I think among my mother and my teachers I must have told been told "Someday you'll be unlucky enough to have a kid like you" or some variation on that about a gazillion times. I was a constant questioner, sarcastic back-talker, poor, but at times sincere passive-aggressive manipulator and general hyperball.
Yesterday, which happened to be Debbie Gibson's 37th birthday, I got smacked in the face by karma. One of my students, an incredibly gifted soon-to-be-ninth-grader with a wit for sass, forced a mirror in front of me. She was resisting my efforts to make her revise a couple sentences in a story she was writing. I told her that she was NOT moving onto the next sentence until what she had written was "changed."
"So I just have to change it?"
"Yes."
"Just change it."
"Yes—"
"OK—" she immediately chimes in somehow cutting off my one-syllable reply.
"NO—" I interject cutting off her devlish thoughts of using literalism. "You cannot just change it. You have to change it to something you and I both agree is better."
The what-me look is being flashed.
"I know that 'literalism' game too, well, J. Don't you think I was a teen? I used to do that to my parents all the time and they could recognize the entrapment pretty much every time, too. Kids have been playing this game forever ... you're not the first." BLHBLAHBLAH I continued.
Despite the occassional frustration working with her, I am highly amused to recognize this constant tension between generations, especially being on the flipflop of it. Also, she's got the potential to be a brilliant writer and getting to work with talented people's quirks and attitude is but tiny price to pay.
I love my job, even though it's kicking my ass and chasing me home hours-wise.
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