Living Out Loud

Sixth graders have to be chastised often. Their collective attention span is that of a woodland creature, so when I have coaxed them into silence I can expect that quiet bliss to last a maximum 3 minutes, 27 seconds. On days like today then, when I am subbing for all 6th grade classes, I yell quite a bit. I like to start out the class with a fair warning (today it sounds like this, "Do not tempt me, if I hear your voice I will send you to the office"; other days I give them three strikes or something like that). On these days when I'm forced to reprimand my students an average of 32 times each period, I am so reminded of the old fogies I hated that I have to stifle my grin when I hear myself say the phrases that tumble out of my mouth:

"Because I'm the teacher."

"I don't need your help."

"If you so much as look at your neighbor, you'll come up here and sit with me."

"I don't need an echo."

"What part of silence did you not understand?"

"If you'd rather hear the principal tell you to behave, we can take the issue to the office."

"If I have to say your name one more time, that's a referral. End of story."

"No, you cannot go anywhere, so don't ask."

"When I say stop talking, I don't mean when you're done with your conversation."

The thoughts in my head go more like this:

"What are the chances that kid'll cry when I write him up? I can't deal with that."

"If I break down and cry, will they laugh at me or feel bad and be quiet?"

"I have never harmed a child, but there's a first time for everything..."