Miss Martin & Me

Middle schoolers are volatile, like a Diet Coke just waiting for its Mento- the seemingly innocent candy catalyst that will cause them to erupt.

For the most part I’ve given up trying to understand what sets them off in these rapid downward spirals. I don’t think anyone would disagree with me when I state that 12 year olds are not the most reasonable level-headed demographic of humans. But every now and then- they surprise me.

5th period is my favorite class. Any teacher that says they don’t have a favorite class needs to run to the bathroom because their pants are on fire. 5th period is talkative, funny and smart. Sometimes they are equally annoying, rude and ignorant. But mostly it’s the first set of adjectives.

Today, the 5th period students discovered that my time with them was limited, as I’m leaving December 3rd to go graduate and be an adult and all that. Some of my more humor inclined boys came up with what they believed to be sensible scenarios to get me to stay.
Their plans included:
Lock Miss Martin in the classroom at night and bring her breakfast every morning.
Bribe her to stay with money they could get from “hustlin’”
Refuse to do any work if I left

I let the brainstorming go on for a few minutes because honestly it was really flattering and I wanted to string the ego trip out because I was having a bad hair day. Finally I reined them in to refocus on the quiz game we were playing. That went on fine for a bit, till they all simultaneously got quarters stuck in their metaphorical slots and the noise level in the room spiked up.

One of my particularly favorite students is *Dillion. He’s already taller than me, a fact he likes to bring up when I ask where his homework is, or tell him he can’t leave class to go to the bathroom. He has an impish grin that covers half his face and a thick Chicago accent (he lived there 10 of his 12 years). His accent is so thick that sometimes I pick him to read things aloud just to hear his voice. Dillion is a class clown and the definite ringleader of the other 20 kids in the class.

Anyway. Sometimes when I’m having difficultly capturing the students’ attention away from their personal conversations, Dillion likes to take it upon himself to end the commotion. Today was one of those instances.

As I stood at the front of the room calling for quiet (that’s ironic), Dillion rose to his feet and clapped his hands loudly.
“You guys!” he yelled.
A result of the magic power of a popular peer, the class shut up.

“Thank you, Dillion,” I said, genuinely grateful.
But he wasn’t done apparently.

“Miss Martin, I gots a comment!” he said.
I mentally sigh. Dillion often gets ‘comments,’ really his way of getting everyone to listen to him ramble out his opinion for 2-3 minutes. But he did just silence his classmates for me. The quiz game is boring. So I give in.
“Okay, Dillion. Let’s hear your comment.”

Dillion is still standing and now that he possesses the imaginary spotlight, he’s taking his time. He pauses to adjust his tall tee and dramatically clear his throat. What he says next, I was not expecting.

“You guys know Miss Martin is abandoning us on December 3rd. So you fools don’t go talkin’ when she’s tryin’ to teach.”
Now I’m really touched and he should’ve stopped there and I would have just remembered this as a nice heartfelt moment. However- he continued.

“It’s like the movie ‘Marley & Me.’ Everyone loved that crazy dog and then it died and everyone was all sad.”
Dillion wiped away a fake tear.
“Brace yo selves for that sad feelin’ on December 3rd.”

At this point the class is gone- lost in laughter and yelling out their own delightful comments. Dillion plopped down in his seat looking quite pleased at how quickly he triggered chaos. It took me almost a solid 5 minutes to obtain some form of quiet and continue the review. Thankfully no one else had a speech.

Then the bell rang and 5th period stampeded out and I was left in the bliss of conference period.

In conclusion, I can really only say I’m flattered. There are definitely worse things to be compared to than a Labrador. This is just an example that 7th graders’ spontaneity doesn’t always have to lean towards fist fights and breaking down in sobs in the hallway. Sometimes you get thrown a curveball of a really sentimental speech about how you’re loved like a boisterous family pet.

I’ll take it.