Let me paint the picture:
State testing. Three days straight. Entire junior high.
Everyone's nerves are shot.
Students have been in the same classroom from 8 a.m. until 2 p.m.
The half-hour lunch break did not suffice.
Somehow, I get placed in the classroom with the SPED kids.
I love 'em, but I'm clearly not SPED certified.
Go figure.
Near the time when 7th period would normally start the principal broadcasts a message over the intercom.
"We'll be moving to 7th period at the sound of the bell."
Drats.
Seventh period is my smallest class (only 11 students) but at times it's my most difficult class.
About nine out of 11 of the students are SPED or inclusion students.
A few of them have been incarcerated without remorse.
Several harbor interesting cocktails of emotional and psychological ailments.
Half the class is fifteen or older.
Plus, it's SEVENTH PERIOD. A time of the day when most students and adults in a school are at wits end for the day.
Thus, 7th period commences.
The class is somewhat angry for two reasons.
1) Boys are angry because they were told earlier in the day by the principal that after state testing they'd be allowed to let loose in the gym. What happened after state testing?: report to 7th period.
2) Girls are angry because they are not allowed to go to the bathroom and handle "female business" because the principal is standing there and sending them back to class.
(Note: The boys really do want to play basketball but the girls really just loathe Mr. Amutah's class.)
No lesson has been planned for today and previous busy work assignment have been all but expended.
Thus: free period.
Directions: there will be no work so long as you keep your voices down and remain seated.
My inner "veteran" teacher told me that this would not work. I know better, really. Still, laziness and end-of-year-whateverness is setting in.
Violations of keeping your voice down: about four or five.
Violations of remain seated: easily 15+
Arguments ensue between students as does joke-cracking.
A serious tone arises when one student calls another student's mother a crackhead (which is true, literally speaking).
Get out.
Students are getting their seats moved, writing assignments, and eventually put out.
"Man, she gone beat yo' tail once you get outside."
The fracas never happens. Much like the majority of what is said in this catfish-loving county, people don't back up their words.
The bell rings.
A minute or two later the student who called the other student's mother a crackhead comes back in and says, "Mr. Amutah, I joke too much don't I."
This kid is someone who I've had "come to Jesus" conversations with numerous times this year. Numerous write-ups. Numerous parent phone calls. Got a zero on my nine weeks exam because he insisted on making noise. Goon with a brain. He has the second highest grade in the class and made the honor roll the second term, to the surprise of many, despite being enrolled in my class.
Without looking up from my desk I give verbal confirmation to his belief. "Yes, Smith."
Recognizing that I'm somewhat annoyed at his presence and typing furiously at my computer he finds an out. "Aiight. Lemme go see what these kids doin' in this hallway."
No response from me, his admitted favorite teacher. The one he begged earlier in the day to take to New Jersey with him this summer. The one who he hangs around after school at times to help clean up, finish make-up work, or install a hubcap on his car. Or just talk. The one who told him last week that he would not be teaching him Mississippi Studies or World Geography next year due to the end of his employment in Humphreys County effective 13 days from today.
In the words of Jay-Z, "he is I and I am him."
