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Last week, the school district was terrorizing us by holding unemployment over our heads. So far, I've managed to lay low. I told my students to warn me if they saw a principal coming my way to which I would initiate a flight or FLIGHT response. I don't have a fight response due to my tapered joints. (I have skinny ankles and wrists, but they make me an unexpectedly fast sprinter.)
One day after school, one of my struggling pre-ap students came in to finish some work and get some things straight. He had been emailing me about his recent absences and missing assignments. He told me that he transferred to a pre-ap class to prove to his younger siblings that success was an option for them. Apparently, his older siblings were not the best of role models. On top of this, he works more than part time so that he can afford a car. I asked him if work were a necessity. His impetus was two-fold. Firstly, he had to get out of the house. Unfortunately, the environment is quite unbearable due to his slacker older brother who taunts him for trying so hard. Secondly, he wanted to purchase a vehicle so that he could stay at school after hours and get help in his classes. This would also help him get to and from ACC during the summer. He hopes to graduate early and get some college courses out of the way to save money. Mind you, this is the first time I had ever spoken with him so in depth about his life. At the conclusion of our conversation, he thanked me. He thanked me for being his physics teacher. Up to this point, I didn't feel like I ever gave him extra attention or went out of my way for him. Up to this point, the week was a shitty week. The month was a shitty month. The whole damn semester was just an utter shitstorm. But this, this made up for everything. I had forgotten what that was like, genuine, selfless gratitude. When was the last time I said something like that? I don't think I ever have. Maybe only in writing.
The other day, a few students were playing MASH instead of doing their class work. If you aren't familiar with it, it involves pencil, paper, and predicting such things as your future home: Mansion, Apartment, Shack, or House. One of the other more fatalistic students and I concurred that most of the students in that class could only play the game of S. The dreamers could only smh us.
On April 1st, they pelted me with cascarones. Luckily, it was pre-ap, and they throw with their nerd arms.