In teaching, you encounter a large number of students each year, some new, some old. I have taught as many as 200 kids in one year. In a number that large, you are bound to have some "bad eggs", and by "bad eggs" I clearly mean students that make the Children of the Corn look friendly. I have heard teachers say that after having terrible students, they eliminate that name from their baby name list. At this rate, I am going to have to name my children Tugboat and Pillow, and we all know, that only works for celebrities, and even then, they look like assholes.
I would rather spend an evening with Chuckie than see any of these students again...ever. Here are a few of the names, and the reasons why I wouldn't even name my dog after one of these monsters...(I'll do this in installments so that it doesn't get too long)
Christopher- Christopher was in 2nd grade when I had him, and he was well on his way to becoming a regular on America's Most Wanted. If we had had superlatives at the elementary level, I would have voted him "Most Likely to Burn Down an Orphanage" or "Most Likely to Kick a Puppy". This kid was just naturally evil. It reminded me of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince when Dumbledore visited young Tom Riddle and he said "I can make them hurt if I want to..." That was Chris. His heavily freckled face contorted into a menacing smile was more than enough reason for you to wake up in the middle of the night and make sure your doors are locked.
For the 3 months I was at this school, Chris was a living nightmare. I wondered why his classroom teacher was always so relieved to drop her class off at music. It didn't take me long to realize she probably used those precious 40 minutes to cry and pray for the sweet release of death. Like all bullies, Chris had a cronie, Jack, and a punching bag, Joey. Jack and Chris were not allowed to sit on the same side of the room. As much as the 2 liked each other, if there was no one else to pick on, they would start on each other. It wasn't enough that these kids were separated by an entire classroom of their peers, they needed to be separated from society by barbed wire fences, several feet of concrete, and titanium bars. Poor, Joey was at least 6 inches shorter than everyone in the class, even in second grade. His olive skin, thick black hair that met in a widow's peak in the front, and his shorts that didn't meet his knobby knees made him look like Eddie Munster. This kid never had a chance.
Chris would TORMENT him and most classes ended with Joey crying over Chris simply looking at him. Their poor teacher would show up at the end of music, hold Joey's hand back to class and pull Chris's red card on the board, meaning no recess. I think that it would have been more productive to put him in "The Chokey" from Matilda, but this was public school. One day, Chris decided to hide his sneaky tactics and he and Jack decided instead to make an all out assault on poor Joey. All class they picked on him until I was forced to speak with them alone after staring the kids on the song. I told them that I would be calling home and that they would spend their recess in the Principal's office for the rest of the week. Jack cracked like Humpty Dumpty and said that he was sorry and that he didn't mean it. Chris however, glared at me, his eyes attempting to pierce my soul and and he said in a gravely voice no 7 year old should possess, "I. HOPE. YOU. DIE." Now, I had decided early in my career that I wouldn't let my students get to me, because, ultimately, their opinions of me were already biased because I was the authority figure. We weren't on equal playing field, so they were not able to see me in any other light. Also, I didn't care. I bent down to his level (something they tell you to do so that the kid will really be engaged) and said to him in a forceful tone, "NOT TODAY, CHRIS!"
He was shocked that his words didn't kill me, that I wasn't writhing on the ground begging for mercy. He lost all privileges that week, spending his hour of recess in the main office lobby, torturing the poor secretaries no doubt. His bullying of poor Joey continued during the rest of my time there. On my last day there, I let the kids color and watch Fantasia. Chris drew a picture of a shark eating Joey while he (chris) dropped a million pound anvil on his head. I met the school psychologist that day and when I handed her the drawing she sighed, shook her head, and said "I'll put it with the others." Oh, REALLY?!?!?! THERE ARE OTHERS?!?!?! This kid belongs in an asylum, not a school...thankfully, I got the hell out of there!
Jimmy- Jimmy was a sweet talker. He's the kind of kid that could call you a bitch (yeah, he swore, charming right?) and then try and convince you he never said it. I saw right through that facade and called him out on everything. In 4th grade, we played recorder, and, if you didn't behave, you had to finger along on a pencil, while all of your friends played. Jimmy called the boy behind him a dick, so naturally, I handed him a pencil, a pink one, to add insult to injury. He spent the period whining that I was unfair and that I just hated him for no reason. I was teaching the students the 4th song in the Recorder Karate packet, in the Dojo that was my classroom, when Jimmy finally snapped. He screamed at the top of his lungs, ran to the back of the room and picked up a rhythm stick. He wielded it like a light sabre, and charged at the boy who got him in trouble. Thankfully, with my Ninja speed (I can play ALL of the Recorder Karate songs) I intercepted him, scooped him up in one arm and started towards the office, with his legs kicking behind me. I told him once we got there and I sat him down that I would be calling his Mom and Dad and he looked at me, unblinking and said, as if to show me who's boss, "Oh yeah? Well my Dad's in prison." Awesome. I have disciplined a convict's kid. He is probably going to issue a fatwa to kill me and I am going to end up dead in the street after trying to buy some oranges at a farmer's market. Unlike Don Coreleone, I don't think I will be as lucky...
Crystal- I never understood people's need to name their children after "pretty things". Crystal, Diamond, Ruby, Most Precious (yeah, I went to school with a Most Precious). It has been my experience (and of course, there are exceptions) that the prettier the name, the more awful the kid. Crystal was no exception. She would have been more appropriately named Samara or if she was a boy, Daemon. Hell hat no fury like a 5th grade girl. They think they know everything, they're always on the offensive, and they don't like change. I was filling in a maternity leave position for their regular teacher and Crystal was one of her favorite students. She felt threatened that I was there and was determined to make my life hell. The joke was on her, I was teaching elementary school in the middle of nowhere NY, this was my hell. The whole time I was there, she never shut up. She hated the music I did, she didn't like the warm-ups, she didn't like her spot on the risers, and she asked me every day when the other teacher was coming back. "Not soon enough", I thought to myself. A few weeks in, Crystal started skipping class and I started getting really great at writing referrals. I called home and there was never any answer and my messages went unreturned. I thought it was no surprise that Crystal had earned herself a failing grade in chorus (oh yeah, I fail people. I don't care who you are, if you don't do the work, you certainly pay for it later on). The day report cards came out, Crystals mother called my Principal demanding a meeting with me. I met with Crystal's mother and the Principal later that afternoon.
Crystal's mother was a lovely woman, and I expected nothing less after having the pleasure of teaching her daughter. She came into the meeting, guns blazing, calling me a racist, a hack, and insulting my profession (This is JUST music! It doesn't even matter!) After refraining from insulting her occupation, which was most likely sanitation worker, prison lunch lady, or professional Publisher's Clearinghouse applicant, I calmly explained that I had contacted her several times to talk about her daughter's behavior in my course. I brought in a log of the phone call dates that I had kept (something I learned to do while student teaching) and presented it to her. Her large bejeweled sausage fingers closed around the print-out and her eyes went as wide as the dinner plates she gave to the inmates. She claimed she never received any messages and after I confirmed her phone number, the crushing realization of what had happened finally overwhelmed her. Apparently, she got home after Crystal, leaving her in the care of her older brother. Crystal must have caught on early and deleted my messages before her mother got home. Long story short, Crystal never missed another chorus class again and I think she learned not to mess with me.
To be continued...
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