Though This Be Madness...

I can tell already that Hyperactive Sexuality Girl (who I have uncreatively dubbed HSG) in the inclusion class is going to serve as the source of many quality blog post stories. She creates a scene every goddamn day, and she has a penchant for putting me into difficult and uncomfortable situations. And if there's something funnier than me trying desperately to avoid having to defend myself against molestation charges, I don't know what that could be. While her crass jokes and flamboyant displays of sexuality certainly create the most colorful stories, she's actually one of the most interesting students that I have. When she's not trying to be the adolescent version of Jessica Rabbit, HSG is a brilliant student without a trace of self-consciousness (obviously) or shyness.

Today, my mentor teacher had an IEP meeting with HSG and her grandfather (who officially adopted her over a decade ago) and all of HSG's teachers, and she said I should go as well. I'd never been to an IEP meeting before, so I had no idea what to expect. What it turned out to be was an extended airing of grievances, with her teachers listing all of HSG's behavior problems to her grandfather. Mercifully, her awkward and overt flirtations with me were not addressed. In fact, my mentor teacher didn't really say much at all that was negative about HSG, which I thought was rather nice of her. The rest of the teachers really smacked her down, even after admitting that her grades were, in fact, quite excellent.

HSG actually has ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder), with an extra emphasis on the Hyperactivity. She has A LOT of trouble sitting still. So what was the brilliant idea suggested by one of the teachers at this meeting? "Well what if we allow [HSG] to get up about halfway through the class and go for a little walk down the hall?" I mentally shook my head. I can't think of anything more embarrassing for a high schooler. Happily, HSG let them have it: "I'm not going for a walk every day! Jeez, I'm not in Preschool!" Much as she irritates me, I mentally said, "Fuck yea!" That has to be one of the most patronizing suggestions I've ever heard.

As I said, my mentor teacher was very complimentary to HSG during the meeting, but she wasn't expecting that. Before my mentor teacher said anything, HSG said, "I think Mr. P should talk instead. He's my buddy." For once, she wasn't being her usual catty self when she said this. She seemed to be genuinely looking for some sort of reprieve. Of course, I've only been there every day for three days, so I was in NO position to offer any contributions, and I said as much. I felt bad for her though. I got the impression that she genuinely wanted to do well but couldn't help herself. Fortunately, my mentor teacher proceeded to say very nice things about her, so she didn't get completely emotionally abused by her instructors.

In the world of writing, this is called something like "complicating the cliche." There are a lot more layers to HSG than I really thought. Even the math teacher, her most vocal critic at the IEP meeting, explained how HSG has befriended a boy in his class who has been repeatedly picked on and will defend him against the ones who bully him. She also blows every other student out of the water in her understanding of Algebra. Yet she's the biggest pain in his ass all day long.

I know people can have multiple sides to their personalities, but it's so bizarre to see this shown so starkly in someone who is such a thorn in MY ass (not literally... of course). I have some newfound sympathies for HSG (especially after learning of the history of how she lives with her grandparents... the details of which I won't get into). Now if only I could prevent her from doing things like standing against the classroom door during my lunch period and pressing her lips against the glass in a lascivious manner and making little kissy faces (which she did today), we'd be in good shape.

BONUS STORY:
You'll recall yesterday's story about the "rockets" that an inclusion kid was drawing. Well apparently the paranoid schizophrenic was at it again today and drew another, more detailed, cock and balls on the podium without anyone noticing (I was observing another class at the time, so I don't know how). This new shaft and sack had a more wrinkled and veiny appearance... for whatever reason. Once again, the last period kids noticed this new addition and commented on it to my mentor teacher:
"Wow, Mrs. [X], there's a new rocket ship! It's got a lot of extra lines on it."
Now my mentor teacher is a sixty year old grandmotherly-type woman, but for whatever reason, she responded:
"I think that must be a really OLD rocket ship."
The class, and I, burst into hysterical laughter. My mentor teacher, suddenly realizing that she may have spoken too quickly, tries to hide her giggles, but she can't. The class then resumes their discussion of rockets and whether little curly hairs can grow on them.

I can complain about my life choices all I want, but I certainly didn't pick a BORING profession.

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"I'm a Rocket Man. Rocket Man, burning up his fuse out here alone."