Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid

Sometimes I have current happenings to write about, sometimes I have follow-up stories, sometimes I beat a dead horse for nigh unto a week. But today, I have a companion piece. I think you'll be able to match it up by the time you get to the end.

Years ago, soon after we moved into our new school building, my best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel and I met up after classes every day for a workout. This was back in the day, when students were not appropriated to hang around after school for various programs funded by grant money. When the only people who stayed after were athletes practicing in the gym, and teachers working in their rooms. You could look down our long, long hallway and perhaps imagine a tumbleweed bouncing across the vast emptiness. A pin dropped at Mabel's end could be heard an eighth of a mile away at my end. We pretty much had the place to ourselves.

It was our habit to walk the hallowed halls, catching up on daily gossip while exercising our legs and lungs. Because we were so involved in current events, we had to tally our trips with post-it notes made by Mabel. Each trip down and back, she would move a post-it so we knew when our regimen was fini. It was a peaceful time, the only obstacle to our exercise being the occasional blockade caused by faculty standing smack-dab in the middle of the hall for a vital conversation. Yeah. You'd think they could have found a better place to rendezvous than the middle of our workout path.

I think, way back then, Mabel had 7th hour plan time, but I'm not sure. For whatever reason, she was already dressed and rarin' to go by the time the bell rang. So I would hurry and change my socks and shoes as soon as kids were out of the hall. I kept my stuff in my wooden cabinet by the door. All I had to do was get them out, prop my foot up on the chair of the desk right across from the cabinet, and switch into white socks and New Balance. Mabel arrived as I was tying the laces, and our odyssey began.

My boys rode the bus from their buildings over to mine. They finished homework, had snacks stored in the bottom drawer of my file cabinet, and watched videos. Every now and then a power struggle erupted, and one or the other would seek me out for justice. Genius would merely step outside the door and wait until we passed by. The Pony trotted down the hall to meet me, his persecution much more urgent, and in need of immediate intervention.

Once our mileage was completed, Mabel gathered her post-its for another day, and I stuffed my school shoes and socks into a Walmart bag and gathered up my progeny for the ride home. It was the perfect workout system. Cool in the heat of Indian Summer, warm in the throes of winter.

Back in those days, I was in charge of the at-risk program. I worked with students who did not qualify for special programs, but were falling through the cracks. Our goal was to keep them from dropping out, and to help them stay on track to earn their credits and graduate on time. I mainly had freshmen and sophomores, no more than 10-12 students per class. I relate well to that type of student, and these were some of the most rewarding times of my teaching career. As you might imagine, the dynamics in such a classroom are a bit different than those in a regular core class course. My students often spoke without thinking, made mountains out of molehills, or tried to smooth mountains into molehills, depending on their personal agenda.

One morning, a fairly quiet student had a meltdown. She came in late for 1st hour, asked to go see a teacher about a missing assignment, and flounced out with an air of shoulder-chip-ness. As soon as she left, one boy turned to me and the others, mostly guys, and said, "Did you see her HEAD? I thought she had a THIRD EYE!" He was not so much poking fun as showing his awe at her unsightly facial blemish. Another chimed in, "I think that thing had a HEARTBEAT!" We heard something in the hall. They gasped and faced the front. Another dude said, "Shh! Whatever you do, don't say anything to HER about it!"

That was a false alarm, but Girly came back a few minutes later. She flung her folder on her desk. Slammed her purse down on top of it. "I can't take much more! I've got to get this assignment done THIS HOUR! I got a tardy because I missed the bus! I have this giant pimple that makes me look like a cyclops! And every morning when I come in here, I see that the last person who sat in this chair has been eating crackers again! THERE ARE ALWAYS CRUMBS IN MY CHAIR!"

Oh, dear. I went over and brushed off her chair. "I'll have a talk with that kid. There. Now you can get started."

She sighed and sat down. Deflated.

I never told her that what she thought was cracker crumbs was just the dry flakes of skin from my legs when I changed socks every day with my foot on her chair.