Ah, yes. The Alien.
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has
a new student this year. She is neither fish nor fowl. Whereas Mrs. Hillbilly
Mom teaches freshmen and juniors, this new student is a sophomore. Some schools
do not sequence their science in the same manner as Newmentia. So when a
transfer comes in, they are sometimes forced into a junior-level class as
freshmen, or, like the new kid, dropped into a freshman-level class as
sophomores. She’s taking it well.
“Wait. You mean to
tell me that now I’m the oldest one in this class?”
“Well, if you just
mean students…yes.”
“It’s like this in one
of my other classes, too. And do you know what the kids say? ‘Respect your
elder!’ They really think they’re funny. It IS kind of funny.”
We have been studying
space since the start of the school year. Yesterday’s lesson involved dark
energy, an invisible repulsive force that shoves galaxies into certain parts of
the universe, and leaves other parts full of nothing.
“That’s where the
aliens live! The government knows, but they won’t tell us.” Let the record show
that this gal has a good sense of humor, and does not sidetrack the lesson.
During time while waiting for the projector to warm up, she shared her opinion.
Other opinions over the past few weeks have involved her belief that we never
landed on the moon, and that Katie Perry sold her soul to the devil. She’s like
a little conspiracy theorist, but not.
“I wouldn’t be surprised
if there are other things the government doesn’t tell us. For our own good, of
course.”
“I’M an alien! Bet you
didn’t know that.”
“And imagine, the
government is letting you go around telling us! I should have let YOU teach
this unit, since you have first-hand knowledge.”
“Yeah. I could totally
have done that.”
After the video on
astronomy, The Alien asked to get a drink. She’s never asked before. So I
agreed. I told her what I tell every kid who gets called to the office, or has
a need to leave the room: “Make sure you fix the door so you’re not locked
out.” Fixing the door can be accomplished two ways, with the doorstop inserted
between door and jamb, or by letting the door rest gently against the jamb
without latching.
The Alien said, "Okay." Like many of the outgoing students do, just before flinging the door open and walking through, leaving it to close heavily and lock them out. I guess those articles about today's youth and short-term memory are pretty accurate.
The Alien turned to
look at us through the vertical rectangle of criss-crossed safety glass. The
expression on her face was much like that of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone, just after he slapped some
of his dad’s shaving lotion on his cheeks. She tapped on the glass. We waved.
She made a sad face. We smiled and waved. She tapped on the glass with a finger
that might have a glowing tip, if she’s related to ET. We waved. After she
pantomimed falling tears, I told the kid closest to the door to let The Alien
back inside.
“Huh. I guess people
on your planet are not familiar with the simple machine called an inclined
plane. The one that we on Earth refer to as a doorstop.”
“I tried to keep it
from closing! Didn’t I?” The class gave her affirmation.
“And yet your
civilization has not advanced to the point that they can leave a room without
locking themselves out!”
“Oh. This is terrible.
I wish my mommy was here. But she’s at work.”
“Why do you want your
mom? What is she, a tester at the doorstop factory?”
“Heehee! No!”
“I guess you’d better
leave working with this Earth stuff to us humans. We’ll try to protect you from
yourself.”
Still, The Alien has a
good head on her shoulders. She devised an experiment to test my classroom
light motion sensor, carried it out, and declared it a success over a two-day
period.
Of course, it left the rest of us in the dark, just like she was. She may be craftier than I thought.
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