Salty Revelations

Salty Revelations

Oh boy.

I think I might have jinxed my students with yesterday’s blissful posting.

It turns out that every 12-year-old soul-puppy-dog-angel has an inner hyena that tends to be brought out by 106 degree weather.

I’m not kidding: 12 year olds capable of imagining social welfare vending machines for high-density homeless areas stocked full of water, medication, blankets and non-perishable food on the first day of class are also capable of stealing purple markers from each other, calling teachers monstrous expletives, and doing some hard core public footsy in the front row of your lesson on the respiratory system.

All of this probably sounds to you like not a big deal, the typical junior high fare. I know. I saw much worse in my own middle school days. I should not have been so naïve, bracing myself for these moments from the beginning.

But I did. And then they showed up, smart and eager and gentle and strong all at the same time, little grown-ups already jaded and yet hopeful still.

And all of my preparatory anticipation of the certain lows vanished in their giggles about the word ‘bowels’ and in their awe that a Mexican man, someone who looks like them, invented the color television.

In such wonder, it is hard to remember the pettiness that exists side by side with revelation. Most of the time, I think our comprehension of them depends on the other, in this co-dependent, two-sided-coin miracle of human resilience.

I hope I feel that way again tomorrow.

 p.s. - This revelation led me in a moment of post-work exasperation to discover the joy of nutella on salty tortilla chips. Forget the pretzels. This will change your life.