I was in the middle of an outstanding poetry lesson. The sixth graders were engaged, my material was well-prepared, and I was excited about the topic. Brandon got out of his chair, walked toward the front of the room, and stood there next to me.
"Brandon. Sit down please."
"But, Mr. Show. . ."
"Brandon, you're interrupting the lesson. Please take a seat and I'll talk to you in a few minutes."
"It's just that--"
Brandon turned around, eyebrows raised, and began walking toward the back. "I just thought you should know there's some panties on the floor."
Big bothered sigh from me. The lesson had been officially derailed. I went to the back row, and sure enough, there was a dirty pair of girl's underwear on the floor. Very dirty. Dirty and soiled. In two different ways. You know what I mean. I pictured one of my students sitting in her seat, inconspicuously shimmying out of her drawers and flinging them with her toes to the center aisle. Impossible.
This is the kind of thing they don't tell you about in teacher school.
In a quiet, high voice, I asked "Umm, Lucero? Could you please pick those up for me and put them in the trash? Whose are these anyway?" Crickets. Crickets and thrity two deer in headlights.
"Lucero? Please? Pick them up?"
"Ewww, Mr. Show, nooooo! But I will if I can use these dictionaries," Lucero replied, pointing to her desk.
"Umm, o--kay." I really didn't know what else to say.
So, she grabbed the dictionaries and ceremoniously scooped the ghastly knickers up, slowly tranported them to the trash, and dropped them in. Instantly, all the boys in the class ran over to the trashcan, like flies to a piece of. . .
"Boys. Back to your seats. Back to your seats!"
Yes, my poetry lesson was definitely derailed, and it wasn't getting back on track, not for a long time.
So, now it's up to you, America! In your comments, tell me if you think this story is fact or fiction, and explain your reasoning. I'll reveal the truth in an upcoming post.