last days of high school

In Geometry, Room 21: 8 out of 18 people in this room are asleep, including the student worker. Today is my last day. I would gladly sell my class notes to anyone for a dollar so I could buy a Cherry Coke.

Lunch: Apparently "pues" is the Spanish equivalent of "like." Hispanic teenagers say it way too much. It has a literal meaning, but most of the time it just starts and ends phrases. Good to know.

3rd Period, Room 18: What is it like not to care about school? What is it like to be a Muslim student? What is it like to be good at science/teach it? Why is it so cold in here? Why does the "bell" sound like an alarm clock? Why do these kids like me?

In the hallway: I spent about 5 minutes figuring out how to help my child grow up understanding that he or she was adopted. Why? I don't have an adopted child. Oh look, that's the first time I've ever seen that boy awake. Good to know he has eyeballs behind those eyelids.

4th Period, Room 15: The soccer team isn't here today, and this is the first day the room hasn't smelled like sweaty gym shorts. Coincidence? I think not.

Other: Oh, so that's how you call someone a dumba** in Spanish. Good to know.

Kindergarten

They make Kindergarten out to be some kind of fun club, like an all-day-every-day party with thirty of your favorite strangers and some woman your parents just met last week.

And then they expect you to hop right out of the car and waltz down the hall like you’re excited to sit in a cold room all day, trying to remember where they told you to sit and raising your hand every time you need to pee.

I caught a ride on Mama’s leg, gripping her knee cap for dear life with my new Reeboks dragging the floor. First day of school? No thanks.

Speaking of Reeboks, I couldn’t tie mine. Tying shoes is one of those things parents try to teach their kids before they go to school, even though it’s officially supposed to be learned in Kindergarten. Our class had these construction paper shoes with holes punched in them and yarn laced through so we could practice. Most everybody caught on pretty quick, probably because their parents wanted them to look extra smart, but every time I tried to pull the knot tight, the yarn would just hang loose like it was to begin with. So during story time, the teacher set me and some other kids to the side so we could keep practicing while we listened without being a distraction.

Dressed as my hero, Pippy Longstocking, with my shoes tied

Now reading, that was a different story. Some parents taught their kids how to tie bunny ear loops, but mine taught me how to 'sound it out.' I have a suspicion that they were really just tired of me begging them to read my favorite book all the time (I guess they didn’t mind tying my shoes). But I like to think they had more educated motives, like being in a rebel anti-sight-words group, or setting me up to be star student of the week and even star student of the year. Yes, I earned both of those distinguished awards, and eventually learned to tie my shoes. I thought the latter was less important because everyone knows that’s what velcro is for, right?

Paul Simon, Art Garfunkel, and Kevin Arnold

[If you're short on time, skip the following paragraph and insert "long, busy day with greasy hair."]

justice?

Life just ain't fair sometimes.

81 Faces

I sat at 'my' desk, wearing my trusty cardigan and penny loafers, armed with enrollment list and pencil. This one has dimples, that one has frizzy bangs. Round. Slender. The little boy with shaggy hair. The silent girl with a long braid. The loud one.

"practicum"

2nd grade was the last year I spent in public school.