Mr. Big

Yeah, yo da shiz-nit. Fo shizzle.

Pants hanging blithely under the buttocks (how???),  you sway into my class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Ears plugged with the detrius of the latest rapper, giving each fellow student in your way the upwards-chin-jut or the one-arm-across-the-chest body thump.

O! The gleaming white of your K-Swisses.

O! The gladness you bring with your basketball jerseys, emblazoned with the colors of Demver, of L.A., of Florida.

You strike quite the figure of glorious youth, you tall, Kanye-lovin’ hoodlum.

And they admire you. They watch you, waiting for the latest slammin’ jab at your teacher, the latest witty repartee, the latest hit from your world papered by MTV.

But only I know, when I watch your grade plummeting, of your exquisite inability to function academically. Only I sit at home, huddled over the latest essay dealing with “You’re Gr8test Heeroe”, wondering where we both went wrong. I alone am witness to the downfall of such a bright star.

And the knowledge is deafening, roaring in my ears as you make the witty remark which sends the class into stitches. When the high-fives are given, the winks from the chicks in the back finished, the breath I take before launching into the next section of the text is one reeking of the desire to snap back, to bring you down a notch, to crush you with the scepter from my ivory tower.

And I hold it.

And center myself, and move on.


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9 Responses to Mr. Big

  1. amy2boys says:

    This is so sad. I don’t know how you do it.

  2. KathyB! says:

    Thank goodness for people like you who try anyway, in spite of their frustration.

    Thank goodness you have some restraint!!!

  3. incognitomom says:

    It’s really hard to walk that line between wanting to bring them down so they realize “it’s not all good” and holding back in hopes that you are not the one who finally crushes that last bit of hope they might have in themselves. While they put those rappers and athletes on pedestals, they often forget the real heroes are the people like you.

  4. insider53 says:

    At least you try, can’t do more than that

  5. Gibby says:

    When I was in college, one of the basketball team stars was in my community health class (he was a senior, I was a freshman), and though he did come every day, he suspiciously was never, ever there on exam or presentation days. Burned me up.

  6. Ah, it’s so hard to be mature and hold your tongue. I’ve been there.

  7. Catherine says:

    My sister is a kindergarten teacher and she had to tell a student of hers to please pull up his pants (that were so far South, she feared a wardrobe malfunction) and the snotty 5-year-old replied, “Nah Miss, I don’t feel like it.” Maybe I’m getting old, but that’s just not cute.

  8. I don’t know how you do it…see…I think the yelling across the parking lot part of me would come out… or at least some comment, like… …”Your grades are as low as those pants” or some other snarky comment. Can you just remember…”Palo que nace doblao…jamas se endereza”

  9. faemom says:

    That was a great post. You’re a good teacher, a good person, to let it roll off your back and worry for the kid.

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