On Thursday, students in my last class of the day were begging me to "do the dance you do! Do the dance! It's like this!" They did some strange version of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" march. I was dumbfounded.
"I don't dance in class! That would be so inappropriate!"
Thursday night, as I was explaining something to my roommate, with growing animation, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window and saw the dance. I dance to make a point. I apologized to those seventh-graders on Friday, partly for not owning up to dancing, partly for acting unprofessional by my very own definition. I said I could in no way guarantee that a relapse would not occur.
I laugh and laugh in that class. I try so hard to be serious, even giving detentions and subtracting points. It's probably unfair, when I cannot seem to keep myself under control.
Friday, I sat down at a desk during silent reading. The student next to me, I mean it, just his breathing made me laugh and I had to move.
During silent reading, with some regularity, I look up to find Adam doing something other than reading. I fix my glare on him. He shoots back a funny glare, and I realize I'm disarmed. I almost laugh and disrupt the class myself.
Adam: 1
McKalips: 0
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