THAT Kid

Today was my first day at the new school site. I was nervous and excited to meet my newest charges. The day went very well, I have to say. I can pinpoint kids who might challenge me, but I hope that my badass monologue at them today helped them understand that, well, I'm not in the mood to be nice this year.

My 7th grade class seemed pretty much terrified, so I used that to my advantage. My 8th grade class, however, strutted into my classroom with a wee bit of "We are the KINGS of this school" attitude...which I promptly shot down by telling them, "Yeah, you're the big shots. You've been here longest, you know your way around this place. Well, guess what? I'm an adult. When I look around this classroom, I see kids. This is MY room. I'm the Queen in here...don't forget that."

As I continued, I noticed a little bit of talking. I stopped. I stared. The offender shut up and looked at me. I grimaced and moaned, "Oh...Are you THAT kid?"

"Huh?"

"You know, THAT kid. The one who talks all the time. The one that ruins it for everyone else. The one who gives me a headache and is constantly getting in trouble. There's always one--every school I've been to. Is that you? Are you THAT kid?"

In a very small voice, with a sheepish smile: "No...?"

"Oh, good. I was worried for a minute there that you would be THAT kid. I'm glad to hear that you're not. In fact, I hope that no one in here is THAT kid. I have enough of them at [other school name]."

(Which is a lie, but they don't need to know that!)

And you know what? They stopped. None of the talking or silliness was overt--it was all very subtle. They're testing the newbie. And the newbie let them know, in no uncertain terms, that she's ready for it. Bring it on, kiddos, I'm not afraid to give out consequences.

I continued talking about my expectations (I actually have a rule that is, simply, "NO WHINING"). A boy put his head down. I stopped again.

"Wake up, hon. This isn't nappie time."

His head came up amid the giggles of his classmates. I smiled and said, "Get 8 hours of sleep tonight, and eat some eggs for breakfast with your cereal. I guarantee you won't fall asleep in my class. Oh, and get some exercise, too."

"Right now?" he retorted. I'd watched him in the morning assembly, with his huge white t-shirt and extra-saggy pants--a real gangsta wannabe with a ginormous cubic zirconia in one earlobe. I could tell, even then, that he wants to be the badass. Well, not in my class, kid.

"Of course not. You're going to sing in here. Exercise when you get home tonight."

So we sang. I had 12 8th graders--mostly boys--singing solfege. Of course, one had to try to imitate my high voice. Again, I stopped.

"Okay, sweetie, you're not Mickey Mouse." I used my best Mickey Mouse voice. The kids laughed, and we sang it again--this time correctly. I told them that if that kind of thing happened again, I'd be taking points off. We have a points-based behavior system. They have to have 10 points to get the reward at the end of each month.

So yeah, they tested me. A few little fingers reached towards my buttons, but fortunately, I was on to them. And I enjoyed myself with them. Kids are kids--they're not easy, they're not perfect, and they don't come with manuals. But I rather like them.

Even the gangstas.