Knock, Knock

I kind of want a new blog. You know, one of those psuedo-anonymous websites where you know who I am, because I invited you to read it, but I refrain from including any identifying information in my posts, so that one of my students or my superiors don’t stumble across it and, I don’t know, get me fired.

Not that I would ever want to say anything that would get me fired. Ever.

Because it’s basically been a really great week. The existing staff has been supportive and helpful, and the students are still in what teachers like to call the honeymoon phase. They don’t trust us enough to really misbehave yet.

The first day I threatened them with my rolling pin and generally made classroom expectations clear, and it would seem they’ve bought into my management style–at least enough to cooperate marvelously the rest of the week. We’ve gotten to know one another a bit,  laughed together, and even enjoyed some of those sudden, wide-eyed silences that speak of startled and deepening adolescent thought. Here’s to many, many more.

And to essays like the following, which was handed to me on Friday (their assignment was to write a personal narrative; I’m tempted to give him an A):

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?

My personal narrative.

My personal narrative, who?

It’s personal.