Today, likely while you are reading this, my students will be taking the state-mandated test that we've prepared all year for, a 60+ question nightmare that, at least for some of them, is going to feel like the first few minutes of Saving Private Ryan.
I'm feeling at least a teeny bit nervous about it, but mostly I feel fine. We've worked since last August for this moment, and while there are of course some kids that I am actively rooting for*, I trust that the ones I expect to perform well will perform well and that a few of the ones that I do not expect to perform well will surprise me. (That's usually how it goes for most all teachers that are any good at teaching, I suspect.)
*Specifically, My Main Man Mr. Ho, universally regarded as the greatest kid that has ever existed. Example of how amazing he is: His last name is "Ho," and NOBODY ever gives him shit about it. They all LOVE him. He's the best.
(He is also one of the deadliest kids in school -- he will very likely be crowned State Champion for his age group at a karate competition this summer. That might be another reason why nobody needles him about his name.)
There is certainly another big test that the kids will take (in a couple of weeks, actually), but this one is the MEGA. After today, I will walk a little lighter, until the scores come in, at which point I'll just sit there and look at the form for a few minutes without opening it, trying to use my brain to melt all of the numbers into something palatable. And this weekend, I will celebrate in maybe the second or third least school-appropriate way of all: by jumping and pushing and shoving and screaming the words to "Bands A Make Her Dance" at a Juicy J concert.
This Saturday, his ratchetness, Sir Juicy J of the Tennessee Juicys, will be in Houston. I have missed several concerts that I wanted to attend this year (Danny Brown, most recently -- that guy is AMAZING), but I most certainly will not miss Juicy. You should come too. We can hang out and be true best friends. You'll need to know these songs though.
"Fuckin' Wit Dis Click"
"Tear Da Club Up"
I have a kid this year nicknamed Tall Boy. He's a likeable troublemaker with hands as big as cinderblocks and arms that hang down to his knees. (I suspect he has a 7' wingspan.) He was absent for a few days last month. When he showed back up, I asked him what happened. He made a fist with his right hand and showed me the knuckles. They were all scabbed up. I said, "You got in another fight?" He shook his head. I asked, "Why are your hands messed up but not your face. The other guy didn't hit you?" He just started laughing. Tall Boy is 800-0 in street fights. This is probably one of his favorite songs.
There was an ad that came on on YouTube before this song played. It was two perfectly pleasant women standing in a laundry mat talking about detergent. I don't imagine they've torn very many clubs up.