Back at it

My feet are sore already. It's my second day back at school, and it takes at least a week for the feet to reaccustom themselves to 6 hours of marching up and down the aisles of a classroom.

So far, so good, however. No jokers in the mix as yet, though Simone and several other teachers have warned me about Laurindo, a boy with a rap sheet slightly longer than my arm, but still falling short of Steve's remarkable prehensile member, commonly referred to by his deceased father as a 'tail'. I've been at the top of my game so far, strutting around like a prima donna with my flashy new set of eyes - eyes that students can see finally see without the distortion of thick transition lenses, eyes that convey a spirit that means business and the motto of every good Nazi soldier: "Take no prisoners." After only the second day, my meek- and mild-mannered first period class whimpered to Mrs. Khan, their social studies teacher, that they were terrified of mean, old Mr. Brunner and hankered longingly for easy-going Mr. Knap and Ms. Lagao, their sixth grade teachers. I admit to feeling a tiny glimmer of sympathy; most every teacher wants to be liked, after all; but business is business, and my business is to teach them how to conduct themselves like professionals. And when they step over the line, I quietly but sternly let them know: "I give only one warning, and this is it." "Never talk back to Mr. Brunner. If you do, this is what happens." "Time wasted in class, you make up on your time - lunch or after school." And so on.