horrible

tenth grade is horrible. awful. miserable. full of nothingness. an abyss of stink. there. i said it. and i know what i said yesterday. about the love. about the freedom. about wanting something magnificent. but that was then and this is now. and they want nothing magnificent. they want nothing. this should not be a surprise. i have been teaching a very long time. and every year there's one class that makes me long for the time when children were burned at the stake.

today was hot. nearly 90. tenth grade is the only class i have in that awful furnace of a room on the second floor. there are sixteen children exactly on the roster. i bought eighteen bottles of water, stored them in the freezer so they'd be good and cold, and handed them out at the door when the miserable creatures slunk in, one by one, five minutes late. ten. fifteen minutes. all six of the ones who showed up. that's right. six. super jesus was off wandering the halls with his sidekick hug child, who thinks that if he saunters in half an hour late and hugs me he will be just fine. the girls had escaped leaving me in a very small sea of angry teenage boys. the few who showed up seemed genuinely confused and touched by the small gesture of the water. they weren't sure about my angle. i just wanted them to spend an hour not whining or trying to weasel out of work. i thought cold water in a hot classroom would be useful.

but, as i said, tenth grade is horrible and tenth graders have horribly short memories. only one child had homework. the others were completely baffled about what the assignment might have been and why on earth i would give homework in the first place. the homework was "choose a topic for your essay".
any topic?
yes. any topic.
really?
anything! this should be easy. what do you feel strongly about? what would you like to change?
gangs.
what do you want to happen with gangs?
they should stop.
how will you accomplish this? this will be your thesis. think about it.
we can arrest them all and put them in jail.
all of them? how? how will we know which ones to arrest?
they wear colors.
and what will happen then? will that get rid of gangs? there is a pause. the child thinks.
no. i have just ruined his life. i watch his face crumple as he comes to this realization. i wish i could shove time back a little.

we spend an hour trying to come up with six topics. two decide on the eradication of gangs, even after our discussion. this is hopeful. precious angel settles on legalizing marijuana (which is the same topic he didn't do any work on last year), a child known to both students and teachers as "the wall" for his impenetrable silence wants to talk about global warming although he has no idea what causes it or how to stop it and one child who two years ago wrote every journal entry for the whole year on one book wants to talk about "the election". when asked what, specifically, he wanted to talk about, he says he doesn't know. just that we're having one. the other teacher, who has held in his frustration so far says, "how do you feel about the election?" and the child says he doesn't know. "you don't have any opinion about this election? you don't think this is an unusual election?" the child shakes his head. no. nothing. THERE'S A BLACK MAN RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT!!!! ISN'T THAT A LITTLE UNUSUAL? it doesn't seem to be, according to this child. the dry erase marker i was using fades to nothing and i get a flip chart marker and continue taking notes on chart paper. it is nine thousand degrees. i can feel my bones sweating. hoodie boy is sleeping. i worry that he might be dead. election boy is staring off into space. i want to scream. this is a swamp of misery. but i look off to the side where the wall, a child who says almost nothing and slept through most of my class two years ago, is sitting with his pen scratching across the page for absolutely the first time ever and i look behind him to precious angel, similarly hunched and writing.

i am not a fool. they weren't working on my assignment. the assignment i gave, to come up with a topic you can persuade someone something about, has not yet sunk in. there is not a single child among the sixteen on the roster or six in the class who has a workable idea. and those who are writing and those who shared their ideas in class are no closer when the bell rings than they were when they dragged in five or ten or fifteen minutes late. and although i want them to feel bad, to suffer, to wrestle with guilt, they will not. but it is so hot and the six horrible tenth graders start to look like six tired little boys. and then one child, the wall, puts his cold water bottle to his cheek, then to the back of his neck to cool down. i taught him that.