Nothing more to say

(After reading the mandated "grief statement" to the class about the previous night's suicide of a freshman, the 8th in the last four years, and the 5th one this year)

Me: So remember that if you need to talk to someone about this or anything else, you may go to the Commons. We've got guidance counselors, social workers, psychologists, clergy and students and staff there for you to talk to. . .

Patricia: But that makes me so mad . . .

Me: What? Why?

Patricia: Because people do that just to get out of class. They don't really feel bad, or they didn't know this girl . . .

(Some students mumble in agreement.)

Dolores: Yeah, it's not like they really care about that girl.

Me (sighing): Look, I understand your point, but how can you or I determine who needs help or feels bad? It's not right that some people abuse this, but still, something like this affects us all. (Slowly) I mean, even though I didn't know the students who killed themselves recently, that doesn't mean their deaths don't affect me. (More slowly now) I did know Dashad, for instance. (Stopping abruptly, struggling to make some point and suddenly terrified to find my eyes filling with tears) He was my student . . . and that was really hard (shocked to realize I won't be able to continue or even look up at them) . . . and um, right now . . . see? This reminds . . . me . . . um, of . . .

(Sorry to have begun this at all and even sorrier not to be able to finish, all I can do is turn away and wipe some random words off my white board. Class is silent.)

(Bell rings)

Dolores (from behind me, quietly): You had to bring up Dashad, right? You know he was my best friend?

Me: I know. I'm sorry.

(Dolores holds her phone out, showing me a picture of her at his grave.)

(Long pause.)

Me (finally able to look at her): I'm sorry.

Dolores: I know. It's okay.

(She walks away. I walk to my computer, hoping to distract myself with some email but realizing Patricia is still in the room. )

Patricia (walking slowly to stand next to me): I mean, it's so hard still. He was our friend, but he was your student, too.

Me (able to look up and seeing her eyes filled with tears): I know (sighing). It is still really hard. But that was my point, I guess.

(Long pause as we both reach for kleenex.)

Patricia: I know. I mean . . . I'm afraid now (stops to blow her nose) not to answer my phone. I think, what if it's one of my friends who needs me? What if I don't answer the phone and I'm not there to help them?

Me (as the weight of this burden sinks in): Oh, Patricia. . . (slowly, wondering what can possibly be said) It's going to be okay. You need to take care of yourself. . . You're a good friend.

Patricia: Thanks.

Me (hugging her): Thank you. You have a good weekend, okay?

(She hugs me hard for a long minute, then lets go.)

Patricia: Okay.

(Study hall students arrive as she leaves. I focus on taking attendance.)

Strep + subs + 12th grade - nagging + teacher = . . . wait . . . what? sigh . . .

Because I have already written at length about the problems we teachers have with having substitutes, I will not spend much time discussing the problems of missing two consecutive days of school last week from a bout of strep throat. Suffice it to say that as today progresses, I'm learning more and more of what happened in my absence.

Like the substitute who arrived 15 minutes late and then left 10 minutes early telling my students, "I'm leaving because I've got stuff to do." Had this not been independently documented by several reliable sources, I might not have believed it. And my class, apparently sans "stuff" merely remained in the room, quietly, waiting for the bell to dismiss them. Oy.

I have yet to determine the degree to which my classes actually completed work in my absence. I do not have high hopes for this. Nevertheless, I did enjoy finding this note scrawled on one of my attendance lists:

Where you at Mrs. Huthie? Not cool to ditch us like this, but whatever. I'm sure you have a good excuse, just make sure you're here next class, alright, ok. I'll talk to you later.

Sometimes it's enough just to know you were missed.

The truth is in the necklace, my children.

(As I collect "writer's notebooks" at the end of class and try to address questions from students having trouble completing their financial aid forms for college)

Me (to Adele): So you can estimate the tax information on the FAFSA until . . .

Audrey (looking up as I pass by): Have you ever toasted a pop tart?

Me: What? Yes.

Audrey: Do you want to try this? It's a hot fudge sundae pop tart.

Me (to Audrey): No. Thanks, though.

Me (to Adele): . . . until you have the real numbers.

Adele: So should I call the EOP office?

Samantha: What does your necklace mean?

Me (to Adele): Yes. Absolutely.

Me (to Samantha): It's supposed to be a Chinese character for "energy."

Me (to Grace): You're going to try to finish the TAP form tonight then?

Grace: Yes, but . . . .

Audrey: Everyone else has tried a piece. You may as well.

Me: No thanks.

Me (to Grace): But nothing. You need to just get this done!

Samantha: So do you think it really means that?

Me (to Samantha): The symbol? My theory is it means, "I'm an idiot for wearing this necklace in a language I don't understand."

Samantha (laughing): Could be!

Audrey: So how do you toast it?

Me: What? You put it on a lower setting. Especially if there's icing.

Jessica: Look at her! She's so cute, trying to answer everyone!

Me: Thanks, Jessica. Good to know.

Audrey: Well, I'm just going to eat this untoasted then. That's why it's called a "pop tart," because it's "to go."

Me (cocking head slightly): What?

Audrey (laughing): I know. That didn't make any sense, did it?

(Bell rings . . . )

Guess who's coming to dinner without answers?

Packing up at the end of class and after a brief discussion of whether the movie Guess Who's Coming to Dinner is still relevant today

Lucy: . . . so yes, I think it is.

James: And the attorney general called us cowards and says we can't discuss race honestly in this country. But Miss?

Me: Yup?

James: You have kids, right?

Charles (interrupting): Are they black?

(Class laughs.)

Me: Um, what? (carefully) Noooo . . . why would they be black?

Charles: Just wondering.

James: So how many do you have?

Me: Two. A boy and a girl.

James: What if one of them said they wanted to marry a black person?

Me: Um, it would be fine, as far as that goes.

James: What do you mean?

Me: Well, I can't imagine objecting to someone based on some category like color or religion . . . I trust my kids' taste and selectivity. I'd just want the person they choose to be a kind, compassionate, thinking human being.

James: Welllllllll . . . what if your daughter wanted to marry someone who was black AND a really really really really hard core conservative right winger ?

Me: Wow. Hmmmmm. Let's just say that I might have a problem with one of those categories but that I'd have to reserve judgment . . .

James (laughing): I knew it! You'd object to his being black! (several beats) . . . . . . . sike!!

Me (slowly shaking my head): O, goodness. Yeah, you'd better add "sike." Okay. Moving right along . . .

Charles: What if you just had a black baby?

Me: What? But I don't.

Charles: I know but just what if you just suddenly had a black baby without any warning. What would you name it?

Me: What? There are several problems with this scenario, you realize this, right?

Charles: I know. Just play along. What would you name it?

Me: Um, I don't know. Is it a boy or a girl?

Charles: A girl.

Me: Um, I'd name her Erin.

(Class laughs)

Charles: Why "Erin"?

Me: Because that's what I named my daughter.

Charles: Naw, it has to be a different name.

Me: Um, I don't know.

Charles (smiling and nodding): See? That's why I like you as a teacher. You give me answers I can understand.

Are left-handed compliments better than no compliments at all? (Probably.)

As we finish watching Katharine Hepburn's character fire Hilary St. George in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

Patricia: Miss! That's you!

Me: What?

Patricia: That's just how you act!

Me: Like Sidney Poitier?

Patricia: No! Katharine Hepburn! She's talking all quiet to that woman, and you know she's mad but she never gets loud, she just stays all quiet . . .

Dolores: . . . but you know she means business!

Douglas: Yup. That's you.

Grace: And it's so great because you know she is so mad at that woman and she's just all calm. It's kinda scary.

Me: I guess I'll take that as a compliment. I could do worse.

Home-schooled college: Where you're a name, not a number (but you might have to sleep on the floor)

Just before class

Audrey (excitedly): Miss Huth! I went to that college open house Sunday and loved it. And I got in!

Me: Congratulations! That's so great! So they had an instant admit thing?

Audrey: Yes. I was so happy there. The campus felt like home.

Me: That's great. I'm so proud of you! So did you get to . . .

Dolores (interrupting, to others): We're going to have college at Miss Huth's house next year.

Me: (distracted): Um, what??

Dolores: We're having college at your house next fall. We do graduate in four months, you know.

Audrey: O goodness.

Me: Exactly. Audrey, I think you're better off at Maria College.

Jessica: Dolores! Honestly. What are you going to study?

Dolores: English, of course!

Me: Hmm. I thought you wanted to study business?

Dolores: That's for later.

Me: So let me get this straight. I'm just going to quit teaching here and open a college in my house?

Dolores: Yup.

Me: Oy. Let me think about this . . . okay. Then tuition will be a million dollars.

Dolores: Okay.

Audrey: That's a little steep for me. Can I pay you a bit at a time?

Katherine: I thought you were already set for college?

Audrey: Oh yeah!

Me: So you're not expecting room and board as well, are you? I mean, I don't have a lot of beds or anything.

Dolores: Well, we got to eat and sleep, right? We'll just do like we do in the City. You know.

Katherine: You know. But I'm not sleeping on my coat!

Dolores: Naw. It's Miss Huth's house. We'll pull the cushions off the couch and sleep on those.

Me: Um, we do that in this city, too, by the way.

Dolores: Oh. Anyway, and you can cook for us, but I'll do the cleaning.

Me: Hmm. Cleaning. Okay. That sounds good. But tuition is still a million.

Audrey: You'd better get a loan, Dolores!

Learning: It's not just for social studies anymore.

During a discussion in the library of how my seniors may end up in jobs they cannot even imagine today, as preparation for their research projects on career possibilities.

Librarian: So how do you picture the job market changing in the next twenty years?

(Silence)

Librarian: Is it possible that some careers you plan on might not exist twenty years from now?
(Silence)

(Finally, slowly, a lone hand.)

Jennifer: I mean, that's a really tough question to answer. We don't have all sorts of time to sit around and think, like Locke and the rest of them from the Age of Enlightenment did. All they did was think, and I can't imagine they ever envisioned something like the internet, for instance.

(All heads swivel toward Jennifer.)

Me: Jen, did you just refer to Locke in my class?

Jennifer: Yes.

Me: John Locke.

Jennifer: Yes. John Locke.

Me: L-o-c-k-e.

Jennifer: Yes. I like to use what I learn when I can.

Me: Hmm. Cool.