Ah, the joys of teaching thirteen-year-olds.
They’re so, soooo close to growing up, so painfully close to that point where they just…I don’t know, get it, and everything just clicks, and they realize farting and “That’s what she said,” jokes aren’t funny anymore. These moments of realization are unfortunately few and far between, especially when eighth-grade boys are involved. I remember thinking it was creepy for senior boys to date freshman girls, until I became a teacher and realized these girls have been desperately waiting for someone who won’t burp in their faces or quote Family Guy at every available opportunity. You know exactly what I mean. We all know someone who says “Giggity,” who’s asking to get punched in the throat.
A few weeks ago, I was teaching vocabulary for the mystery genre, and we talked about Sherlock Holmes/the power of deduction. Their vocab word was “deduce.” I present to you the following exchange:
- Colin: What’s that word?
- Me: Deduce. It means to use clues to solve a mystery.
- Colin: OH, because I thought you were talking about DE DEUCE I DROPPED IN THE TOILET LAST NIGHT OHHHHHH.
I should have seen it coming today. The vocab word was rapier, as in, a sword. You see where this is going. “The Cask of Amontillado,” now has three characters, apparently: Montresor, Fortunato, and Bill Cosby.
Sometimes, during lunch, I physically squeeze myself beneath my desk and turn out the lights so I can choke down my food without anyone bothering me or screaming my name repeatedly. It’s 1:48 PM. Starting today, administration is making us play an audiobook to the kids for twenty-five minutes each day. Redhead Dennis is now running through my door, making fake puke noises, and I want to die a little bit.
I wish my kids were old enough for me to show them this video, because I think they’d benefit immensely.