Kids these days. They don’t know what they want. When they’re in the classroom, they want to be shed of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Wash their hands of her, hit the road, Jack, and never look back no more. Yet when they’re OUT of the classroom, they can’t wait to chat up Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Reunite. Chew the fat.
Monday, for example, when Mrs. HM was using the last four minutes of her plan time to make a pit stop to stave off the urge during the long afternoon. Plus duty. So on this quest to procure relief, who should Mrs. Hillbilly Mom encounter walking out of the little gentleman’s room but Bub. From the class she had the very next hour. Four minutes away.
“Hey, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom!”
“I was absent Friday. Do you want to take this now?” He proffered his admit slip like a carrot on a stick.
Let the record show that Mrs. HM continued walking, at a steady pace, towards the teacher workroom, where her final destination, the faculty women’s restroom, is located.
“No. When class starts, bring it to my desk.”
“You don’t want to just take it now?”
“No. It’s not class time now.”
“Did I miss anything Friday?”
“No. Only a video about the inside of a cell and all its parts and how they work together.”
“Was there any work?”
“Do we need our book today?”
“What are we doing?”
“You’ll find out in class. I really don’t want to chat right now. It’s not class time.”
I swear, I thought Bub was going to follow me into the FWR and stand, sharing his gift of gab, while I did my business.
Yes, the pupils flock to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, like moths to a very large flame, when they have unstructured time. Like before school. I have told several of them, in no uncertain terms, that my room is off limits before first bell. That they belong in the cafeteria until then. Yet every time I step out to make a visit to the teacher workroom shortly before the official day starts, there they are. Sometimes at lockers. Sometimes standing against the wall to my room. And on Mondays, when I have THE DUTY, I come back to find their books already on their desks.
“I’m going to have to start locking my room, I guess, when I’m outside on duty.”
“Why? Oh. Because we put our books in here? We just wanted to be ready.”
Indeed. Yet the minute the bell rings, it’s the opposite.
“Can I go to Mrs./Mr. Anybody Else’s room this hour?”
“How long is this going to take?”
“Can’t we just put our head down and sleep?”
Youth. Wasted on the young.