If anyone wonders what gets a teacher through the day when there’s eight days left in the school year, well, hereyago…
I spent two days explaining the essay, and they spent two days talking over me. Today, when their rough draft was due, I had a line four deep at my desk, asking me how to do the essay. I explained it to one kid, and the next kid said, “Yeah–tell me what you told him.” I seriously thought about carving his spleen with a pair of paste scissors. The next kid in line had a rough draft in which he indicated that the minister in “The Minister’s Black Veil” was shrouded from the rest of the world by his abnormally long hair, and I thought seriously about carving out MY spleen with a pair of paste scissors.
And then it happened–the thing that saved my life.
Ten minutes before the bell, the last kid I helped walked up to me with an open book and said, “So, Ms. Lane… I wanted to do my essay on “The Minister’s Black Veal”–Is that okay?”
I looked at the kid blankly and said, “Mooooooooooooooooooo…”
Then I put my head on the desk and laughed until the bell rang.
And that’s why we all got to keep our spleens.
