Just after school, last week:

“John, are you obsessed with texting?” I asked. The final bell had rung, and students can take out gadgets without worry of confiscation. The black piece of plastic was an extension of his arm.

“Yes.”

“Well, I appreciate the honesty. But what does obsession mean?”

“15,889.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve sent 15, 889 text messages over the past two months,” he laughed, flipping open the phone again to show me the outbox. I flailed backwards in disbelief upon seeing the figure with my own bleary eyes. Impossible.

“That’s what, over two-hundred a day?!”

“I guess so. Mr. B, I’m quick.”Now, I know that these teens are obsessed with gadgets and social networking, but this took the cake as the most absurd amount of text-messaging I’ve ever heard of. No wonder he hasn’t been turning in any of his reading project homework. Get a life, son! He laughed as he left the room, looking down at his phone the whole way. I hope he didn’t run into anyone. Just after school, the other day

-

Waiting for the late bus, I challenged some of the boys to settle the score—just who was the best arm-wrestler in the late-bus crew?

Frank stepped up to the plate. “Let’s go Sam.”

“I reckon you’ll beat me with your right arm—I’m a lefty,” Sam responded, sitting down while bracing himself in an athletic stance, leather farm boots in position on the ancient, spinach-green library carpet. He pulled off the victory with his right arm. “Now, let’s go lefty.”

“Uhhhhhh.” Frank hesitated.

“Watch this folks, this is my milkin’ arm.” BOOM. The match was over before I said go, and Sam—who had to get back home to some milkin’ duties—got up and strode out the door without saying a word.

-

The following things have been uttered in my vicinity of late:

“Mr. B, punch through the wall to stop that noise—it’s getting on my nerves.”
“Can I use the restroom?”
“It would be more funny if they were going out.”
“May I use the restroom?”
“Mr. B, I saw the word ‘goad’ in our lit. circle book.”
“Hay muchas problemas …”
“I’m gonna kick his butt after third block.” *
“I hate math.”
“Oh my god, why do you pick on me?”
“Can I use the restroom?”
“What day is it?”
“Girl, you ain’t know nothin’ bout Chris Brown!”
“I’d rather eat the pencil shavings than dang school corn dogs.”
“Mr. Barnwell, you are the strongest teacher in the universe.”
“May I use the restroom?”
“Mr. B, can you please go a day without a corny joke?” **
“I gotta go to the restroom.”
“We’re going to get Mrs. McKinley for April Fool’s—Mr. B, help!”
“Can we go outside?”
“May I use the restroom?” ***
“Oh my god, did you see what she’s wearing?”
“She’s saying that I slept with all those boys.”
“International Tractors suck.”
“I done ate two Monster Thickburgers from Hardee’s the other day.”

* I overheard this in the hallway, between classes.  I got his attention, leaned over and whispered in his ear in front of his buddies.  “Son, you better think again. I know I didn’t hear you right, correct?”  With the boys, I’ve found the calm intensity and soft voice is effective with discipline, and doesn’t cause a disruption.

** No.

*** I have a bathroom in my class. However, many students tweak out when I suggest they use it, imagining classmates who obsess over their restroom business, thus passing up perfectly clean facility use.