Part two of the "I hate them" series. I apologize for that wee tirade (you should have heard the one I gave in person to any and all who would listen), but then again my university supervisor has very wisely said that I should give myself permission to feel whatever I'm feeling.
She's right. So here it is; this is what I'm feeling: I hate them because they have no respect. I hate them because they touch my things and break them without any chance of getting them replaced. (Before breaking those things - and here I'm speaking of an expensive super-duper stapler/staple gun - they also use them as weapons against one another, projectile-launching staples at each other's heads.)
I hate them, and I'm hurt by them because they took the bamboo plants my roommate had given me (ostensibly to bring calm, peace, and good fortune to my new classroom) and snapped one of them in two. I hate them because, like this, they thwart every effort I make to bring something nice or good or beautiful their way.
My best-laid plans are laid waste when I can never get them to shut their mouths long enough to get the directions they'll need to do Cool Group Project A, so I stop making such plans - which of course only worstens the situation. I am overrun day after day by voices shouting and clamoring, each one with a dire emergency (they are about to wet themselves, about to kill someone and need to be put out, or - and this is my favorite - they conveniently "forgot" something they'll need for their lesson, such as a notebook or a pen - in someone else's classroom).
They have no respect for property when it belongs to someone else (a neighbor, the school, ME) yet seem to have no problem understanding basic KINDERGARTEN principles such as "this is mine" when someone ELSE takes their pen, which is the sort of emergency that always requires my personal attention and almost always leads to fighting. These little firecrackers don't have a short fuse, they have no fuse.
They are selfish, vain, vile-tempered, foul-mouthed, materialistic, and cruel. They lack any sense of pity for their fellow students, but are easily bruised themselves. They show love or affection by fighting. Often, it begins "harmlessly" enough with punches to the arm, but almost immediately escalates.
Most importantly (for me), they simply don't want to learn what it is I'm required to teach them. I don't really want to get into all that right now, because I'm still ticked about MY CAR, which has a ginormous dent in it now from some student either punching, kicking, or throwing something at it. Do I have proof? No, not really, but I just know.
So I'm going to go vent to my principal now and hope that something can be done insurance-wise, because I have no way to pay for this mess otherwise, and it really annoys me that my car has to look like *&$% because some little punk thought it would make a good target.
She's right. So here it is; this is what I'm feeling: I hate them because they have no respect. I hate them because they touch my things and break them without any chance of getting them replaced. (Before breaking those things - and here I'm speaking of an expensive super-duper stapler/staple gun - they also use them as weapons against one another, projectile-launching staples at each other's heads.)
I hate them, and I'm hurt by them because they took the bamboo plants my roommate had given me (ostensibly to bring calm, peace, and good fortune to my new classroom) and snapped one of them in two. I hate them because, like this, they thwart every effort I make to bring something nice or good or beautiful their way.
My best-laid plans are laid waste when I can never get them to shut their mouths long enough to get the directions they'll need to do Cool Group Project A, so I stop making such plans - which of course only worstens the situation. I am overrun day after day by voices shouting and clamoring, each one with a dire emergency (they are about to wet themselves, about to kill someone and need to be put out, or - and this is my favorite - they conveniently "forgot" something they'll need for their lesson, such as a notebook or a pen - in someone else's classroom).
They have no respect for property when it belongs to someone else (a neighbor, the school, ME) yet seem to have no problem understanding basic KINDERGARTEN principles such as "this is mine" when someone ELSE takes their pen, which is the sort of emergency that always requires my personal attention and almost always leads to fighting. These little firecrackers don't have a short fuse, they have no fuse.
They are selfish, vain, vile-tempered, foul-mouthed, materialistic, and cruel. They lack any sense of pity for their fellow students, but are easily bruised themselves. They show love or affection by fighting. Often, it begins "harmlessly" enough with punches to the arm, but almost immediately escalates.
Most importantly (for me), they simply don't want to learn what it is I'm required to teach them. I don't really want to get into all that right now, because I'm still ticked about MY CAR, which has a ginormous dent in it now from some student either punching, kicking, or throwing something at it. Do I have proof? No, not really, but I just know.
So I'm going to go vent to my principal now and hope that something can be done insurance-wise, because I have no way to pay for this mess otherwise, and it really annoys me that my car has to look like *&$% because some little punk thought it would make a good target.
posted by Miz Teacher Lady at 8:20 PM
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