I didn’t wanna do it.
I believe in discretion and sublimation and all those other forms of swallowing the impressions offered in overflowing cup quantitities.
But. I can’t do it. I need to spill.
October 7, 2011
It’s been another week. Highlights: 2 students begged me to teach them, let them learn. I loved it! Thank you S of Grade 11 and O of Grade 9.
to G of Grade 8 – it was nice to have you and sorry to see you promoted to a higher class. That’s how the cookie crumbles and besides, I’m off sugar.
The joy of a student bringing clear nail polish to class. Opening the bottle releasing an initial stink and then proceeding to paint the desk of another student, a student who’s obsessive compulsive and can’t bear any flaw on his writing surfaces.
The polish was promised to be buried away in the backpack of the offender, but no. Surreptiously, the fluid was painted upon a piece of paper. Paper was solemnly thrown into the garbage bin.
The birthday balloons hovering in the classroom had to be burst. Then the mess had to be swept up. The cleanup was conducted by G, a student known for his utter lack of self-control and his propensity for aggression. No problem. None. Until… Z showed up at the door of the classroom, cursed G in a discrete whisper and found himself clobbered over the head with the nail polished piece of paper – still wet, still dangerous and still “applicable”
G then warned me, his teacher, not to rat him out, but within 2 seconds, G found it necessary to chase R, the nail-polishing student, and wrap him in a deadly headlock.
One lesson. One more lesson in a continuing series of end-of-the-week absurdities in the history of this particular class.
It’s true. I haven’t reported the previous weeks.
I’ll let it out.
R required white-out fluid. I refused him. A fellow student lent it to him. Within seconds, R uttered in surprise: OH! as he watched flames dancing merrily from a piece of ignited paper.
A found it necessary to dry-hump the doorframe of the classroom. After being admonished to cease and desist, he continued to vibrate throughout the lesson until he decided to engage G (yes, the infamous G) in boyish repertoire. Fists soon appeared and this teacher deciding against standing between the two called in reinforcements.
that’s all i’m gonna say. Oh except….
the episodes where the students decided to pull out their rulers to measure their ears. (thank god only ears, i thought)…. or to compare underarm hair (thank god only underarm air, others commented when i reported this)
This particular class has no female students (the only one fled in terror after the first lesson).
this teacher is utterly happy that we are now on a 2 week break.
may she rest and nurse her headache and nausea – is it the odour of 800,000 new chicks being bred in the spanking new chickenhouses conveniently located right outside the kibbutz and unavoidably positioned between her and the rest of the country?
no photos of the nausea nor of the aforementioned incidents.
I did manage to photograph a class of Grade 7 kids into silence, but i’m forbidden from publishing their cherubic faces.
have a good day.