In Hindsight, That Was Probably Illegal

          So. I have 100 new students. 60+ standard psychology students from 10-12 grade who have proven delightfully open to the establishment of our class culture, and 40+ IB students in 11^th grade who are resisting my attempts to cram everything they need to know into them via powerpoint (dear god we need books). Yes, our classes are, as ever, large-- this Onion article gets it exactly.

      While I’ve taken the time to get to know my standard students, who seem tickled all to hell that a teacher is this interested in their lives and have paid it back tenfold by pumping their enthusiasm into psychology, my IB students keep begging me to slow down and complain about the amount of notes we have to take. I feel them, bruh.

We also have fun, though. Perhaps illegally, I ran the Milgram experiment on several batches of kids today, asking them to pat their friend on the hand, harder, harder, HARDER, (until it looked like the next one might actually inflict pain), finally culminating in asking them to bash their friend over the head with a book until their startled “no!”s made us all crack up. I think it's okay because there was no way that I was going to let them keep going. We also debated the ethics of Little Albert and whether numbers are gendered and why anyone would run an experiment on the duration of peeing in male restrooms when the next urinal is occupied versus when the peer is alone (or thinks he is—that researcher hidden in the stall sounds a creeper). The kids have a pretty good idea of how to evaluate a research study, now.

My kids are lapping it all up, and I am heartily enjoying their insight and enthusiasm. So utterly different from last year. Last year, the kids asked why they had to know world history, and I stuttered. This year, they don’t even ask why psychology’s important, though I tell them with every insight. Our classes feel safe and fun and productive. I’ve learned so much, and am bursting with the pleasure of knowing how to treat each kid as they individually need.

     The teacher in the trailer next to me is as old and as venerable as Noah. She calls everyone “boo,” because once you’re in the thousands you don’t have to remember anyone’s names. Sometimes, from her trailer, I hear strings of happy expletives emerge, a mix of her deep barks and the lighter chirps of her students. They’re not fighting, they’re talking. She surprised me while I was talking to the media specialist in the library by throwing her arm around me and announcing, “this is my neighbor. We love each other.” Though surprised, I confirmed, and I think it’s on its way to being completely true. We have only each other—our trailers don’t front on anyone else’s—and I cemented the relationship by letting her carry off my videocassette player yesterday. Won’t be needing that in this century. Today we stood guard during lunch to make sure no kids had sex under our trailers. It’s stuff like that that best friendship is made off.

            My buddies from last year are spread all over the school this year. The bonds of the back trailer block have been dissolved. I miss them. We still check in with each other, though. The whole school, from administration down to the tetchy little freshmen who are as tall as my hip, seems much happier this year.

Written by a child whose happiness expresses my own:

·      When I first walked in your room, I was happy and excited. I love coming to class. I’m so excited about this year. Turn up!!! =)