Girl, It's So Groovey
I teach a first grade class. Every day.
There's this kid. This boy. Name's not important. There are four boys. He's not the dumbest, which isn't saying all that much, but he is the loudest. Damned kid.
The kid's suffered plenty of psychological numbing, over the years. He very rarely responds to pain. He's the kid who gets his head slammed shut in a door and laughs about it. His inability to feel pain does not only go skin deep, either. But the stories surrounding his slapstick injuries are much more amusing and less painful to ruminate upon.
For instance, he was once balancing himself on his chair. His knees were at the edge of the seat, and his feet were bent against the back of his chair.
I snapped at the boy "Goddammit, boy, why am I snapping at you now?"
Someone else says:
The Teacher's Pet raises his hand, and starts bouncing in his chair. "He are not taking the seat properly!"
"No," says The Little Smartass Who Could. "He are going to say I am not SITTING PROPERLY!"
He shouted that last bit for emphasis. It's the only way he knows how to pepper his speech, upping the volume. As he said "PROPERLY," though, he. . . he can't do two things at once, this boy. . . he toppled over the table, bringing it down to its side, bouncing his chest of the other, and finally sending the dome of his skull into the leg of the table in front of him.
I stood there. Couldn't move. The kids were laughing their asses off, just delighted to see this kid hurt. . . I guess. I do wonder why they really laughed. I try to stay out of these little monsters' heads, for my own good. But if I really had to say, I'd tell you that the kids laughed because they knew he wouldn't be hurt. Because he never gets hurt.
Which is why hearing his shriek, this afternoon, silenced the whole class. Everyone spun around in their seats. The boy had his hand over his right eye. I never really wanted to see an eye gouged out. But I decided that since I was there, I might as well take a closer look instead of crawling under my desk and assuming the fetal position while I waited for the cops and the media.
It turns out the fat kid's aim was off and he only stabbed the loudmouth in the face with a green, Bic Pilot oh-2 point oh-seven.
I don't mean to single either boy out, here. All of my boy's are equally stupid. Some have tolerable personalities. I even like some of them. But I can't say I'd put stabbing another boy in the eye past any male student of mine of any age. The other two boys in my class could very well have set each other on fire while I was dealing the fat kid and the little, wirey bastard that was braying like an ass and soaking his shoes in his own tears. They could have. Walking back to the room, I was actually prepared for it. Fortunately, they were pantomiming a sex-act known as The Piledriver when I returned.
I'd say something about that, but the girls seem to pay them to do it.
I admitted to the class that I'd always wondered what that damn kid sounded like, crying. I could recall a time at which every student but him had cried. The whole class actually got into that conversation.
We also talked about the time I'd lectured the kindergarten on the importance of never saying "Shut up." One of the kids had thrown it out and I'd hear nothing of it. I told them I wouldn't have that said in my classroom, yea and verily. And then the following afternoon when the Teacher's Pet started humping my leg and saying "Thank you," I told him to "Shut up, and get off my leg!"
And, by then, the class barker was back, bandaged and uncharacteristically quiet. He seemed much more focused than usual. His speech more controlled, too. I wondered for a minute if the pen hadn't punched through the kid's skull, somehow, lobotomizing him. I wondered if maybe I wouldn't be better off with a lobotomy.
"Kid," I said. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yes," he said. "But [The Fat Kid] is in big trouble."
"'Big trouble', eh?"
He nodded.
"What happened?" I asked.
"[The Fat Kid] was chewing on a pen. I turned around and he hit me."
"You mean you stabbed yourself in the face?"
"Yes."
The classroom laughed.
There's this kid. This boy. Name's not important. There are four boys. He's not the dumbest, which isn't saying all that much, but he is the loudest. Damned kid.
The kid's suffered plenty of psychological numbing, over the years. He very rarely responds to pain. He's the kid who gets his head slammed shut in a door and laughs about it. His inability to feel pain does not only go skin deep, either. But the stories surrounding his slapstick injuries are much more amusing and less painful to ruminate upon.
For instance, he was once balancing himself on his chair. His knees were at the edge of the seat, and his feet were bent against the back of his chair.
I snapped at the boy "Goddammit, boy, why am I snapping at you now?"
Someone else says:
The Teacher's Pet raises his hand, and starts bouncing in his chair. "He are not taking the seat properly!"
"No," says The Little Smartass Who Could. "He are going to say I am not SITTING PROPERLY!"
He shouted that last bit for emphasis. It's the only way he knows how to pepper his speech, upping the volume. As he said "PROPERLY," though, he. . . he can't do two things at once, this boy. . . he toppled over the table, bringing it down to its side, bouncing his chest of the other, and finally sending the dome of his skull into the leg of the table in front of him.
I stood there. Couldn't move. The kids were laughing their asses off, just delighted to see this kid hurt. . . I guess. I do wonder why they really laughed. I try to stay out of these little monsters' heads, for my own good. But if I really had to say, I'd tell you that the kids laughed because they knew he wouldn't be hurt. Because he never gets hurt.
Which is why hearing his shriek, this afternoon, silenced the whole class. Everyone spun around in their seats. The boy had his hand over his right eye. I never really wanted to see an eye gouged out. But I decided that since I was there, I might as well take a closer look instead of crawling under my desk and assuming the fetal position while I waited for the cops and the media.
It turns out the fat kid's aim was off and he only stabbed the loudmouth in the face with a green, Bic Pilot oh-2 point oh-seven.
I don't mean to single either boy out, here. All of my boy's are equally stupid. Some have tolerable personalities. I even like some of them. But I can't say I'd put stabbing another boy in the eye past any male student of mine of any age. The other two boys in my class could very well have set each other on fire while I was dealing the fat kid and the little, wirey bastard that was braying like an ass and soaking his shoes in his own tears. They could have. Walking back to the room, I was actually prepared for it. Fortunately, they were pantomiming a sex-act known as The Piledriver when I returned.
I'd say something about that, but the girls seem to pay them to do it.
I admitted to the class that I'd always wondered what that damn kid sounded like, crying. I could recall a time at which every student but him had cried. The whole class actually got into that conversation.
We also talked about the time I'd lectured the kindergarten on the importance of never saying "Shut up." One of the kids had thrown it out and I'd hear nothing of it. I told them I wouldn't have that said in my classroom, yea and verily. And then the following afternoon when the Teacher's Pet started humping my leg and saying "Thank you," I told him to "Shut up, and get off my leg!"
And, by then, the class barker was back, bandaged and uncharacteristically quiet. He seemed much more focused than usual. His speech more controlled, too. I wondered for a minute if the pen hadn't punched through the kid's skull, somehow, lobotomizing him. I wondered if maybe I wouldn't be better off with a lobotomy.
"Kid," I said. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yes," he said. "But [The Fat Kid] is in big trouble."
"'Big trouble', eh?"
He nodded.
"What happened?" I asked.
"[The Fat Kid] was chewing on a pen. I turned around and he hit me."
"You mean you stabbed yourself in the face?"
"Yes."
The classroom laughed.