"I went trick or treating at your house! You said you were watching Scream!" says last year's seventh grader who recognized me this weekend. His knowledge of my home was the reason I woke up on Sunday morning to check for eggs. My worry was completely unfounded. He was mostly excited to tell me two facts about my Halloween of which I was already well aware. In case I'd somehow managed to forget.
----
While helping a current 7th grade boy answer a word problem about honey bees:
Student: I'm not trying to be racist or nothing, but where are you from?
Me: Michigan. Why?
Student: I don't know why, but you sound like you're from a farm or the country or something.
----
A tall, bald, white fellow (who is the exact image I have in my head of a high school basketball coach) comes to talk to the class about his selective enrollment high school. He acts tough and tells them he's going to keep it real. He tells them he was just like them. I appreciate his talk well enough, but somewhere along the line he gets lost in a cloudy metaphor for life involving food. Something about picking off the dollar menu versus eating steak. He ends this line of statements with, "I, personally, enjoy eating macadamia nut encrusted halibut. It's really delicious."
----
After a shortened period with my second group of eighth graders, I dismiss the class. With a tone of sarcasm in my voice I tell them that although our time was brief, I enjoyed their company immensely and that I would miss them greatly. Straight faced and completely serious a floppy haired boy approaches me, "They always do that every year. The whole year they talk about how the eighth grade class is the worst class they've ever had. And then when it comes time for graduation they cry and go on about how much they will miss us."
