THE COLD BRINGS OUT THE WARMTH

My students are great.  I'm not even kidding.  Oh sure, sometimes they can be little butt-munches, and they can make my mood swing faster than an estrogen crash.  But today they show me exactly what they're made of, even the perpetual imps. Truth be told, this is one of the best groups to come through, personality-wise.

My first year in district, I was gifted with the toughest group of kids to come through the school in decades.  They were street-wise and smart-mouthed, tough enough to talk the talk and walk the walk.  In short, I loved that bunch of rag-tag gangsters.  I have gauged the mettle of every class since on those students.  Many others after them have aspired to surpass the first group's bad-ass ways, but all have paled, even the Mad Bomber who was a flash-in-the-pan wannabe.

This year's crop doesn't realize they're not bad-ass.  They think they are.  They talk a good game and try to dress the part, but in the end, they're an all-around nice group of kids who rally around each other in times of dire need.  Today I discovered that they'll also rally around their teachers, if need be.  Yes, these teachers that they'll throw under the bus to their parents ("But, Dad, she GAVE me the F because she HATES me!") are the same ones they'll sympathize with if we're down.

And today I am down.  I am fighting off a fever and a chest cold.  For me, this means hoping desperately to avoid yet another bout of pneumonia that seems to know every way scientifically possible to outsmart the pneumonia vaccine.  I can't stay home and rest.  I'm at the start of an important study unit and approaching the term's end.  It will be infinitely more work to play catch-up than it is to tough it out being in the classroom.  Today not only do I look like hell, I sound like it, too.  My affected vocal chords make me sound like a tenor, and my vocal singing range is now lower than Pavarotti's.

I have to talk today.  All day.  I have important information for the students, and I have to explain the activities we're doing in class.  I'm in charge of leading these kiddos, and, frog-throat or not, I'm going to do it no matter how bad I sound.  And it all goes well ... for about twenty minutes.  This is when "sound" is no longer important.  My voice gives out.  Sound isn't even an option anymore.

By the time I teach my last class of the day, my throat is shot, and no amount of cough drops can ease the pain nor bring back the volume.  It is my rowdiest class and my largest class, usually assisted by a co-teacher, but he is ironically out sick today.  I'm on my own.  After a few minutes of trying to get them all settled, I realize it's a losing battle.  I have a small stage in my room, so I pull my computer chair up onto high ground, sit quietly, and wait.  And wait.  And wait.

Finally, they catch on, and silence ripples across the room like a slow tide.  "Guys," I hear them say, "she doesn't feel good.  Quiet down!"  This is met by some of the pseudo-toughies gently telling me I should have some tea because it will make me feel better, with one bad-ass adding seriously, "With honey,  You should have honey in your tea."

I croak back, "I had some tea with honey already.  This is as good as it gets."  And then, just like that, they settle in and we're off.  The activity that we are doing requires several bouts of movement and paper exchanging, but it also requires me to talk and direct and give brief notes.  A couple of times things get rowdy again, but I don't have to lift a finger to get them back on task.  Every so often I hear, "Hey, she's waiting, you guys.  Come on, knock it off."

The class that could be a disaster because of my inability to get through a sentence without my voice cracking and losing volume turns into a perfectly timed masterpiece.  We get to the end of the lesson right at the end of class, and their homework is no more and no less than that of the other classes.  We somehow manage to finish in harmony and exactly where we should be but often aren't because they are the most boisterous and inquisitive group I have, at least today (but usually every day).

Am I wise to be at school while I'm sick?  Who knows.  The one thing I do know is that these kids understand my drive, and they'll rise to the challenge when the gauntlet is thrown.  Part of me hopes my voice is no better tomorrow to see if it works this way a second day in a row.  Then I realize how miserable I am with the constant fever fluctuations that I am now wishing were nothing more than menopause because being sick totally blows.  My students, though, are my minion support system.  I feel better just knowing they'll do what needs to be done, and they'll do it gladly and with smiles.

If that behavior alone doesn't make them truly great, I'm not sure what else will by other people's standards.  By my standards, anyway, these kids are my heroes.  Just don't tell them; I'd hate for them to think I'd ever expect them to behave any other way.