Wait . . . You Want Me To Copy That Down?

School started for me yesterday.

I teach periods 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, and 7 with a 30-minute "lunch" at period 4. By the time I make it to 8th period, I am beat beyond belief (alliteration, kids . . . note the repetition of the initial consonants). I sincerely want to take off my shoes  at 8th when I eat a proper lunch, but I know damn well that I wouldn't get them back on again to leave the building, and walking across the parking lot barefooted would benefit no one. Today, we had a student punch another in the stomach. He wound up being internally suspended. When I went in to check on him, he was sitting with his shirt up and his navel exposed. "Boy, is it hot," he sighed. Not that I didn't admire his creativity in solving his heat issues or the fact that he was completely correct in his detective work that is was hot, but seriously, I don't want to see his belly button. I've had eyes rolled at me so violently that I feared they might slide out of the child's head. They openly question why I have give a writing assignment so soon in the school year. But some students belly laugh during a goofy video I used to demonstrate the power of a goal to the point that I questioned if I had the right clip cued up. I'm learning more about the autistic spectrum than I ever thought I would need, and yet I don't feel as if I know a damn thing about it. Already, I've had three students cry for reasons I have yet to determine, and five students from the previous year hug me and ask to be taken back. I look at the quiet student sitting by herself and wonder how long it is going to take for her to say, "Hello," to me or any other breathing human. The boy next to her? I ask God how long it will take for him to sit in silence during a lesson and get it.

Clearly, I took this before I started back to school

This was day two . . . and I still love my job.

- Jill, who will attempt to pick up a camera soonish to take a photograph or two