"Hey, Ms. D. Look what I can do," T says to me as he touches his eyeball with his finger. "It doesn't even hurt!"
"Fascinating, T," I reply dryly. "But why am I looking at that?"
"Because it's fun," he says.
Why else?
Later, when I check on T to see how his hyperbole poem is coming along, I find a blank page in front of him.
"T," I inquire, "where's your poem?"
"Umm," he looks around as if maybe it's walked away.
"What have you been doing for twenty-five minutes?" I continue.
He smiles and answers like I've heard this a million times, "Poking myself in the eye."
And only in 7th grade is that a plausible activity. For twenty-five minutes, probably straight, he really DID poke himself in the eye. Literally. What do you say to that? I had nothing, so I just turned and walked away.
4 comments:
the thrill of a new skill does have its allure, I suppose. i admire your ability to walk away. I would probably be inclined to be a little on the harsh side in this situation. hope you had a great weekend...
You wonder what all the eyeball pokers are doing on the job since eye-poking loses its appeal by ninth grade. Maybe checking their e-mail every few minutes? : )
Hmmmm, doesn't sound good jdoc- looks like he'd rather poke himself in the eye (with a sharp stick, if given the opportunity, I'm sure) than do your poem assignment. Maybe he should write a poem entitled Ode To My Eyeball.
Hey. He wasn't poking someone else in the eyeball. He sounds like a great kid.
Post a Comment