The Boys of 7th Grade

Believe it or not, boys in 7th grade are much more manageable than their female compadres. The boys will eventually hit their obnoxious stride between ages 13-15, unlike girls, who (as it is widely speculated) mature faster than the boys. They hit their worst stage between 11-13. But the boys do indeed have their own nuances, or more accurately, nuisances.

Jamar was interesting. When I first took over the class from my friend, I found him to be the ultimate punk. He talked back, cussed at me, wrote on the desks and textbooks. Of course, since it was my first week there, he became my target, my example for what I wouldn't allow. He's the type that will talk to you calmly in the hallway with a half smirk, nodding his head, claiming, "Yeah. I understand." As he enters the class after this talking to, all eyes are on him. Those eyes want a scene and he will provide. Whether it's chomping on gum right in my face (gum not allowed by teachers in the school) or crumpling up paper balls and throwing them when I'm turned around, he'll find a way for some much needed discipline. This comes in the form of detentions, referrals to the vice-principal, or class displayed chastising. Phone calls will not help this student, especially since all I get is the mother's voicemail, saying in a breathy voice, "Hey baby, you know what to do after the beep. Leave a message and I'll holla back atcha." Jamar's the student that you learn to hate after consistent discipline, who after one month of never letting up, comes into class after a weekend, starts doing his work even saying, "Later, Montoya," on his way out.

Joseph (who always spells his first name "Louis") and Scott are an intriguing pair. Their ultimate goal in class is to run their shared poll to find between them who is the funniest. Unfortunately, my usual comeback to a disruptive joke, "When you're funny, I will laugh," only encourages these two. They attempted to put the class to a vote to answer this crucial question by passing a note, failing to realize that the results would be inaccurate, with each of their respective friends tallying more marks for their side. I took the note and the vote and claimed the winner, Roy, a boy who was indeed the funniest, but who unfortunately got kicked out of school. Scott looked deep into his memory to recall Roy's jokes, and then started to repeat them. This in turn got Joseph going. When either of them cracks a joke, they scan the room, their eyes trying to tally up the smiles or chuckles. With a threaten of detention, Scott will back down. A threat of a phone call to Joseph's mom, puts him in his place. But each day, we get to start all over again.

Then there's Thaddeus. He's a sweet kid who always manages to do half his homework. By half, I mean literally half. Give him a two-page worksheet, he does the front side. Give him two spelling assignments, he does one. But I caught him off guard with a 5 paragraph essay. Thrown off by the odd number, he decided to do all the work for it, the prewrite, the graphic organizer, the rough draft, but not the final draft. He enters the class daily with a smile and a "What's up?" But in class he gets suckered into arguments easily by Desirea, Cynthia, Magda, or Jessica (see here). All it takes is the name "Fat-euss." He's the kid who once his blood gets boiling, there's no simmering it down. Attitude will flow out from all directions—toward his assailants, neighbor students, to me. Once the girls get him to that point, there's no turning back, he's sent down to the office, while the attention-grabbing female instigator follows a minute later.

Deven, a 7th grader almost as tall as me, is a handful if not handled carefully. He has a vicious side that will peer its ugly head once every two weeks. He has the ability of pestering the quiet kid to the point that the quiet kid's deeply hidden dark side will rise up and take no more. But it takes a month of figuring out what Deven needs when that time arrives. As soon as I see his attitude and defiance begin to appear, I reach for the class worksheet or graded work to be handed out, and give the boy something to do. His face fills with honor as he walks around the classroom, beaming for everyone to see, handing out worksheets on dependent clauses.

Then there's Isaac. Isaac. He is the boy that all teachers know, even if they have never taught him. The teachers cringe when they here that I have to teach him for two periods in a row. They feel my pain. Unfortunately, they are all correct about him. He's the bright kid who has a lazy streak miles long. If challenged by a bet with a fellow student is the only way he does all his work. He is constantly kicked out of classes, not just mine. He's been to the truancy center, something he's thrilled to share with others. I've called his parents, who never return my phone calls. Even the vice-principal has given up on him. Nothing will help. Isaac will give me one consistent week, never doing a homework assignment, but completing all his classwork and will want a reward. I give it to him, and he's a prick the following week. If he's good for me, I know his other teachers are his target that day. He's the kid who will talk big and even pick a fight on a quiet student and will get his ass handed to him by the quiet boy with the deeply hidden dark side. He likes spit balls, consistently tapping his pen, taking other peoples things, crumpling up papers and even threw one at my face once. He has a permanently lowered brow, a sneer, and squinty eyes of fury. If I call on him, he claims he wasn't doing "nothing" as he looks at me with those little angry eyes. If only I could get a hold of his parents to get him to wear his glasses.

Most of the boys talk about being tough, or "hard" as they say it, yet they know deep down that they aren't there yet. At least not when a 6' male teacher is standing over them. They'll get there, I know. They can't wait to demand the respect they feel they deserve. But I'm tough on them. I'm hard on all my students, and figure they couldn't care less. That was until my last day of teaching these strategic kids, when Jamar said goodbye, a couple girls screamed goodbye 5-8 times from the hallway, one girl gave me a card wishing me luck, one class signed a Happy Easter note for me, a quiet kid with no dark side wrote an apology note for his class and notified me of how much he learned from me ("alot"), and Scott, Joseph, and four other boys lined up to shake my hand before they left for their Spring Break. Once again my dad's saying proves true: "You learn something new everyday." I guess 7th grade kids aren't as evil as I previously thought . . . except for Isaac.