Sometimes the dancing monkeys have already left the building.

John (having arrived late to class): So what am I supposed to do now?

Me: Well, as I wrote on the agenda board, and as I said to the class during my introduction to this assignment . . . ohhhhh. You weren't here for that. Well, it's too bad you were late because the dancing monkeys did an excellent job answering a couple questions some of your classmates had. Cathy, I think the dancing monkeys really helped, didn't you?

Cathy: Oh, absolutely. And they were entertaining as well. It's too bad you can only have them once a year.

John: Dancing monkeys? What dancing monkeys?

Cathy (shaking her head sadly): Oh, you really missed something.

Me: It truly is a shame. But I'll try to help you understand this assignment.

John: You're not as much fun as dancing monkeys . . .

Me: Very true, but when you're late to class, sometimes you miss the dancing monkeys.

Bird is the Word

Me (to the class): So please be sure to include ALL your sources in this rough draft.

George: So we should only include one source?

Dave: She JUST said to include ALL of them! Jeez, George.

George (sheepishly): Sorry!

Me (shaking my head): You know, I think it's so interesting how some of my students don't hear a word I'm saying.

Dave: What's that about your bird?

Am I the Billy Bob Thornton of Teachers? Sigh.

John: Miss! I like your necklace! It looks weird. What's it made of?
Me: It's made of glass. I got it in Venice this summer.
John: It looks like a drop of blood.
Me: Um, I guess I see that. It is shiny and red.
John: Is that where you store the blood of bad students?
Me: Well, not yet . . .
John: No, this is better. It's where you store their souls.
Me: Hmmm. That's definitely more interesting, as I assume this year will be . . .

The appropriate time to discuss the zombie apocalypse is after I've had a second cup of coffee.

John: Miss? I can't wait for the zombie apocalypse!

Me: Well, John, even though I'm tempted to ask why, instead I'm going to redirect your attention to your research project.

John: Miss! But the zombie apocalypse is gonna be great! All those zombies crawling all over everything, falling apart all disgusting-like. Eyeballs flopping out. I keep hoping it'll happen, and now I bet it does. I can't wait!

Me: Sigh. First, there would be nothing great about a zombie apocalypse. Second, it's impossible. Third, you're supposed to be researching Galileo. Finally, it's wrong to discuss the zombie apocalypse at 8:07 in the morning.

John: Miss? Why don't you just say, "Get back to work!"?

Me: It's more fun my way.

John: So, back to the zombie apocalypse. I can't wait! I'm going to have all this food stored up, and computers, and I'll have weapons stashed all over . . .

Me (interrupting): If you're really going to insist on discussing this, then do it the right way. You need to consider what type of zombies you'll be dealing with. If they're slow-moving zombies like in Night of the Living Dead, you'd be all set with just a bat. Something to whack them in the head with. If they're really fast, like in 28 Days Later, you'd better have something else, like guns, so you can whack them from farther away. If there is a zombie apocalypse, you can't count on having electricity to run a computer. Besides, you'll be too busy fighting zombies to be on Facebook. Now, don't forget to consider whether your zombies are made from a virus, radiation or interplanetary interference. And whether you could become a zombie from a bite, or whether it's transmitted via body fluids. These are important things to take into account.

Silence.

Me: What?

John (shaking head):You might be more interested in zombies than I am.

Me: Hmm. Perhaps. But even though my knowledge of zombies would help keep me safe in the event of a zombie apocalypse, I would never hope for one.

John: I guess you're right, Miss. If it happens, it happens. In the meantime, though, I think I have some more movies to watch.

Your eyes work better when they're not dangling on your chest.

(As we're writing rough drafts of an essay, John sneezes loudly.)

John: Oh, hey! Somebody better bless me right now or the devil will climb into my soul!

Class: Bless you!

John: My aunt taught me that. And did you know that if you held your eyes open and sneezed, it would blow your eyes right out of your head? My science teacher from last year told me that.

Me: Um, really? Hmmm. I'm not sure that's really accurate.

John: No, it's true.

(Michael nods vigorously.)

Me: Sigh. Okay. So let's try to find an example from the book to prove this point . . .

John: What? You don't believe me? I'll prove it.

Michael: Oh, I heard that, too. It's true. There was a show on the Discovery Channel about it.

Me: Um, okay. So, your topic sentence is good but . . .

John: It would look just like this:

John takes his lime-green earbuds from around his neck, positions the right one over his right eye and the left one over his left eye, pauses, and 

John: ACHOO!

John flings his earbuds from his eyes and rolls his head back and forth so the earbuds flop from his eye sockets, like tiny green eyeballs dangling by their roots.

Me: Ewwwww! Whoa. Thanks for that, John.

John: You're very welcome, Miss. But see? That's just what would happen, so it's a really good thing to keep your eyes shut when you sneeze.

Me: I don't think I have any choice, but thanks so much for the lesson. Please keep me posted on anything else I should know, okay?

John: Oh, I will.

So now I have a LOOK . . .

(As students work on laptops creating a survival show in the style of The Hunger Games but set in a European country of their choice.)

Me (looking over John's shoulder): That’s good. Austria was a good choice. You’ve learned about the climate and terrain. How are you using this to develop your show?

John: Um, the contestants have to climb mountains.

Me: Okay. How many contestants?

John: 200.

Me: Um, 200 is a lot.

John (quickly): Okay. 20.

Me: Better. Okay, you’re in good shape. Make your rules and objective a bit more specific. Let me know if you need help.

(Later)

Me: So, John, I'm wondering what Megan Fox has to do with your game.


John (quickly minimizing his googled Megan Fox images screen): She’s going to be in the game. I decided my game will be like those celebrity reality shows.

Me: Um, okay. It’s still got to be set in Austria in the mountains, though.

John (slowly): Right . . .

Me: No, really, you have to stick with Austria. You don't have enough time to switch countries right now. Also, you probably can't have Megan Fox climbing mountains in a bathing suit.

(George snorts.)

John: Um, she won’t.

(George snorts again.)
  
Me: Right? She'd die way too fast.

John: Yeeesssss . . .

Me: No, John, really. You need to stop looking for pictures of Megan Fox and finish defining your rules.

John: I am, Miss.

Me: Really?

John: Yes. Really. But I’m switching from Austria to Italy.

Me: You can’t. You don’t have time. Without defining your rules, contestants are the least of your worries. And you can’t just switch to a warmer climate so Megan Fox can be in a swim suit!

John: I’m not!

Me (slowly): You're sticking with Austria? Right?

John: Right. Yes. Okay.

Me: Okay. Then I'll leave you alone. It's fine.

John: No it’s not. You just gave me that look.

Me: Did not.

(George snorts.)

John: Yes, you did. You gave me THAT look.

Me: John, I most certainly do not have A look. Or THAT look. Or any particular look.

John: Yes, you do. See? George saw it.

George: Just put Megan Fox in a jumpsuit, John. She'll still look good.

John (pointing to me): See? THAT look right there!

Conundrums before coffee make me very . . . whatever.

(As students enter the room, Mike notices two shopping bags sitting on a desk.)

Mike: Miss, what’s in the bags?

Me: Dunno. Ms. Smith just dropped them off, so I thought it would be rude and disrespectful to look through them.

Mike: I know. That’s what I thought. But you know how some of these kids are; they might see those bags and just be rude and disrespectful anyway. So I was just thinking to myself what to say to them in the event someone decided to be rude and disrespecful. I would hate to have to face a huge conundrum, especially first thing in the morning.

Me (distracted): Um, glad you're thinking, Mike. . . . uh, wait. What? I'm sorry, Mike. Conundrum?

Mike (sighing heavily): You know, Miss. A huge controversy or problem or issue. You know, if I had to teach someone not to be rude and disrespectful. Especially first thing in the morning.

Me: Wow, Mike. Conundrum? Wow.

Mike: What, Miss? You don’t like my vocabulary?

Me: Um, no, I do. I really do. It’s very . . . what’s the word?

Mike: Extensive?

Me: Yes. That, too.

oic (smh)

(As I'm walking in the hallway during a planning period)

Dean of Discipline: Hey, Huth? Can you come in here for a sec?

Me: Sure.

DoD: So Katherine tells me she stayed after school with you last week to serve a detention she owed me . . .

Katherine (interrupting): . . . Well, I stayed with Miss Huth to finish some work, but I didn't tell her it was also a detention for you.

Me: Oh. But yes, she did stay for about an hour and a half last week.

DoD: But Katherine, you think this should also serve as a detention even though we didn't know this was your plan?

Katherine: Um, yes, I guess.

DoD: How about this? You stay with Miss Huth one more time this week, and we'll call it even.

Katherine: But I don't need to stay with her now. I'm all caught up on my work.

Me (nodding in agreement): Yup. True. Although it's fine if you want to stay with me anyway. We're working on a portfolio project right now, so she's been doing a lot of writing. And she's doing really well.

Katherine: Oh my goodness! So much writing! It's been two weeks! I'm going to get that carpal tunnel syndrome if we don't stop soon!

DoD (laughing): You won't get that from writing or from typing if you use proper technique. You will, however, get it from this (pantomimes texting on a phone).

Katherine: Oh, I don't do that much.

Me (preparing to leave): That's good.

Katherine: After all (pauses for full effect) I'm a writer, not a texter.

Me: I like that. And you're right.

Axe-wielding OD poppin' mom

Sometimes my students leave me notes on my white board. On the day I found this note, I must have been ranting about some thing or other.



This year I have a budding artist who enjoys drawing trees. He does these very quickly, usually in the last two minutes of class as I am distracted at the back of the room and the other students are packing up. I really like this and felt bad when I had to spritz it with rubbing alcohol.



I think my tree artist left this as well, but it might have been his friend. I'm not sure I understand the significance of my name and the scary axe-wielding character. Perhaps that's best.



I have one former student who, when she visits during a college break, says good bye by leaving me a nice note. Apparently Mackenzie finds me kinder and fuzzier than my tree artist does.

The facilitator needs more tissue.

Michelle: Miss? I really think I messed up my rough draft so I threw it away.

Me (horrified): What??!

Michelle: Oh, it's okay. Look. I did it over. And it's even longer.

Me: Oh. Phew. Okay then. I hate when you crumple things up (starting to walk away).

Michelle: No. Wait! I have a question!

Me: Okay. What's up?

Michelle: So I don't know how to organize this at all, and I think this project is just not gonna work. I have all these statistics about pregnancy and I just don't know where they go.

Me: We'll find a home for the statistics. Don't worry. It'll be fine.

(A voice from another part of the room)

Katrina: Miss Huth?

Me (to Michelle): Hang on a sec. I'll be right back to help you, okay?

Katrina: Miss? This is ugly.

Me: What? Your rough draft? It's supposed to be ugly.

Katrina: But it's REALLY ugly . . .

Me: It'll be fine. Don't worry. Just don't throw any of it away, okay?

Katrina (heavy sigh): Okay.

(Michelle is now engrossed in conversation with Samantha. I prepare to say something about how she should use her time wisely even if I can't help her right away but as I get closer . . . )

Samantha: . . . so I think if you start off by explaining that teen pregnancy is a significant problem, that will be a good place to use some of those statistics. And that will . . .

Michelle: . . . help my reader understand how important my point is! And it will make them interested in what I have to say!

Samantha: Right. And then, I think you should move your page three to page two.

Michelle (nodding vigorously): Yeah! I see. That makes sense. So then I'll save the solutions part for . . .

Samantha (looking up from Michelle's rough draft): What?

Me: Um, I dunno.

Michelle: Oh, come on, Miss. You know you want to say something.

(Samantha nods in agreement.)

Me (starting to sniffle and dab at pretend tears): Here I thought you were texting and you're actually working . . . It's just that it's so beautiful to see you two working together to solve a writing problem. Samantha, you just helped Michelle so much (choking up) and it's just . . . the way that . . . (sniffle dab) I'm sorry . . . English class is supposed to be . . . I mean . . . I've been waiting my whole career for this experience . . . I'm sorry but it's just so wonderful (dab dab dab sniff sniff).

Michelle (with a heavy sigh and an eye roll): Oh, Miss. Wow. Okay. You probably have someone else who needs help, right?

Me: Oh, I don't think anyone needs my help today. I think I'll just sit here and facilitate.

Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.

First thing in the morning, before school begins. Even though my door is open, I hear a knock and look up, realizing I don't know this student.

Me: Hey! What's up?

Student (extending hand and striding purposefully into the room): Hi, Miss Huth. I'm a new student in your class. My name is Grace.

Me (tentatively returning handshake): Um, hi! Well, it's very nice to meet you, Grace.

Grace: Here's my schedule. I think I'm in your next class. Mod 3, right?

Me: Yes, mod 3 is first today.

Grace: What are you working on right now? I want to be able to catch up.

Me: Oh, we're in the middle of a research project.

Grace: Oh, I love doing research! It's so much fun, and I always learn so much!

Me: What?! Oh. Good. (Then, scanning schedule, slowly) Oh, Grace, um, I'm sorry but you're not my student . . .

Grace: Oh! I'm so sorry!

Me (sighing): Oh, it's no problem. The schedule is hard to figure out (sigh) Your class is next door (sigh). I'll take you there (sigh).

Grace: Oh, thanks so much! I appreciate all your help!

Me: You're very welcome. It was a pleasure to meet you, believe me (sigh).

When maneuvering through the snow is the least of it.

This is a recent letter of recommendation for a former student. Some things are easy to do.

I’m pleased to write this letter of recommendation for Katherine. I’ve known her since she was a junior in my English 11 class. When she was a senior, I was happy to find her in my creative writing elective, and since she graduated, she has kept in touch with me quite regularly. She is a wonderful young lady, and I highly recommend her.

When I think of Katherine, I picture her wonderful smile. She has the uncanny ability to remain perennially optimistic in the face of anything: a tough research project, maneuvering her wheelchair through snow, or dealing with blindness and indeterminate diagnoses. Despite many painful medical tests, procedures and sick days in the last several years, she faces each obstacle with her quiet strength and shy smile. She seems unconcerned about herself; rather, she worries more about the fears and concerns of those who care about her.

One of the most difficult memories I have is when she was a senior in high school; after yet another doctor’s appointment, she came to tell me about her decreasing vision. As an English teacher, I see too few students who love to read. Katherine is an exception, a voracious reader. As she was telling me that the doctors had determined that she would probably continue losing her vision, I felt overwhelmed that this young woman might no longer be able to enjoy her books. I also imagined the obstacles this would pose for her academic life in college. Nevertheless, Katherine, far more mature than she has any right to be, quickly turned the conversation to the hopeful—that an operation or technology might help, and that, ultimately, it would be okay. We were soon laughing about the possibilities of wheelchairs with GPS and autopilot capabilities and, finally, I had to agree with her that it would be okay.

And in the two years after her graduation from high school, it really has been “okay.” Despite adapting to blindness and changing diagnoses and the normal stresses of being a successful college student, Katherine has indeed proved to be exceptionally strong, optimistic, and determined. Adapting to college life is daunting enough for many young people, but she has done that all while adapting to blindness as well. She is not merely surviving, but thriving in college, and the proof is in her academic success and many activities, including spearheading fundraisers and completing internships. She has many gifts--strength, optimism, empathy and intelligence—and she uses these gifts to enrich every life she touches.

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.
  

Teacher seasons are never labeled on calendars.

(As I sit sipping coffee and reading the newspaper at home)

Husband: I thought you were giving up coffee for the summer?

Me (clutching coffee cup to my bosom): Um, yes, I did say I'd stop as soon as summer started. Did I miss the beginning of another season?

Husband: Summer starts today.

Me: No way!

Husband (consulting the calendar): You're right. It starts tomorrow.

Me: That's not really the start of summer.

Husband: Um, what?

Me: If high school graduation is next Friday, then the official start of summer is next Saturday. That's when Teacher Summer starts.

Husband: Oy.

Me: I'm just sayin'. Teacher seasons run differently, and I still have a week to drink coffee.