And when the research is over, we sing.

At the end of two weeks in the library researching college and career possibilities, they invent a song and sing it to me. Luckily, they weren't researching careers in music.

One-stop shopping for all your comedy, trauma and suing needs.

(In the library researching college and career options for a short research project)

Genevieve: Miss Huth, we've got it all figured out.

Me: What's that? And, by the way, it's about time.

Genevieve: What we're all going to do when we have jobs.

Me: Hmmmm. Okay. Let's hear it.

John: So, you know that I'm going to be a lawyer or a comedian.

Me: Um, yes. I mean, what?? Um, okay.

John: Yeah, Miss. It'll be fine. Anyway . . .

Me: Right. Anyway . . .

John: So Thomas is going to teach elementary school.

Me: Uh huh.

John: And he's going to invite me to entertain his class.

Thomas (nodding vigorously): That's right.

Me: Oy.

John: Whatever. So anyway, I'm going to heckle his class, all the little second graders.

Me (slowly): Isn't the audience supposed to do the . . .

John (interrupting): . . . yeah, whatever, Miss. Show a little support, please. So I'll heckle the little kids and traumatize them.

Me: O lord.

John: Yeah, so once the little kids are totally screwed up because of my act, then . . .

Genevieve: . . . then they come to me, the psychologist so I can fix them!

(John, Genevieve and Thomas take turns high-fiving each other.)

Me: I see you've got it all figured out. Wow. What a relief, guys. And I was worried you didn't have a plan.

John: Naw, Miss. We've always got a plan. And if I become a lawyer, I can defend myself and Thomas when the little kids' parents sue us. See? It's perfect!

Miracle lotion treats all skin types: ashy, pinky and yellowy beige.

As students enter the classroom first thing in the morning . . .

Gwendolyn: Miss? You got any lotion?

Me: Yup. In my bottom left drawer.

Gwendolyn: Oh, I like this lotion. It's good.

Me: Thanks. I like it too.

Grace: I like Palmer's.

Gwendolyn: Uh huh. And Suave is too watery.

Nadine: Yeah, but Palmer's is too thick for me.

Grace: What's that lotion in the blue bottle?

Me (thinking): . . . Nivea?

Grace: Yeah! That's it.

Gwendolyn (to me, laughing): That's what you should have, Miss. That's white people's lotion.

Me: I'm sorry. What?

Elizabeth: What? Why?

Gwendolyn (as others nod in agreement): I dunno. It just is.

Me: Hmm. Okay. Whatever. So the lotion I just gave you isn't white people's lotion?

Nadine (laughing): Naw, Miss, it's good for us, too. See? It's in a brown bottle!

Me: O, lord. . . but if Nivea's in a blue bottle, why is it for white people? . . .

Samantha: Can I have some too? I'm mad ashy today.

Elizabeth: Oh yeah! Me, too.

Me: . . . I can see you're not going to answer my question . . .

Samantha (to Elizabeth): White people don't get ashy!

Elizabeth: What? Yeah, we do.

Samantha: No, you don't. Or if you do it doesn't show because you're pink.

Me: What? Pink?! I'm certainly not pink. I'm more of a . . . um . . . yellowy beige . . . AND Elizabeth and I will go without using lotion for a week just to prove that white people get ashy too.

Elizabeth (as others nod in agreement): I know, right?

Grace: Miss? May I have some lotion even though it's not for Puerto Ricans?

Me (sighing): Of course.

When "nipple" is the best option.

As the class is getting ready to be dismissed:

Jim: Hey! What are you doing? Geez, that's so gay!

John: Ewww. Really. You're a retard.

Me: Hey! I don't want to hear those two words again! Seriously!

John: Um, which two words?

Me: What? "Gay and retard."

John: Oh. We said "nipple" too.

Me (thinking): Nipple is fine. No problem at all with nipple.

Jim: Really? Nipple's okay? Oh. Okay.

Me: Yup. You can use "nipple" all you want. Just don't call each other gay and retard anymore.

John: Jim is such a nipple.

Me: Much better. Go to lunch now.

It's a word now.

Me: So for this essay you should probably have four paragraphs. The first one would be . . .

Most of the class: Intro.

Me: The second would be . . .

Third of the class: A body paragraph.

Me: Good. The third would be . . .

Handful of the class (hesitantly): Another body paragraph?

Me: Yup. Good. And the last paragraph would be . . .

One lone voice: The outro.

Me: Hmmm. I like that.

Who needs the president if you write poetry?

Frederica: Miss? Look at my resumé. There's nothing on it, and you said I can't include stuff from middle school.

Me: Hmmmmm. . . Well, yes, it's a little empty . . .

Frederica: I know! And it's too late to do anything about it.

Me: No, it's not.

Frederica (slowly): You know? I don't need a resumé at all.

Me: How come?

Frederica: President Obama's going to be speaking at that college soon, right?

Me: Um, right.

Frederica: Okay then. Here's the plan. I'll go see him and be all like, "Mr. Obama, may I please have your autograph?" And then I'll hand him a piece of folded paper and he'll sign it. But the paper will really be a letter of recommendation I wrote! So the college will think the president wrote me a letter of recommendation!

Me: Um, that certainly sounds like a plan, Freddie.

Frederica: Oh, it's a great plan! So I don't even need a resumé!

Me: By the way, you've forgotten that I published some of your poems in the school's literary magazine when you were a freshman . . .

Frederica (interrupting): Can I put that down?

Me: Absolutely!

Sheryl (to me): Look at that big ole smile on her face!

Me: Uh huh. Pretty nice!

Frederica (smiling even wider): So maybe I don't need the president this time.

Stuff I heard myself saying in public at the start of a school year:

• Well, I don't know where they've hidden the PBIS matrices.


• Oh! That's a new obnoxious buzzing sound, isn't it?


• Okay. Today we're following an A day schedule, but we're also having mod 3 of a B day. So you go (pointing with index finger at the invisible columns in the air schedule) boom, boom, 1, 2, then boom (gesturing in the air up and to the right), that's mod 3, then boom (pointing back to the invisible column on the left). See?


• I'm really sorry, but I don't know where modular 6 is. It's not on the map.


• I'm really sorry, but I don't know where D52 is. In fact, I didn't know we had a D52 room.


• What happened to yesterday's end-of-class bell? It was gentle, like, "Oh, there's my elevator." Today it's back to a sound that makes me feel like a pointy pencil is being pushed through my ear.


• Oh, thanks, but I'm really just wearing a dress today because my school pants don't fit again yet.