The Ows Of May

Shakespeare had the Ides of March. Teachers have the Ows of May.

This has got to be the touchingest batch of students to ever walk the hurtful halls of Newmentia. They can not keep their hands to themselves. Every hour of every day, I have to tell somebody, "Keep your hands to yourself." It should be an implied rule. Like implied powers in the Constitution. Maybe that's the problem. I've overheard many bemoaning the fact that they did not pass the required Constitution test. They have one more shot at it before the school year is over.

I am weary of watching students hug, poke, punch, flick, jab, hand-hold, lay-head-on-shoulder, pick up, kick, drape-arm-around-neck, back-rub, hair-stroke, arm-wrestle, leg-hair-pull, frog-punch, roller-derby block, flat-tire, trip, pinch, and face-palm each other. I am tempted to require hands in pockets, like tiny elementary fry learning the rules of the hall. The students see nothing wrong with their behavior. Nobody is getting hurt. Well, on purpose. They're just playing. I'm a fun-sucker.

At least they're not spraying graffiti on the building, or assembling a swimming pool in the cafeteria overnight, or shooting and stabbing each other. They're just gamboling like playful puppies. Keeping their yelps quiet.

The Ows of May.