During what may well have been my last seventh grade blood pressure raising, forehead wrinkling, aneurysm inducing rant, I may have discovered the crux of my problem:
Mr. F: "Congratulations! It's June! Some of you have matured a great deal, and are ready to become eighth graders. I'm so proud of you. Others, congratulations! It's only June, and you still treat me like garbage! Some of you still act the way you did on day 1 in this room. For ten whole months you've actually not grown at all! But that's okay, because some of you will get that second chance at being seventh graders. Maybe the second time you'll mature a little but. Don't worry, it's only June!"
A: "But mista, what you mean ten months? You just got here in January."
Members of Class: "No!"
Mr. F: "Thank you. At least some of you realize that since day 1...."
A: "Or February or whatever." Yeah, February."
Members of Class: "Yeah! February! That's right!"
I think it's fair to point out that in February, my frustration with these students flew off the chart. This led to a slew of seat changes, detentions, talking tos, write-ups, and suspensions. Apparently, that's what I needed to do to get noticed. I'm not worried; it's only June.
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