Madness from Middle School
Those fools thought I was taking attendance; little did they know I was mentally adding them to a list I titled in my mind as "ASSHOLES". Eagerly, one by one, "Here" they responded. I laugh inside. It took all my will not snort out in laughter but instead I smiled amused by my most recent thought. “Fucking idiots! The world is better off without any of you.” Yes, that’s right. I must stay focused and maintain my dignity, I kept reminding myself. I knew it was crucial I remain composed; never give a clue to what lies ahead.
Fifteen years ago, I can still remember how bright-eyed and willing to please I was. Obtaining a teaching contract had proven to be more difficult that people assume. Nobody was handing out a job to me. Nope. I never get things that easily. I have always struggled and clawed my way.
I sure was grateful that little old me landed a spot on the faculty list. I was the new 8th grade teacher at Chelsea Middle School. Shabby buildings, with a crapier coat of Yeast green paint. I had wished someone would provide the school for some kind of grant where a paint job was involved. This school was Home of the Rebels! How suiting and yet Hilarious! A Rebel, that’s exactly what I was. It wasn’t by choice but happened to be how I knew to survive.
I grew up lower class. I had looks and brains, and back then, a body that was rocking’. I was my own worst enemy. Guys wanted one thing, girls hated me. Teachers tried saving me. I just wanted out of the cycle I was weaved into.
I realized that being 23 years old and a first year teacher was either going to make or break me. Man oh man I can think back and inhale the familiar smell. Ever notice how distinctive the lingering chalk, pencil shavings, and dried glue has on a place? I loved it!
The classroom was located near the front office. I was conveniently located next to a watering fountain and teacher’s lounge. Across me was a...