Birds of Prey

I don't remember the sixth grade being this vicious. But I was also a boy. Now I'm teaching girls, a group of "friends" actually. And I must admit that in recent weeks I've seen the face of evil in the way they deal with each other.

One of my students, the same one I blogged about chastising, is a cold and calculating soul, one who knows how to keep her fingerprints off of all evidence, and who knows how to get others to do her dirty work for her. Today she had one of her little minions go into the school office and call her target's father on his cellphone to inform her of the boys his daughter was dealing with in school. She was caught red handed and ate all the blame herself. But I knew who was responsible.

Just the day before I had pulled the target out into the hallway. She is the smartest, prettiest and most participatory of their little crew. She also seems to be the most sane, despite a penchant for bad boys. She wanted to break free of the crew that she was beholden to. And I encouraged her. But a day later she was right back in the circle. I think the boss had that "message" sent to let her know her place in the pecking order.

It's in my nature do want to take "The Boss" down like the perp in a cop flick. My constant attempts of giving her a taste of her own medicine would be more effective if her crew had memories longer than that of goldfish. I know why her most faithful apprentice does it. The baby in a house full of boys, she needs a BFF. And she's do whatever it takes to have one even if her loyalties switch from day to day within the crew. Another is a 14 year-old in the sixth grade who needs to roll with the cools girls to offset the fact that she's been left back twice. I'm sure women reading this have seen these things play out a million times, but most likely at older stages of the game. But there's a viciousness I see with them, an attempt to find power and influence in the few areas they can chance instead of trying to find ways out of the places that they can't. But, in truth, there's very little that I can do about it.

When it I took this job, I took it because it had an end date. I could walk into this situation knowing that there were no expectations beyond a certain point. I could leave. This is far from saying that I'm the abandoning type, but I've never done well with red tape. I am my father's child after all, which makes me a nomadic hunter who can only go where the game thrives. I work in that classroom as a living lesson for what happens when you lose focus, when you decided to coast, when you try to throw the towel in on the job God assigned you. I know these kids will remember me. They'll even remember my name and some of the things I said and taught them, but 90 a minutes a day can't save anyone. But I can say that I put my best foot forward, which is all most folks would ask me to do. I've made them laugh and I've made them pissed. But they're always respected me, even in the moments when they banded together to overpower me. And to think that I'm helping them make their own movie. Can't wait to see how the shooting goes.

I made a new dish tonight, chicken baked in a butternut liqueur marinade, El Pollo Benita (see culinaryintercourse.blogspot.com for details). As I moved about the kitchen with awareness and accuracy I allowed the thoughts of my day to retreat in favor of the task at hand. I decided to serve as chef for my goddaughter's first birthday party. I imagined myself sipping Dom in the center of a small room filled with close friends while we enjoyed a platinum edition of my once-famed Spades night. I ate with a smile on my face, discussing with Byron my distaste with the competing dished in a garlic challenge on the Food Network. Some nights it's the simple things.
Tonight I'm dreaming of living my dreams again. To quote a very annoying chick in a very bad movie, "It's right around the corner." Out.