Answers From the Kids 2.0: My Doppelganger

“We all need mirrors to remind ourselves who we are...I’m no different.”

- Memento

You know how when you see someone for the first time in years? Well, I would venture to guess with about 95.2% sureness that one of you will say "you've changed" or "you look so different!" When you consider why, the answer is pretty simple:  a good amount of time has passed between encounters.  Ironically, we can then look at ourselves on a daily basis and not think anything of change due to the context of time. 

There was also scientific report that I read over once that basically said that we only know and see ourselves in pictures and reflections, that if we actually saw ourselves in the flesh, we wouldn't recognize our own being because our perception of ourselves is so different from our actual physical appearance. We spend our whole lives looking at the save visage every day, yet we wouldn't be able to identify ourselves in the real world.

Over the years, people say I've changed a lot:  

“Oh, you've gotten thinner!”

"You look like you’re in great shape!"

"Your hair looks longer/shorter!"

"My, you look older!"

"Boy...I can still remember when you were fat in high school!"

I usually didn't know what to say, because I see the same thing every day:  that same smug turd that gawks back at me creepily in the morning.  I would imagine that if pressed, most of us would probably struggle to describe ourselves to someone in a realistic fashion.  We know our basic features, like blue eyes or brown hair; but would be be able to truly describe what we look like? Would it be accurate? My second year of teaching gave me a revelation, as I "discovered" my true form...

As usual, I began the year with my annual interest inventory, and included most of the same questions, namely the final one:

“Mr. W looks like a ______________________________.”

Now the general responses varied, as they did in the previous year, however, this year was different...very different.  A trend began.  The responses weren't so random anymore.  It’s as if the students synced together, or had some kind of a cerebral merging.  Mind you they had no time to discuss their responses, as not only was this the first day, but many of these students were brand new and, therefore, didn't really know anyone.

Here are some of the responses, according to category:

Age

a young man (x2), a teenager (x2), a 19 year old...

Ok, I’ll buy that.  I was still in my early 20’s at the time. No shame in youth.

Awesomeness?

a doctor, a football player, an actor, a movie star (x2), a person off Leverage(?), a country singer (x2), a rock star (x3), an idol singer, a man model...

Aw, shucks you guys.  You really think so?

Anger

a monkey, a short person

Alright, let's pump the breaks a bit there, wise-ass...

Naturally, a good portion responses ranged from basic things like “teacher” and “a nice person.”  There were even some flattering responses, too.  They thought I looked like an actor/football-player/rock-star/model?!  Well that’s pretty cool...

But there was one single answer that vaulted itself above the rest, beginning that year.  A response that still hangs over me with every successive class:

Zac Efron.

Mind you, this was several years ago, so I Googled him, unsure of what it would unleash....

Oh, shit…

THAT KID FROM HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL?!

As I paged through all the responses, about 1 out of every 3 had the same response:  
“Zak Efron” 
“Zach Efron”
“Zach Effron”
“That one guy from High School Musical.” 
I didn't really look like him, did I?  Was it the eyes?  The hair?  That was probably it.  Probably because I have blue eyes and shaggy hair.  Well at least that was out of the way.  The students answered the questions, and we can move on. I will probably never hear about this again from anyone ever....

It was like that scene from Groundhog Day where “Ned Ryerson” bumps into Phil Connors every day with the same excitement as they walk toward the ceremony to see Punxsutawney Phil....

...only, instead of “do you remember me?” it was, “do you know who you look like?”  And every time, it was as if they were the FIRST PERSON EVER to make the discovery that I resembled a gentleman from a shitty Disney teenage musical.  

Worst of it was, they would always phrase it that *I* looked like *him*.  I am nearly two years older (4 days short, to be exact) than Zac Efron.  If anything *he* looks like *me*.  But they're middle schoolers: they didn't give a shit.  Much like Bill Murray’s character in Groundhog Day, I eventually gave up questioning the fact. I can never escape.

Fast forward to October of this year:

Parent: "(Student) really enjoys your class!  This is the first time I think she has ever had a science teacher she likes!"

Mr. W: "Well that's great...I'm glad she's enjoying science."

Parent: "Ok.  I have to tell you, since you seem like such a laid-back guy..."

Mr. W: "Ok..."

Parent: "She and I were talking after back-to-school night...has anyone ever told you that you look like Zac Efron?"

Mr. W: "Why no!  I believe that's the first time I've ever heard that one! (forced laugh)"

Or, I shit you not, this LAST THURSDAY:

Student walks into class...

Student: "Mr. W....has anyone ever told you that you look like Zac Efron?"

Mr. W: "No, Student, never."

Student: "Well I think you do!"

This guy?

No...no I don't think so.  But this guy?

Wait...I think I kinda see it now...

Caleb's Rampage

“ゴジラ!!!” 

(translation: "GODZILLA!”)

RAGE.

Dogs are great.  You will never encounter a species that is so full of unconditional love, and for no apparent reason other than the fact that you are who you are.  Honestly, is there anything else in this world that you could scream yourself hoarse at, leave, come back to your apartment 2 hours later, and have it sitting there, wagging it’s tail like the most adorable Alzheimer's patient to ever piss on your carpet?  And while the benefits of companionship are great, obviously there is the whole house-breaking thing, where you know that you are literally bringing in a living creature that will piss/shit/puke/chew/hump on/in/around/atop/below anything.  The rollercoaster creature.  The lowest of lows, the highest of highs.  For a moment, you will forget about the tightly coiled turd a puppy left on your khakis because it learned how to howl in unison with you as you bellow out Elton John.

In short, you have to put up with the shit because sometimes it pays off and makes you smile...  

For the first few weeks, “Caleb” drove me insane.  It was a terrible game of Whack-a-Mole, only you didn’t have a mallet, and you couldn’t hit anything.  Here, you have a class to teach, and there is this kid, constantly talking out of turn, behaving like a little jackass…. ”I can’t keep dealing with this,” I finally thought to myself.  Something must be done.

I must break him.  Enough was enough.  As a publicly funded educator, I have a civic duty to teach the rest of this classroom, not chase Caleb around with a stick, tending to his every need.  So one day, I decided that if and when he slipped up, I was going to tear him apart.  He was going to be bombarded with the fury of a thousand suns. I was going DESTROY Caleb, and he will know thy wrath.

Well, it didn’t take long.  Not 5 minutes into class, I was setting the stage for a mineral identification lab, and Caleb is up out of his seat sharpening his pencil, talking to another student...another student who was walking down the hallway, not even apart of the class.  My time had finally come…

My face (probably).

I don’t remember what I said, exactly.  I know I had told him to step in the hall, and then I let him have it.  I imagine it sounded something like this:

Caleb:  (talking)

Mr. W: “CALEEEEEEBBBBBB!! AJLIUHG LKJES ARLHASDFALSKHEJF!!!! ALKJSHFLKJAH WELFKJHAHJERFASD; LKFJAWE ALKIJSD ALKWEFJLAKH!! GET OUT IN THE HALLLLLLLLL!!!!!”

Caleb steps in the hall.

Mr. W: “CALLLLEEEEEEEEEEB! WHY ARE YOU ALKHJASDHFLKAJSHWAE?!?  ASLKJD HFLAKJHEFAJLKS DHFLAWE !!!

Caleb: “...but I w-...”

Mr. W: “I’M NOT FINNNNNIISSSSSSHHHHED CALLLEEEEBBBBBBBBBB! KJHASLKJDHFALKJEH! ALKJHFALJW! ALSDKHJFALWEF! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH CALLLLEEEBBBBBBBB AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Y U DO DIS CALLLLLEEEEBBBBBBBBBB?!? I’M GONNA CALL YOUR MOMMMMMMMMM CALLEEEEEEEEEBBBBBBB!!”

Then, something happened:  Caleb didn't say another word.  

Caleb started to cry.  I hadn’t planned on him crying.  I expected him to argue, and for me to establish my dominance over him.  There can only be one king.  It was time that someone put their foot down; and that FOOT was ME.  However, my assumed verbal combat didn’t end the way I thought it would, because I had an incorrect, preconceived notion.   

Caleb was nothing more than a puppy.  He was a big puppy.  He was a big puppy with ADHD.  Caleb lived his life full of emotion;  the highest of highs, the lowest of lows.  Caleb could be up running around the class, or barking out comments during a lecture one moment, and the next, having tears silently stream down his face during The Lion King, only to whimper between quivering lips:  “Mufasa is DEAD!”

Long live the King.

Caleb wasn’t a bully.  He wasn’t disrespectful.  The kid just didn’t know any better.  And as the year progressed, I felt for him.  Sometimes, he was just “too much” for the other kids, and would often isolate himself socially.  It almost became cool to yell at Caleb when he got out of line.  In one instance during Veteran’s Day, we had an Air Force veteran come in and address the class.  For two days, I reminded them that he was going to visit, and would take questions.  But, “under NO CIRCUMSTANCES, are you to ask about shooting or killing.”  Well I will give you one damn guess as to what happened…

Air Force Lieutenant:  “...and that was my experience over in Iraq.  So, do you guys have any questions for me?  Yes, young man back there…”

Caleb:  “Did y’all ever shoot anybody?!”

Class:  (in unison) “CALEB!!”

And Caleb felt terrible, because that’s what puppies do when they are chided. But, just like a puppy, Caleb had already forgotten not 4 hours later as he was rampaging through my room like Godzilla through the streets of Tokyo.

Caleb’s passion was 2nd to none.  When he was focused on his work or the lesson, he was great to have in class.  Caleb put his all into everything, whether we were debating in class, whether he was sharpening his pencil, or whether he was trying to solve the answer to that age old question:

Caleb: “Mr. W, who would win in a dancing competition:  Prince, or Michael Jackson?”

Mr. W: “Well, seeing as Michael Jackson is dead, I would probably say Prince.”

Caleb: “AIN’T YOU EVER SEEN THRILLER!?”

Mr. W: “...touche.”

"You're paralyzed..."

It really didn’t take long until Caleb and I had an understanding.  I knew sometimes he couldn’t control himself, so all it often took was the People’s Eyebrow until he said “sorry” and continued whatever educational venture he was involved with at the time.  For as many headaches he gave me, I loved having the kid in class.  When he was involved, EVERYONE was involved.  He didn’t do things for popularity, he just did them because that’s who he was.  You would yell at him, he would feel terrible, but the next day, he loved you.

Caleb was a puppy.  A big ol' puppy with ADHD, and minus the shit on the carpet.  Although, he did absolutely mow through pen-caps like no one’s business…

So I found this today...

...inside a drive in the computer lab. 

I wish I knew who it belongs to so I can commend them.

My Boy George: LUNCHTIME

“Sometimes, there’s a man, well, he’s the man for his time and place.” - The Stranger, The Big Lebowski

Any teacher that claims that they don’t have a favorite pupil(s), or claims that they like all their students equally is full of shit...or is at least halfway lying.  I’m not saying that all teachers make a list of kids they love and a list of kids they’d love to go all “Dark Knight interrogation scene”...

In only my second year of teaching, I was fortunate enough to have an excitable young gentleman in my class.  We will call him George.  From day one, I knew that George was a bit different, but he was special in many ways...

George was autistic.  For those that are unfamiliar with autism, it is a disorder that affects the brain’s development of social and communication skills. There is a very broad spectrum; every case is different. They may not “get” sarcasm, or understand tone.  They may not possess the capability to read into things in depth.  More commonly put, their brains tend to be “one track” and focused on simple things. George?  George loved himself some lunch.

*It should be noted that students with autism crave structure and routine.  So, as I explain a little more about George, just imagine these types of conversations happening EVERY SINGLE DAY. You will get an idea why I loved that damn kid so much...

At the onset of the day, the teachers would often get their rooms prepared and mingle a little bit before students arrived.  As buses and cars with students trickled in, we would often be in the halls, greeting students as they walked by;  maybe even hassling a few.  As we did this, one of our duties was to take lunch count.  The students basically had 4 choices:  whatever entree hot lunch was, Chef Salad, Taco Salad, or Packed Lunch. The scene is now set.  Now...enter our hero.

Walking into the front door, the first thing George always did was greet the secretary in his kind of high pitched, nasally voice: 
“Good morning, Miss Wynn!” he would bellow. 
“Good morning, George,” she would always politely retort. From there, George’s mission was simple:  find me, and inform me is choice for lunch.

Now, that’s not to say that George would ignore people.  He would always greet his fellow peers and teachers as he walked by them.  But he did not stop to chat; no time for small-talk.  He did not stop for a drink of water.  He didn't even stop to put his book bag down.  George was having lunch today.  And he would be damned if anyone deny him that.

So, every morning, George would greet me the exact same way:  

“Good morning, Mr. W(of course, my full last name)!”
“Good morning, George!” I always reply.
“What’s for lunch today?” George would then ask.
“We’re having pizza.”
“I want pizza!” George declares.

Regardless of the entree, George always gets the hot lunch.  He never once got a salad or packed.  His daily inquiry was irrelevant.  Still, it made me happy to oblige him daily.

Now, conversations weren't always that easy.  I would be a liar if I didn't have some fun with it every now and again…

George enters the room.
“Good morning Mr. W!”
I dive below my desk.
“MR. W. I CAN SEE YOU! WHAT’S FOR LUNCH!?”
“Ah, George you got me! It’s chicken sandwich!”
“I want chicken sandwich!”
“You got it, George!”
George claps, happily.

George turns the corner in the hallway, heading toward my room.
“Good morning Mist-”
I turn around and run.
“MR. W!” yells George, laughing.
Eventually, I stop in another teacher’s room.
“Mr. W, I found you!”
“You sure did. I’m not good at hiding.”
“What’s for lunch today?”
“Tacos.”
“I want tacos!”
“Si, senor.”
George applauds.

George enters room.
“Good morning Mr. W!”
“Hey George!”
“What’s for lunch today?”
“Spaghetti.”
“I want some spaghetti!”
“Chef salad. Got it.”
“NO!”
“Oh, sorry. Fruit salad with a ham sandwich on top.”
“(laughing) NOOOOO!”
“How bout spaghetti? That OK?”
“Yes!”

Imagine beginning your day with that.  Every.  Single.  Day.  How could you be upset?

From there, the countdown would begin, as George would wait in pure ecstasy, almost salivating at the mere thought of sinking his teeth into that delicious bread product smothered with a type of tomato based red paste/meat concoction, topped with government cheese.  It didn't matter what was going on or what time it was, George couldn't contain his excitement, and he never hesitated to let people know.  “I can’t wait for that pizza!” he would say.  “Oh I know!" I would reply, "I saw them unloading it from the truck this morning!”

You could probably count on two hands the amount of times George would inform me of the menu of the day.  When he did it, it was always in a less than tactful manner, and irrelevant to the current topic of conversation...or even sometimes during a dead silence. George would just perk up and proclaim for all to hear, “We’re having pizza today!”  I would usually tell him that lunch was still two hours away, but he doesn't care.  And honestly, I don’t either.

Mr. W: “What are the benefits of using renewable energy sources?”
George: “We’re having pizza today!”
Mr. W: “Yes we are, George.”

Finally.  The time arrives. Lunch.  The apex of the day.

For lunch, each student had to merely line up in alphabetical order.  I would then read off the names from the attendance sheet and what lunch they ordered.  The student would then collect his/her lunch, and begin his/her feast.  George was in the middle of the line.  And you always knew where he was in line, based on the localized movement of the people he would bump into as he seemingly vibrated in place in anticipation of his slice of Italian heaven.  George gets so excited, that he calls out students’ names as I do until it is his turn…

George: “James!”
Mr. W: “James…”
George: “Kyla!”
Mr. W: “Kyla…”
George: “Christian!!”
Mr. W: “Christian…”
And then…
George: “GEORGE!!!!!”
Mr. W: “I’m sorry, I don’t have a George on my list.”
George: “Mr. W, NOO!”
Mr. W: “Alright...CAN I GET A SLICE OF PIZZA FOR GEORGE, PLEASE?!”

George then claps so hard, the blood vessels in his hands are likely destroyed.  Merely a small price to pay.

George collects his pizza, sits down, and begins to eat a meal that he will probably love and savor more than I could ever love a single entree and/or woman.  “This is a good lunch!” George shouts to me across the lunchroom.  I smile and nod my head an approval.  Sure, it’s the same food I used to eat 15 years ago, but to George, it’s like dining at a 5 Star restaurant, or a really really nice Denny's.

Once his meal is finished, George informs me (with sauce typically on his face) that he did not save any of his lunch for me because he ate it all.  I call him a jerk.  He laughs and asks how my protein bar was.  I tell him it was good, but probably not as good as his lunch.  He claps in excitement and then sits back down in his seat.  The countdown renews yet again...

You often hear the phrase “negativity breeds negativity.”  With George, the opposite holds true too.  It was impossible to converse with him without having a giant smile on your face.  If you didn't, it was likely because you had no soul...like, literally no soul because you would have to be dead. I think if everyone had a little George in their life, the world would be a better place...or at least lunchtime would be.

George will return in many more adventures, including:  "The Repeater" and “Mom Jeans.”

Answers From the Kids 2009: "BOO!"

"Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster." - Sun Tzu

Any teacher knows that in order to be effective and (somewhat) respected, you have to take the time to research and acknowledge your clientele.  If nothing else, conducting your reconnaissance will create an illusion that says,“hey this guy is neat!  He’s asking about sports!”  With this, there are a few tactics I use in getting to know my precious pupils, they range from pre-assessments and just basic conversations in the hall, but I always start the year off with an “interest inventory.”  This is merely nothing more than a series of random questions that allow me to see the student’s likes, dislikes, positives, negatives, and overall “interests.”  Get it?  Questions range from “what do you prefer to be called?” to “what is your favorite movie?” to “what is something that few people know about you?”

In this bit of reach for humor, the inventory concludes with perhaps my favorite question"

“I think Mr. W looks like a _________________________.”

I can usually tell by facial expression who has arrived at this particular inquiry.  After a few moments, I will typically get a few raised hands in which they ask “is this a trick question?” or “what do I put?”  I simply reply “yes,” and “whatever you think.”  Being the first appearance of this question, I was curious and even a little excited to see how my new crop of students (this was my 2nd year teaching) perceived me.  I was sure their replies would be cordial and respectful, and my god was I wrong…

Here are but a few chosen entries, sorted by category:

Animal:

- goat

- concerned monkey

- gorilla

- octopus

- bull

While all are admittedly odd, where the hell did octopus come from?  I’ll give you the others, though, because of my "Bilbo-y" lower body.

Medieval:

- ogre

- king

A king.  Yes.

Inanimate Object:

- banana

- toilet

- science test

Ok.  I DO have a banana costume, so technically, you’re right, smart-ass.  And “science test?”  You probably didn't even read the question.

BEST:

- secret rock star

- super model

- movie star

- rock star

- football player

- well-dressed man

- super star

Yes.  I am ALL of these things.  ALL of them.  ALL OF THE THINGS.

“BOOOOOOOOOOO!”:

- teacher with a goatee

- mean guy

- O.J. Simpson

- little baby

- boy

- man that thinks he's a man but looks like he's in college

- teenager

- a little child

A goatee?  This kid has a tremendous sense of irony, because I CAN’T GROW A BEARD! Other than that, I apparently look like a very young, very black, Heisman trophy winner and probable murderer.

Boo!