I Need a Moment
I have enough trouble keeping the moments of silence, well silent, in my own room. For teens to remain silent for an entire minute is like asking rain to stop in mid-fall. It just isn’t happening.
I’m sure my fellow teachers have trouble with it too. In fact, after yesterday morning, I’m sure of it because there was a breach out into the hall. During the last moments of the silence the murmuring of my own kids was interrupted by a student running down the hall, shouting the lyrics to N.W.A.’s Fuck Tha Police.
“Young nigga got it bad cuz I’m brown!”
My ears perked up. My kids did seem to notice. I guess they were so focused on their time of reflection. Or they were too caught up in an impromptu patty cake tournament.
“Young man! YOUNG! MAN!”
It was a second voice.
“They have the authority to kill a minority!”
I decided that I needed to stick my head out into the hall to see if there’s any action to this soundtrack.
“Fuck that shit, cuz I ain’t the one.”
The kid gave me the ‘Sup nod as he trotted by. He had on a tank top on and was holding up his jeans so they didn’t fall down his ankles. If I didn’t know better then I would have thought his ostentatious belt buckle depicting a marijuana leaf was defective. But I didn’t know better. Kids these days wear their pants just below the ass. I nodded back.
“For a punk muthafucka with a badge and a gun.”
By the time the kid got to, “I don’t know if they fags or what,” he was out of sight and the teacher who was chasing after popped around the corner. If the two had been on a track, she would have been lapped by now. She was a huffin’ and a puffin’, I tell you. She had just enough breath left in her though to snap at me, “Why didn’t you catch him?!”
Was she kidding? Did she think I had a net or something? Besides, it’s not like teachers are in the apprehension business. That’s not really in the job description. Plus, he’s singing a combative song about armed police. I decided to forgo my own authoritative, “Young Man!”
I don’t know why she was so upset. I guess she’s East Coast or something.
I’m sure my fellow teachers have trouble with it too. In fact, after yesterday morning, I’m sure of it because there was a breach out into the hall. During the last moments of the silence the murmuring of my own kids was interrupted by a student running down the hall, shouting the lyrics to N.W.A.’s Fuck Tha Police.
“Young nigga got it bad cuz I’m brown!”
My ears perked up. My kids did seem to notice. I guess they were so focused on their time of reflection. Or they were too caught up in an impromptu patty cake tournament.
“Young man! YOUNG! MAN!”
It was a second voice.
“They have the authority to kill a minority!”
I decided that I needed to stick my head out into the hall to see if there’s any action to this soundtrack.
“Fuck that shit, cuz I ain’t the one.”
The kid gave me the ‘Sup nod as he trotted by. He had on a tank top on and was holding up his jeans so they didn’t fall down his ankles. If I didn’t know better then I would have thought his ostentatious belt buckle depicting a marijuana leaf was defective. But I didn’t know better. Kids these days wear their pants just below the ass. I nodded back.
“For a punk muthafucka with a badge and a gun.”
By the time the kid got to, “I don’t know if they fags or what,” he was out of sight and the teacher who was chasing after popped around the corner. If the two had been on a track, she would have been lapped by now. She was a huffin’ and a puffin’, I tell you. She had just enough breath left in her though to snap at me, “Why didn’t you catch him?!”
Was she kidding? Did she think I had a net or something? Besides, it’s not like teachers are in the apprehension business. That’s not really in the job description. Plus, he’s singing a combative song about armed police. I decided to forgo my own authoritative, “Young Man!”
I don’t know why she was so upset. I guess she’s East Coast or something.
- H.T. at 7:00 AM
