Three years ago, I had a boy in my freshman English class named John. John was, and probably still is, one of the most difficult students in the building. It's not that he is bound for a life of crime or anything, but he has one of the worst cases of ADHD that I've ever seen, and he seems to get off on aggravating his teachers. Furthermore, he is one of those endlessly frustrating kids who is completely intelligent and capable, yet he has amassed a total of three credits in his four years of high school due to a complete inability to turn in any work. The funny thing is that I am one of the few teachers who never had a problem with John. I had him for two years (he had to be removed from his sophomore lit class and I was the only one who would take him) and, although I wouldn't say he was well-behaved and he didn't receive one of those illusive three credits from me, I was never able to share in the horror stories once some of his other teachers liked to share while waiting in line for the copy machine. For whatever reason, John liked me and, as a consequence, he didn't torture me. Thank God for small favors.
I hadn't thought about John in years, but this year he is taking a credit recovery class (two actually - he has a lot of credits to, ahem, "recover") which happens to meet directly across the hall from my classroom. Occasionally, John pops into my room during that hour to say hello, borrow a set of markers, complain about a write-up he received, show me the pair of crutches he stole - you know, normal student-teacher stuff. I've gotten used to John's visits, but I was rather disarmed by his most recent one. The coversation went a little something like this:
Huh. Every day is a weird little gift, you know?
I hadn't thought about John in years, but this year he is taking a credit recovery class (two actually - he has a lot of credits to, ahem, "recover") which happens to meet directly across the hall from my classroom. Occasionally, John pops into my room during that hour to say hello, borrow a set of markers, complain about a write-up he received, show me the pair of crutches he stole - you know, normal student-teacher stuff. I've gotten used to John's visits, but I was rather disarmed by his most recent one. The coversation went a little something like this:
John: Mrs. -, do you have a copy of The Odyssey?
Me: You mean the excerpts from the 9th grade textbook? Sure, here.
John: No, I was hoping you had the full text.
Me: The complete Odyssey? What do you need with that? It's like 500 pages, you know.
John: Oh, I know. I've already read it. I was hoping you had Fitzgerald's translation.
Me: Well, I know I have it somewhere at home, but I don't know who translated it.
John: Yeah, I've read a few translations, but I like Fitzgerald's the best. He had this way of making you visualize the action, you know?
Me: Sure. What are you doing, in class? Writing a paper on Greek mythology or something?
John: No. I was just bored and I wanted to read it again. I figured that if anyone would have Fitzgerald's translation it would be you.
Me: (feeling intense disappointment at not having that particular translation) Well, nope, sorry John. Why don't you get back to class, huh?
John: Yeah, I will. Actually, my butt-hole teacher messed up my attendance again, so I have to go yell at her.
Me: Okay, John. Good luck with that.
Huh. Every day is a weird little gift, you know?
1 Comments:
Huh. I also had a student (one I've never had before) pop in looking for Fitzgerald's translation this week - alas, I only had Lattimore. I wonder if it's the same guy? (I mean, what are the odds of two kids in our school wanting to read that?) Odd. But at the same time, what a cool kid ;)
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