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Her call was not to me, as rightfully so, but to the principal to whine about this cruel man who'd embarrassed her son, made him feel like a moron. A new letter was added to my file, entitled "Chalk Incident." I didn't make her son feel like a moron... he was proving it to himself with low marks in class. When you say don't talk in class to someone and it has to be repeated ten times a day, there's a certain lack of basic understanding that can also lead one to suspect he's a moron. Anyway, it was the seventh week of school, near the end of October, and Isiah was transferred to another teacher's class in order to maintain his self-respect. Exit one mouthy little ass hole. The following day, the principal called me into his office. I figured it was more from the "Chalk Incident," but learned instead that he had yet another letter he'd written he'd wanted me to sign. He'd received concerns from parents (I asked how many and he never answered) regarding my personal life. When I'd called him and needed someone with whom to talk, he gave me no regard. Now all of a sudden it was important because I was honest to my older students, letting them know the answer to their question, "Mr. Jones, what's wrong?" I was told by the principal that my purpose was to teach math and that I was not in a position in which to afford any other mistakes in judgement. Hey, did I mention our football team was winning games? Going into the last week of October the boys were 6-2 and assured a shot in the playoffs. At 4-1 in conference play (including the first time in school history to have beaten all three La Crosse high schools in the same season), just one more win at archrival Onalaska would mean their first conference championship in ten years. "Hey, Mr. Jones, are you coming to the game?" "Wouldn't miss it!" Onalaska High School was a convenient 15-minute walk from my apartment. At halftime I saw which gate our kids went out. With about a minute to play, up by less than a touchdown, one of my favorite students (who had clowned around in Algebra II and was truly hilarious, but Algebra II is not a class to clown around in and he failed... only to retake the course, transferring from another teacher's class into mine because he had something to prove to me, and passed with flying colors) intercepted a pass and the game was assured. Holmen students flooded onto the field as time ran out, and it was a joyous sight to behold. I waited at the gate off the field, and after ten minutes the players started filing out, each seeing me there applauding all of them, congratulating all those by name who'd been through my classes, and receiving hugs from six of them. The pride and elation on their faces was nothing less than beautiful. |