Thirty-five years in the classroom provides many, many stories, a good portion of which I cannot tell, but this one made a monkey out of my science department chair, not for the first or last time.

It was the late 1990s. I was, at the time, teaching physics and computer science. Things were changing fast, and the cultural anchors I grew up with became unfamiliar to the students very quickly. Among them were the ads in the back of comic books for things like X-ray specs, ant farms, and… sea monkeys. So, I decided to bring some Cold War culture to my students. Sea monkeys were just the trick.

I set up the tank on a divider knee wall in the computer classroom, filled it, and let the water sit for a few days. The kids were curious.

Then, the magic.

I put in the ‘water purifier’ and waited a day, then added the ‘eggs.’ The kids, all of whom had taken AP biology, were amazed to see them hatch immediately.

If you don’t know the trick, sea monkeys are brine shrimp, like you might put in your aquarium. The eggs are really in the purifier, and the egg pouch is just a starter food or some such.

The magic didn’t last.

A parent complained. Apparently, her delicate flower of a child is allergic, and they must go. The meeting with my supervisor was interesting.

The parent complained that the child was allergic to “all fur, and monkeys have fur, right?”

There was no logic in the room that day. My supervisor stood firm. I was not authorized to have monkeys, as “they require a federal license!” and I was putting the allergic child at risk. Even after showing him that sea monkeys were just tiny crustaceans, he stood firm. The sea monkeys came home with me that day.

My supervisor had taught biology and was a marine science concentrator in university.

In high school, I was not a great student in academic classes. Auto shop, no problem. Machine shop? Good to go. Welding? Drafting? right on it.

English class? Not so much.

Most of the teachers were cool with it. After all, it wasn’t honors kids. They found ways to make it work. Junior year, though, things were rough. 

By midyear, I had cut school maybe thirty days, and English class was a big part of it. At this point, we had been brit-litted to death. Thomas Hardy can eat my shorts. The Brontë sisters? I’d rather eat Haggis. We had an assignment that was, roughly:

Assignment: “Write a poem in the style of one of the Brontës.”

I don’t recall which, as I never could tell one from the other. I failed, but I still have my submission:

Poem:

“Life is short, but I am young
You’re an a**, so f*** rhyming.”

Reading this story reminded me of an interaction with a well-loved chemistry teacher from my school, and how I discovered that he had a wicked sense of humor.

We were being told what to expect for an upcoming midterm, and one of the less-bright students was constantly interrupting to ask incredulous variations of the question:

Student: “Is that really going to be on the midterm?”

This finally ended with the question:

Student: “Can we just… get a copy of the midterm?”

He chuckled and replied:

Teacher: “Sure, but it’ll cost you an arm and a leg!”

I raised my hand and, staring at the back of the first student’s head, asked:

Me: “Does it have to be YOUR OWN arm and leg?”

He had to dismiss class two minutes early because he couldn’t stop laughing.

My history class has been told by our teacher several times that there will be a test at the end of the month.

Teacher: “Alright, everyone, today we’re continuing Napoleon’s rise to power and how it reshaped Europe…”

Student: “Still? We went through this on Monday.”

Teacher: “And did it end with Napoleon in power?”

Student: “I… don’t think so?”

Teacher: “No, we didn’t. Therefore, we march onwards!”

Student: *Sighs.* “Do we need to know this for the test?”

Teacher: “No, of course not. I just wake up every morning thinking, ‘Wow, I’ve got so much free time, why not come to school and monologue about Napoleon for fun?'”

Student: “So… we don’t?”

Teacher: “If I’m saying it out loud, it’s because future-you will regret not listening.”

The teacher got back to teaching, and the student whispered to his friend, “Ugh, why can’t he just speak normal?”

That student got a 4% on the test at the end of the month.

Summer vacation is upon us, sort of, and, for financial reasons, I still have not retired.

In this modern world, all grades are recorded using an online system accessible to parents and students at all times– even times when I, the teacher, cannot access it– so there is really no reason for a parent to be surprised by a grade for a quarter or for a school year.

And yet, they often are.

I finalized the grades for my senior advanced calculus/differential equations, which is a college-level, college credit course, a level or two beyond AP and IB, offered for advanced students.

I had a blissfully peaceful first day of vacation before starting my summer job (a completely different kind of WTF). I did not get the three days I was hoping for, as 7 AM today, day two, I got a call.

From the Vice Principal.

“There is a PROBLEM and the parent wants it RESOLVED. IMMEDIATELY.”

The child received a B- in the class, and this “is not SUFFICIENT” to get credit at his university, and it is my job to “RECTIFY this.”

The child in question missed forty days of school without any meaningful excuse during the year. This does not include religious holidays or actual days out sick. As well as roughly the same number of late arrivals. I explained to the VP that still earning a B- attests to the intelligence of the child given that attendance, but that is what he earned, and as far as I am concerned, it will stand. End of call one, by my hanging up.

The calls continued through the day, the next focused on why I didn’t address the attendance issue earlier in the school year, and he should not be penalized since I didn’t address it. It took about half an hour to get her to accept that dealing with attendance is HER job, as admin, not mine, and she had no response when I asked her why it wasn’t dealt with, even though the record was clear, and I did the required actions to inform her. End of call two.

There were several more calls, ensuring that I was kept thoroughly annoyed until nearly 4 PM, all addressing assorted other ploys to get me to admit that giving a zero for work not submitted or not made up, and the grade earned on assignments and tests completed, was some form of conspiracy on my part.

In the end, she gave up. I have no idea if she changed the grade of her own accord, as I am locked out of the system for the “week” of summer maintenance that will last until a couple days after school reopens in two months, but I will note that she snaps her gum incessantly while leading meetings, using a microphone.

I can’t wait to be able to retire next year (I hope).