I just read a news story that researchers think honey bees, who have brains the size of a sesame seed, can count to four.

So, if a human brain is, give or take a few hamburger bun tops, equal to a gazillion sesame seeds, my students should be able to memorize the eight parts of speech. Right?

In no particular order, here are my latest teacher concerns:

1. Students have foregone using planners for writing on their hands. When I ask them to write down a due date, they make a fist and diligently record the information on their little fleshy hand tablet. I find this disturbing for several reasons:

• If a student is in my first hour class, does s/he go to the bathroom anytime during the school day? If so, and the assignment’s still there, we have a handwashing/hygiene issue of massive germy proportions;
• Since students are in seven classes each day, where are they recording their other assignments? How many appendages are components of this planning system?;
• If they can write this on their hands, how difficult would it be to make the leap to paper? I’d buy into the, “But I remember it better this way,” if they truly did.
• This system is not transferable to the real world. I doubt if Michael Dell or the cast of HSM 3 or the heavy equipment operator is checking off “to do” lists on the backs of their hands. And if they are, I’m wondering about their bathroom hygiene as well.

2. Rubber bands. A student actually said, “You mean there’s a place you can BUY rubber bands?”  Eighty-six students. Eighty-six [sure, in Pollyanna-teacher-world, everyone turns it in] sets of 25 index cards. Five students thought to use a rubber band. The others stared at me with (not so) Precious Moments eyes, flabbergasted that I expected them to supply the rubber band. The conversation, repeated throughout the day:

Student [perky-voiced]: “Mrs. Allan, I have my literary term cards. Do you have rubber bands?”

Me: “Yes.”

Student [still perky]” “Great. Can I have one?”

Image via Wikipedia

Me: “No.”

Student [perky fading]: “Why not? How am I supposed to keep all these cards together?”

Of course the issue, at least for me, wasn’t the rubber bands. It was their assumption that it was my responsibility to supply seven or so dozen students with what they needed to submit their work.

I already supply them with endless boxes of facial tissue. Again, not that I’m seriously depleting my retirement account purchasing these items.  But when I hear, “Mrs. Allan, I need to blow my nose. The box is empty. You need to get some more Kleenex,” I wonder about the boundaries of my job description.

Do I buy it? You betcha. Try going through a day with two or three students in every class doing the wet nose sniffle and snot-sucking. It’s self-defense. I also purchase industrial-size bottles of anti-bacterial lotion.

On any given day, I’m asked for Kleenex, paper towels, band aids, pens, safety pins, bobby pins, a mirror, hand lotion, paper, hole-puncher, paper clips, glue, glue sticks, Post-It notes, lunch money, Liquid Paper, and/or contact lens solution. Again, do I mind being all-maternal-like providing what they need? Usually, no. What I mind is the assumption that I should supply it. For my 140 or so students.

3. Politeness is becoming an anomaly. Saturday I proctored the ACT. Students are given a 10-minute break halfway through the test. The yaddayadda we have to read out of the official manual states students cannot use their cell phones during the break. So, three minutes later, I see a student holding her cell phone, appearing to be texting or contemplating texting. I remind her she’s not supposed to use her cell phone, and she needs to put it away.

Eye roll. “Well, what if I texting my father?” Smirk.

Eye bulge. “Well, what if I just invalidate your test?” Steam.

Some days I don’t get it. We read the rules. They hear the rules. They ignore the rules. We enforce the rules. They get snarky.

But, in the twenty or so years I’ve spent in high school classrooms, I’ve experienced the kindness, energy, humor, perseverance, generosity, and trust of hundreds of students. They’re gems.

The others are just stones waiting to be polished. . .