That Time I Made a Reference to His Balls

It's Thursday, heifers!  Time to hook up with Mama Kat for her weekly Writer's Workshop.  If you haven't read her blog, you must.  She is pee-your-pants funny.  And she has the best writing prompts for bloggers.  She gets those memory juices a-stirrin', ya know?

Today, I'm going with prompt #4:  

We’re too old to be getting in trouble…aren’t we? Write about a time you were scolded…as an adult.

Yes, I am as old as Methuselah.  Thanks for pointing that out.

However, teaching was not my first profession.  I spent many years torturing myself daily at WeShip* Corporation.  I was a numbers cruncher building beautiful spreadsheets on toilet paper variances.  When my job began to include multi-page reports on the costs associated with lawn care, I bailed.  I was literally losing my mind, people!  Um..huh...  What about the gazillion dollars we waste each day on the 400 layers of management??? What about the catering costs associated with the pre-briefs and the pre-pre-briefs before the pre-meetings before the meetings???  Just a thought, Mr. Smith...

Still, teaching high school has its own set of challenges.  Even with an M.B.A. and a pin-striped suit, you can make a complete ass out of yourself.  In front of an entire room of hormonal teenagers who are just waiting for you to screw up.   

And much like most professions, the fine art of teaching is learned through trial and error.  There's no training program, really.  Don't get me wrong, there is a great deal of preparation that one must complete before going into a classroom -- you must be an "expert" in your area with a degree that includes courses in education like child psychology, accommodations for those with special needs, and diversity.  Additionally, as is the case with most other professions, none of that makes a hill of beans when it comes to actually *doing* the thing we call teaching.  Essentially you are placed in a classroom with 30 kids and a textbook.  For 90 minutes!  Here's your rosters, Mrs. LB??  Enjoy! 

I typically do not blog about that part of my life.  Yes, I realize I am missing out on a wealth of material, but that whole student-teacher confidentiality thingamajig is such a scary, gray area.  I just don't want to blab about something and then find out later that I shouldn't have.  You know, I do have a big mouth.  And while my blabbery is never out of malice, it can get me in trouble.  I'm honest to a fault.  

For this story, though, I think I will make an exception.  After all, this happened about six years ago, and it's not really about a child.  This is more about how ignorant I was when I first started the whole teaching gig.  Not that I don't do ignorant shit anymore, but let's just say I'm a bit less impulsive than I used to be.  The threat of lawsuit will do that to you.


To say my first year or so was crazy as hell a bit trying, is like saying 9/11 was just a little fire.  I am just lucky that no one was harmed.  Or at least I hope not.  If I could, I would give a personal apology to every student under my care for those first two years.  Seriously.

If you're reading this, I'm sorry.

AnyIwasinwayovermyhead, one student in particular has already had the pleasure of getting his personal apology.  I taught Johnny economics his senior year.  Because I was a new teacher who had no clue that I was boring my students to tears, day after day I stood in front of the classroom and lectured for 90 minutes.  About supply and demand and the national debt and foreign policy.

Stop your yawning, dammit!  I know now, okay??

Poor Johnny was no economist.  He was a third generation farmer.  He didn't care about communism or monetary policy.  He was just trying to graduate.  And stay awake!  So every day, he'd sit in the back of my classroom and make strange sounds to entertain his friends.  And every day, I'd tell him to stop.  And every day, his response would be "What??  I'm not doing anything!"

One day near the end of the school year, I was experiencing severe PMS.  I was literally ready to put a cap in the first person who crossed me.  I'm sure I'd been a royal bi-otch the entire day.  By the time the last period of the day rolled around, my head felt as if it was on fire.  Picture the Heat Miser from the movie, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

As usual, Johnny showed up for his daily performance.  Apparently, he was particularly amusing that day because his friends were laughing uncontrollably.  When I asked him to stop, he, of course, responded with "What??  I'm not doing anything!"


Those five little words were the trigger.  I went off!  To the entire class!  For a good fifteen minutes.  I don't remember exactly what I said, but I do remember that it ended with something like:

Ya know, there's nothing I can't stand more than a coward.  Seriously, if you are going to do something you should at least have the BALLS to step up and admit to it.

*Yep, I said "balls."  Pick up your jaw.  Teachers are human, too, ya know.*


Before I could even stop myself, those words came out.  I was so aggravated with Johnny.  Worse, I was extremely pissed at myself for having allowed him to act in that manner for an entire semester without doing anything to correct it.

Needless to say, I received a visit from my principal the next morning.  Mr. Boatley was, and still is, the epitome of professionalism.  Furthermore, he was a stern, fatherly type who would express his disappointment in that extremely polite manner that made you want to crawl under a rock.  I felt just like I did that time in 5th grade when I went to the Principal's office for calling Donna Trahan the b-word.

The conversation went something like this:

"Mrs. LB, I hate to interrupt your class, but I just got off the phone with a parent.  Do you know Johnny Doe?  I believe he's in your fourth period economics class?  Yes, well his mother called me regarding an incident from yesterday.  Did you say something to Johnny about not having any balls?"

*crickets*

I nearly shit a brick right there.  In that hallway.  The lump in my throat was the size of Zimbabwe.  Yes, sir.  I'm afraid I did.  Though he didn't actually scold me, he didn't have to.  I hung my head in shame, and proceeded to recount the entire episode.  I apologized at which time he suggested that I do the same to Johnny. 

I did apologize to Johnny.  And his mother, for that matter.  Although Johnny made my life a living hell that year, my apology was sincere.  Oh, I meant what I said.  I still take issue with people refusing to accept responsibility for their actions.  That will never change.  However, I was sorry for having lost control.  And it bothered me even more to have disappointed Mr. Boatley.

* The company name was changed to protect those poor, innocent fools still working there.