Doing time.

Wow. It seems that the only time I am moved to write is when I have these very depressing broody thoughts. Apologies. But I just wanted to share this.

It was fifth period and I was reading with a student. Her attention absorbed in Sweet Valley High Book.

My co-teacher and I share a classroom. One side of the room she has set up a small half moon of small tables around which she gathers 4-6 students at a time. I do the exact same on the other side. In the peculiar overlap of space and sounds, I have developed the habit of tuning in and out on the conversations she is having with her students.

Lamel, one of her students sauntered in late, apparently upset that he had been given detention. He sat down to begin his work. A moment later, the collective reading silence in the room was broken by his voice: "you know" he said almost light-heartedly "detention is just like prison. You get one mark, thats 30 minutes, you get two marks you gotta serve an hour." It was something in his tone that struck me. It reminded me of the way a child tells his parent "you know Santa Clause is not real." A child letting you know he is on to your secret. A look of acknowledgment. Without another word, he returned to reading.