dropped the syllabus on my desk.
The first unit was on Newton’s three laws of motion. Our homework assignment was to read the handout he’d given us explaining the whole concept and to come to class prepared toask any questions. I read the handout and the concept seemed simple enough to me. Stuff doesn’t move unless something makes it move. Once something’s moving it’ll keep moving until something stronger stops it. It refreshed my memory, we learned that crap at the end of last school year. It seemed like the lab we did where we poured vinegar into a beaker with baking soda inside and it bubbled and fizzed over.
The second day of class, I had no questions, so I sat in the back of the room gazing out the window, bored out of my mind. Even though it’s been two years now, I still daydream about having recess, being able to run off a little steam in the middle of the day. It was the only thing I looked forward to about school and I don’t know why they took it away.
It’s so hard to sit through class with nothing to look forward to. My problem accepting school with no recess is what made my sixth-grade teachers start calling me a wanderer. I’d find any excuse to slip out of class and I’d walk around the hallways making faces at my friends in their classes, looking for someone to help me find recess, but all I ever found was myself in the principal’s office. My guidance counselor, Ms. Judge, was the one who called Ma and told her the teachers noticed that I was having trouble sitting through class. She recommended Ma take me to the doctor and get me tested for attention deficit disorder and that I start going to the “resource room.” Ma reluctantly agreed to me going to the “resource room” for more specialized attention, but when Ms. Judge kept urging Ma to get me tested for that attention disorder, Ma got really angry.
I was in the living room when Ms. Judge called and I heard Ma tell her that I was an energetic growing boy and that I didn’t have no attention disorder, I just needed to listen better and behave. She also told Ms. Judge that her problem was thatinstead of working with the kids, she was trying to medicate all their personality away and that it was the last thing she was going to do to me. Ma ended the call and told me that they just don’t know how to deal with kids who are strong-minded.
The kids at school call the “resource room” the “romper room” and they say only Skippys and Speds have to go there. God did not skip over me when he was giving out brains and I never really imagined myself being a special ed kid. At first I hated it, I sat out of window range so no one would see me in there with all the slow kids. I didn’t really need extra help all the time, and I hate the way Ms. Lenny talks to me like I’m dumb, always hinting me toward the right answer. There was a bunch of times I tried to tell her that I was okay and didn’t need her help nor did I belong in there with the slow kids, but it was like screaming underwater—it did no good. Soon enough I just gave in and got used to having Ms. Lenny breathing over my shoulder and spoon-feeding me the answers. I’m not stupid, class is just boring as hell but most of the time I got all my homework done before I went home. I hardly ever bring any homework home anymore, leaving me plenty of time to play basketball after school.
The resource room was my next class after science and Mr. Stow’s deep voice felt like a sleeping pill, making time crawl. All I wanted to hear was the bell ring. It was warm outside and the window was open and a bluish-green dragonfly flew into the room. I watched it dart around for a while, it stole the entire class’s attention while Mr. Stow was writing on the board. When he turned around and realized everyone was watching the dragonfly, he rolled up a piece of newspaper and swatted at it until it flew back outside.
Everyone refocused on him and I looked around the room.It felt like
The first unit was on Newton’s three laws of motion. Our homework assignment was to read the handout he’d given us explaining the whole concept and to come to class prepared toask any questions. I read the handout and the concept seemed simple enough to me. Stuff doesn’t move unless something makes it move. Once something’s moving it’ll keep moving until something stronger stops it. It refreshed my memory, we learned that crap at the end of last school year. It seemed like the lab we did where we poured vinegar into a beaker with baking soda inside and it bubbled and fizzed over.
The second day of class, I had no questions, so I sat in the back of the room gazing out the window, bored out of my mind. Even though it’s been two years now, I still daydream about having recess, being able to run off a little steam in the middle of the day. It was the only thing I looked forward to about school and I don’t know why they took it away.
It’s so hard to sit through class with nothing to look forward to. My problem accepting school with no recess is what made my sixth-grade teachers start calling me a wanderer. I’d find any excuse to slip out of class and I’d walk around the hallways making faces at my friends in their classes, looking for someone to help me find recess, but all I ever found was myself in the principal’s office. My guidance counselor, Ms. Judge, was the one who called Ma and told her the teachers noticed that I was having trouble sitting through class. She recommended Ma take me to the doctor and get me tested for attention deficit disorder and that I start going to the “resource room.” Ma reluctantly agreed to me going to the “resource room” for more specialized attention, but when Ms. Judge kept urging Ma to get me tested for that attention disorder, Ma got really angry.
I was in the living room when Ms. Judge called and I heard Ma tell her that I was an energetic growing boy and that I didn’t have no attention disorder, I just needed to listen better and behave. She also told Ms. Judge that her problem was thatinstead of working with the kids, she was trying to medicate all their personality away and that it was the last thing she was going to do to me. Ma ended the call and told me that they just don’t know how to deal with kids who are strong-minded.
The kids at school call the “resource room” the “romper room” and they say only Skippys and Speds have to go there. God did not skip over me when he was giving out brains and I never really imagined myself being a special ed kid. At first I hated it, I sat out of window range so no one would see me in there with all the slow kids. I didn’t really need extra help all the time, and I hate the way Ms. Lenny talks to me like I’m dumb, always hinting me toward the right answer. There was a bunch of times I tried to tell her that I was okay and didn’t need her help nor did I belong in there with the slow kids, but it was like screaming underwater—it did no good. Soon enough I just gave in and got used to having Ms. Lenny breathing over my shoulder and spoon-feeding me the answers. I’m not stupid, class is just boring as hell but most of the time I got all my homework done before I went home. I hardly ever bring any homework home anymore, leaving me plenty of time to play basketball after school.
The resource room was my next class after science and Mr. Stow’s deep voice felt like a sleeping pill, making time crawl. All I wanted to hear was the bell ring. It was warm outside and the window was open and a bluish-green dragonfly flew into the room. I watched it dart around for a while, it stole the entire class’s attention while Mr. Stow was writing on the board. When he turned around and realized everyone was watching the dragonfly, he rolled up a piece of newspaper and swatted at it until it flew back outside.
Everyone refocused on him and I looked around the room.It felt like
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