I Hate teaching all the time-but not on the days that I love it.

Silence

But not for long

Silence as long as a song

a brief melody

moon-lit reverie

Before temporary insanity ensues

One more sip of cold coffee renews old thoughts

Of when my life wasn’t run by the ring of a bell-

Hell-

They’re coming- 8:05

Like an army- barely alive- Dawn of the Dead

Baggy pants, wet heads

Dark circles from late night texting

What was I expecting?

Neglecting to put the right date on the board-

Let the transformation begin-

Training my ear for new roles to fit in-

“Mrs. Shannon” takes the reigns while “Jenny” takes a seat-

Six more hours until we meet again.

Lights. Camera. Action.

“Mrs. Shannon, do we need our books?”

Deep breath, muster-

Flustered, unprepared, met with 27 stares-

As always, everyday, answer, “Yes”.

10 minutes go by, still no one’s listening-

Texting to friends, painting nails and- “Who’s whistling?”

Pens tapping, students in hallways clapping, snapping up books and paper

Then from the corner, a snore- Napping.

Crap!

Close your mouths. Eyes up here. For the fifteenth time.

Directions.

Directions given once.

Directions given twice- they think I’m being nice and repeating-

I’m just competing with their thoughts and mouths and trying to avoid more questions

Think I can put them all in detentions?

How about in-school suspensions?

I’m losing their attention-

Focus-

finally, all is quiet, pens moving gracefully through

Then out from the right comes, “Uh, Mrs. Shannon, what do we do???”

Don’t blow it. Don’t blow it. You’re angry. They know it.

Point to the board. Give the stare. Smooth your hair and sit back down.

Then, again, “Mrs. Shannon, Mrs. Shannon….”

Can I go to the bathroom, can I go to my locker-

Someone’s face in my window- a stalker?

Was I this much of a talker when I was their age?

“Guess what happened to me last night…”

Interrupts again.

Ah. I might die. Or throw something. Or maybe my head will explode in a thousand pieces and land gently on their desks.

I digress.

Maybe I should just give a test.

“Mrs. Shannon, Mrs. Shannon-“

Ah, what a shame. I waited years to have that name and now I think I’m going to hate it-

I give the one minute sign with my finger.

If I linger here at my desk long enough they will have figured it out on their own-

“Mrs. Shannon…..” or not.

Hot. It’s so hot in here- then cold. I have a bi-polar classroom.

A tomb.

Boom.

Outside of the room.

Giggles.

Great.

Never underestimate kids ability to create a distraction.

Lights. Camera. Action.

If only I were a marine biologist.

A librarian.

A vegetarian.

A cake- baker.

Candle-stick maker.

World- traveler.

Musician.

A writer.

Prize-fighter.

A party all night-er.

“Mrs. Shannon????” Alas. I’m not.

I’m in class.

Ass.

Then- the bell- scuffling feet retreat- stampede! Heads down and running- but- one student remains.

Thanks me for helping her- then disappears. Fears of the morning forgotten

lost beneath waves of understanding-

I found a way to reach her.

I know why I’m a teacher.