens in the spring, I call it “For The Love of God, WTF Is Wrong With You?! It’s SPRING– WHY AREN’T YOU HAPPY?! You Are The WORST. And Stop Resenting Those Happy People Over There. It’s Not Their Fault They Know How To Enjoy Things While You Feel Dead Inside. For Christ’s Sake, Come On, The Sun Is Out!” (I’ll admit this one could use a nickname).
We’ll call yours “Puberty.”
Regardless, grab a hat, some chocolate (or, ideally– a chocolate hat) and hold the fuck on.
This is what I (and all teachers) must sound like when we complain about going back to work after a vacation:
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