Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Is Not An Alarm Clock

I received a boomerang yesterday. A student who was here, went there, and returned. In the two days he has been back, he has announced that his assigned seat is too cold, put his head down on his desk during class presentations, assigned himself a new seat without informing me, and snored so loudly he disturbed the 99% of the class that was completing an assignment. Which might be a foreign concept to Boomerang, the completing of an assignment, because he's still a virgin in that department.

Many teachers might be thrilled to have such trivial discipline issues. But I can not sit back and enjoy the semi-silence. I work in a school, not a Japanese capsule hotel. I refuse to leave a mint on the desk so the student will feel welcome. Likewise, I do not give wake-up calls.

A few colleagues revel in waking the undead. They clap hands, drop heavy books to the floor, slam a book on the desk, shout a student's name, whack him with a sheaf of papers, draw on him with markers, or bean him with erasers. I refuse to be a part of this sideshow. It's what the other students want: a distraction. I will not play into their idle hands. I let sleeping students lie. I warn them upon awakening that any further slumber in my classroom will result in a referral to the principal. Then, it's the student's choice. Deliberately incur the consequences, or straighten up and sit right.

I see no reason to make light of the snoozing. It's not funny. It's not cute. It's rude and counterproductive. I'll be gosh-darned if I'm going to make that scoffrule the center of attention. If the higher powers can not give me a medical reason why a student can't stay awake, that student is out. It might only be for a few days, so the ISS teacher who is not a jailer can watch him, but I'm sending a message to the good eggs, who are so easily influenced at the tender age of fourteen-going-on-fifteen. And clowning it up in a game of Fifty Ways to Wake Your Snoozer is not promoting my agenda of personal responsibility.

Can you imagine a faculty meeting where I put my head down on the table and started to snore? Me neither. I seriously doubt that Mr. Principal would help himself to a library book and whack the table next to my nose. More likely, he would proceed with the meeting, then reprimand me afterward, and put a job target in my file. Of course, the rest of my cohorts would be wishing for him to chuck a legal pad at me, or shout my name, or draw the Periodic Table on my forehead.

Because we are all fourteen at heart.