The lady (her name is Kimberly) works at a private school for little (rich) kids. Often times, she comes home from work and shares with me these stories of hilarity. Mostly involving the weird and silly things kids say. Kids of the younger persuasion are the best types to hold a conversation. They really do say the craziest things. The other day, she told me of such a conversation. Continue reading “Stuff Your Kids Say: The Dinosaur Kid”
Author’s Note: The following stories are all true. I’ve changed the names not only to safe face for the youth of today, but to save my own, as my job could probably be terminated should an authoritative type actually find this.
I’ve recently touched on the subject of parenting, basing all of my opinions on today’s youth and how they act in the classroom. How kids of today couldn’t live without a cellphone vibrating in their pockets for over 46 seconds. It’s the parents of today that perhaps need the education in etiquette.
I was on my lunch break the other day when a group of female students came into my class. One of them had to grab some missing work from some days she was absent, the others were there because they had nothing else to do.
It was about then when a male student of mine, let’s call him Steve, came into the classroom. He chatted with the girls a bit then headed towards my desk. The kid gave me a fist pounce before leaning towards me and asking, “Do you see that girl right there?”He pointed to one of the girls who was my student.
“Susie? Yes, I had her last period.”
He says, “Ah, I fucked her the other day,” then let out a laugh.
This kid is 16 years-old and the girl he pointed to is only 14. I wasn’t stunned at the fact that kids these young ages are fucking – you’d be a dumbass if you think your kid isn’t doing the same. But I was stunned at the fact that he just randomly told his teacher about his exploits, without showing any sort of respect for my title, age, or authoritative power. I gave him a lecture about how I am a lot nicer than other teachers but that doesn’t give him a reason to share his exploits with me. He has not shared any sort of information since then.
Susie often comes to my classroom during lunch with a group of 4-5 other students. Some of these students aren’t even mine – perhaps they see my classroom as a shelter from the storm of idiocy outside wandering about or in the cafeteria throwing food and openly talking about blow-jobs and “titty-fucking” (these are just a few of the examples I’ve heard while walking around).
Yesterday in class, Steve came up to me and told me he thinks he got someone pregnant. He told me with a smile on his face, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. I thought for a second about what I could tell him. Should I tell him that getting somebody preggers is the worst STD around when you’re that age? Should I tell him about The Three Ps?
I tried as best as I could to explain the severity of this notion. It wasn’t funny, cool, or cheap, and there definitely wasn’t a quick escape out of this one. This would last for at least 19 solid years.
Then I found out he was talking about 14 year-old Susie.
You know that movie Juno that came out a few years ago? About that pregnant white, 16 year-old suburbanite girl? I wasn’t so much a fan of that movie. When I saw it, I was pretty positive that the girl in that movie was too smart for her own good. 16 year-old white girls from suburbia aren’t that smart – they don’t know shit about Herschell Gordon Lewis (a really obscure filmmaker from the 60s – one of the best) or who the fucking Stooges are. They don’t. Want to bet me?
The first day of school this year, I ask my students a series of questions, as part of a “introduction” exercise. One of the questions was, “Who is Herschell Gordon Lewis?” Most thought it was my real name. The rest left it blank. Where do I live and teach? In the middle of suburban fucking America. And that shit won Best Original Screenplay… but I digress.
I Be Pregnant – Lol! (4/2009)
So 14 year-old Susie is pregnant. I couldn’t wait for lunchtime to roll around so her and her band of merry girls and boys would come to my class to eat their triangle tater-tots amongst the company of intelligence. I didn’t say anything about what I had heard.
She had no problem telling, out of nowhere, about the rumor going around about how she is pregnant. “It’s not true,” she said, after explaining how he wore a condom. I did nothing but shake my head.
However, I was a bit curious how this incident happened in the first place. So I asked how she got herself in such a situation. She began, “Well, he texted me out of the blue one day…”
I was too into that sentence to pay attention to the rest of her story. It all started with a simple text – and I hear stories like this all day. Anytime something happens that shouldn’t have, the story begins, “I got this text…” Variations include but are not limited to, “I got this text saying he fucked my mom…”; “I got this text saying to meet in the bathroom in 5 minutes…”; “I got this text saying she/he was ready…”
But I digress.
There are a million other teachers who would do the obvious “report to guidance or administration” to share these tales of childhood woe. And I have done that on many occasions only to find my efforts fail when their parents could care less. Perhaps I am just now desensitized to it all.
Now I think of these stories as mere entertainment. Is that wrong? These stories are better than Crank 2. The dramatics of high school seem to be at an all time high. If I had any sort of motivation, I’d be inspired to make a documentary.
Kids have always had sex – that’s just what they do. They did it in my generation, your generation, your parents generation; and they will continue to do so until out days end. When I lost my virginity during those lonely days of age 16, I didn’t run to school the next day to report it to my teacher. Nor did I send out a mass text to all my friends that read, “I fuk’d dat gurl finally, bro. It wuz sweet yo! Lol.”
Perhaps this generation gap is one which can’t be filled.
Read more “Parents is Dumber” by clicking these colored words.
Firstly, I would like to inform you that the general miserable nature of said post isn’t something that is going to last around here. Tomorrow I’ll be back with dinosaurs and turtles. Today is a bit different though. So sorry about that.
I write to you today with a great deal of dread and disappointment. Readers of mine may recall my recent struggles with preparing myself for admissions into graduate school. Or, should I say, the “graduate admissions process” rather. It’s a rocky road and these past many months have been just as rocky. I took the GRE that said schools beg you to take when you apply, and bombed it worse than Hiroshima.
But I applied for all of these graduate programs, in English, Film Studies (which is basically for film journalism), and actual Journalism. I thought these would be good stepping stones for my continued educational success, as I have 4 years of writing experience with Film Threat, some freelance work with the Orlando Weekly (and other publications), and the fact that I have enough festival experience to drown a space shuttle. All of this worthless, unfortunate, miserable, and basically pay-less experience resides on the lonely pages of my resume. It’s like a document of pointlessness.
People tell you your whole life that “working hard, pays off.” I want to find out who invented that slogan and slit their throat, kill their unborn babies, and stomp on their eyeballs. “Wait dude, why so bitter at your age?” My friend Frank co-runs a website dedicated to a new phenomenon called the ‘quarter life crisis’. It’s like a midlife crisis for we fine young adults, in our mid-20s, searching for a purpose. You can check it out here.
I’m mere inches away from turning 27. I know, that shit isn’t old at all. It’s still quite young actually, to some. But I am going balder than my 86 year-old grandfather, I have no set career path, debt up to my balls (like most people I guess), no real skills worth anything outside of poverty wages, and now, I’ve been denied admissions into more than half of the programs I’ve applied to so far, including the one I wanted to get into most. “Dude, you’re so young. Calm down. Something will come.” Shut the fuck up you.
I don’t give a fuck about age. Age isn’t paying the bills, is it? Age isn’t really bringing me anything, now is it? Is there a point for me to write another word in my life? Sure, I love it – especially the words here – but everything I write outside of here is basically worthless. No one gives a shit about film criticism anymore. And if they did, my words aren’t worthy of a paycheck.
“Doing what you’re passionate about is all that matters.” Fuck that philosophy too. Passion doesn’t write a rent check these days. At least in my world anyway. But this isn’t me being negative or anything like that. So don’t think I’m looking for pity. Instead, think of this as a way to describe the picture I accidentally drew today.
Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head (3/2008)
When I was in 1st grade, my teacher, Mrs. Bowman, asked us to write a story about an animal and draw a picture to go with it. My story was about a snake. It was only about 3 sentences long, which is all she asked us to do, but I was a stupid little kid. I spelled “snake” wrong. Every time it was written.
So my story was called, “The Sad Snack”. Yes, I wrote a story that was intended to be about a snake, but instead it became about a lonely snack. After my teacher graded it, she called me to her desk. “You’re probably the dumbest kid in this class and you need to learn how to spell.” Some things never change.
The Snack in the Grass (11/2007)