Tyler and Tyrells Dad has earned visiting privileges. I arrange to take them to the jail and supervise them in their visit. I called the jail to inquire as to the specifics of visiting hours. She was a hag and instead of just answering my questions, she took down my information and sent me an envelope full of shit.
Said shit includes hours, directions, how to prepare for possibly harmful situations, and TWO copies of the jail rules (some of the best ones below, note that rule number one is why the Dad's girlfriend did not come for the visit.)
1. You must not be under any influence of drugs or alcohol.
2. No visitor or inmate shall sit or lay on the table tops, floors or other pieces of furniture not designed for sitting.
3. Visitors will not wear: blue chambray shirts similar to those issued to inmates; white uniforms similar to inmate uniforms; red ball caps and red stocking caps; see-through type outer clothing.
4. Inmates may have a brief embrace and kiss at the beginning and end of each contact visit. You may hold hands above the tables only.
5. Visitors shall not bring anything into the visiting area with the following exceptions:
Two (2) jars of baby food;
One (1) plastic spoon;
Two (2) baby bottles (plastic only);
Five (5) diapers;
One (1) dispenser of wet wipes;
A small coin purse with no more than ten dollars ($10) in change;
Prepared food for minimum custody permanent party inmates only.
I never actually went into see the Dad with the boys. Only two visitors are allowed in at a time, and since I really had no desire to see him, I thought it would be best if the boys spent the thirty minute period visiting with him
Instead I waited in the waiting area, just myself amongst a school of thugs. I dialed the entire phone book on my cell in an attempt to mask my fear of all the vagrants. I just kept to myself and tried not to make eye-contact, as I once saw on the Discovery Channel that this is one way to provoke wild animals.
At seventeen minutes into the thirty minute visiting slot, the gates slam open and out walk Tyler and Tyrell. THEY HAD BEEN KICKED OUT FOR VIOLENT BEHAVIOR.
Apparently they started kicking the shit out of each other over some story they were telling their Dad. They couldn't agree on a few details, curse words were exchanged, fists began to fly, and the guards removed them.
Showing posts with label Tyler. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tyler. Show all posts
Saturday, November 7, 2015
65: New mother reads her Machiavelli:
The new kids mom has cleverly worked it so that her son is now the most popular kid in my class. She has extended her pattern of daily gift-giving beyond me.
She now brings in little surprises for the kids, and she MAKES her son pass them out. He has no clue about why she is there, and why he is struggling to hand out rice-krispy treats via his walker. But he does it, and this makes the kids like him. Sometimes he will even give into Augusta's greedy attempts to coerce him into giving him an extra treat, leaving himself without one.
This mother has entirely taken over the 15 minute period in our day that is referred to as "snack time". Fuck everyone else's nasty donations--on Thursday she brought in EGG ROLLS that she had made herself. They were so good that I would have fought Augusta for the last one.
Wednesday was the day she brought in the cake. This day has become legendary in our classroom. The kids refer to this day as "Bunny Cake Day". It was a cake, shaped like a bunny with colored coconut sprinkles on the frosting to form eyes, nose and mouth. It also had Jelly Beans along the outside.
When she brought her son in the morning, she set the cake on the front table. The kids admired the fucking thing throughout the morning, and were overjoyed when she returned at 11:00 a.m. to serve it. Along with little pint size chocolate milk cartons, of course.
It is so funny to see how many kids now will play with the new kid. Especially kids like Tyler, who will do anything he can to extort money from him. And Augusta!! He always sits next to the new kid at lunchtime. The new kid is easily talked out of anything in his lunchbox. The new kid often goes hungry.
She now brings in little surprises for the kids, and she MAKES her son pass them out. He has no clue about why she is there, and why he is struggling to hand out rice-krispy treats via his walker. But he does it, and this makes the kids like him. Sometimes he will even give into Augusta's greedy attempts to coerce him into giving him an extra treat, leaving himself without one.
This mother has entirely taken over the 15 minute period in our day that is referred to as "snack time". Fuck everyone else's nasty donations--on Thursday she brought in EGG ROLLS that she had made herself. They were so good that I would have fought Augusta for the last one.
Wednesday was the day she brought in the cake. This day has become legendary in our classroom. The kids refer to this day as "Bunny Cake Day". It was a cake, shaped like a bunny with colored coconut sprinkles on the frosting to form eyes, nose and mouth. It also had Jelly Beans along the outside.
When she brought her son in the morning, she set the cake on the front table. The kids admired the fucking thing throughout the morning, and were overjoyed when she returned at 11:00 a.m. to serve it. Along with little pint size chocolate milk cartons, of course.
It is so funny to see how many kids now will play with the new kid. Especially kids like Tyler, who will do anything he can to extort money from him. And Augusta!! He always sits next to the new kid at lunchtime. The new kid is easily talked out of anything in his lunchbox. The new kid often goes hungry.
59: Augusta steals more food:
Earlier this week, the new kid's mom brought him a meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken for lunch. It contained more food then he could eat in an entire day. There were 3 pieces of chicken, a biscuit, mashed potatoes, pudding and a big ass soda pop.
She set everything up for him; buttered his roll, cut up bites of chicken, put spoons in his pudding and potatoes. She then left. Augusta swooped towards him like a vulture. I was temporarily distracted by questions from the bitchy lunch money lady, and dealt with her for about 5 minutes.
After I deal with her shit, I walk over to the new kid, and notice that his lunch, in its entirety, is gone. Even his soda pop, finished.
I ask him how he ate his lunch so fast. Tyler, who is sitting nearby, points at Augusta, and says, "No he didn't eat it, the Kentucky Fried Fat-Ass over there did."
She set everything up for him; buttered his roll, cut up bites of chicken, put spoons in his pudding and potatoes. She then left. Augusta swooped towards him like a vulture. I was temporarily distracted by questions from the bitchy lunch money lady, and dealt with her for about 5 minutes.
After I deal with her shit, I walk over to the new kid, and notice that his lunch, in its entirety, is gone. Even his soda pop, finished.
I ask him how he ate his lunch so fast. Tyler, who is sitting nearby, points at Augusta, and says, "No he didn't eat it, the Kentucky Fried Fat-Ass over there did."
57: Tyrell has problems with referees:
First of all, I wish to dedicate the following event to all my friends, with the exception of DW, who continue to ridicule, harass, and talk shit to me for encouraging and participating in the extra-curricular activities of my students; both former and present.
Fuck you guys. All of you passed up what DW referred to as "Better than a fucking Lakers game."
So it begins, Thursday, four o'clock, I arrive at Tyler and Tyrell's residence to pick them both up. I honk my horn a multitude of times, but no one exits the house. Fuck. I pull up into a handicap parking spot, leave the car running, and run up to their door. After several punches to the door, no one comes. I let myself in.
The home smelled like cats and smoke. The combination of T.V. and CD player almost deafened me. Both boys are on the couch, staring at the set. Tyrell had to be at his basketball game an hour early to practice. I scare the shit out of them both when I walk into the TV room. I ask if they are ready to go, and they say yes. We leave--the TV and CD player remain on, and the girlfriend remains on the dads bed. She is out for the count.
We walk out to my car and there is a cheap-ass rent a cop by my car. He begins to bitch at me for parking in a handicap spot. I need not respond to him, as Tyrell busts out with "Me and my brother have to be in special reading classes." I laughed. Not exactly the response he was looking for.
We all get in the car, the rent-a-cop continues to talk to me. He is signaling at me to roll down my window. I ignore him and slam the car into reverse. We have a basketball game to attend.
We arrive at Tyrell's middle school and drop him off. Tyler and I go get McDonald's. We hit the drive-through, and I buy them both dinner. Tyler eats his in my NEW car, spilling shit all over the place. I ask him to be more careful. He says OK, and continues dropping french fries everywhere.
We then go pick up my friend DW, who has expressed great interest in attending one of the games. DW was a baller in High School, but I actually met him in college, where he continued to star on the court. Sadly, he relied way too much on his image, and not enough on the actual game, so his post-college career has been pathetic. But, at one time, he was quite a star, especially regionally.
Tyrell knew who he was, and it was going to be a surprise for him when we arrived at his game with DW.
So we arrive back at the school, it is 5:00, the game was to start at 5:30. I have DW take Tyrell his food. Tyrell was speechless, all he could muster up was "I saw you on TV." Tyrell then spouted out something about DW and I getting married and adopting him and his brother. This was too much for DW, so he returns to the bleachers.
The next twenty minutes is filled with DW bitching at me, Tyler asking DW what it is like to be "really black", and Tyrell trying to show off on the court for DW.
The game finally starts, but Tyrell is not a starter. We could see him bitching to his coach about this, but could not make out any words. Tyrell then points to DW, the coach looks over, Tyrell jumps up and down in temper tantrum, and the one of the starters is pulled. Tyrell is in.
All is normal for a long ass time. Tyrell is on his best behavior, and is playing a great game. Half-time rolls around, and Tyler is throwing his Ju-Ju fruits on the court. He is aiming for the center. DW is encouraging this behavior. I do nothing to stop it, because it is funny. Finally it is announced on the microphone that "anyone throwing objects at or on the court will be asked to leave."
Second half begins, and immediately Tyrell is shoved by a kid on the other team. They talk shit to each other throughout the next 5 minutes of the game. Finally, after the kid makes a remark about his dad being in jail and his teacher having to take care of him, Tyrell's dam breaks.
In the angriest, loudest tone I have ever heard come out of that kids mouth, he screams "Don't make me cotton candy your ass, Mother Fucker!! I'll cotton candy that shit right now, Mother Fucker!" The referee blows his whistle, and throws Tyrell out of the game. Tyrell will not accept this. To the referee he says, "You want your ass cotton candied too mother fucker? Cuz I will cotton candy that shit, and with a capital K."
Yes, he said with a capital K. One of his spelling words last year was cotton. I am a poor teacher.
Everyone in the gym is angry, mothers are covering the ears of their children. DW stands up and shouts out "Cotton candy him kid. Candy dat ass!!"
DW is now ejected. Tyler then stands up to contest both ejections, when he is also ejected. He calls the ref a "Pansy ass mother fucker." DW then repeats it, except a lot louder.
At this point, everything is chaos. Tyrell is refusing to leave the court. All his teammates are cheering him on, as is DW. He is loving the attention. He then decides to drop his shorts, grab his penis, and tells the entire visiting side of the bleachers to "EAT THIS".
DW was barreled over laughing, headed toward Tyrell, I was in shock. DW actually goes out onto the court, and tries to coax Tyrell off of it. Tyrell looks at DW, again grabs his penis, and suggests that DW "suck my twelve-year old cock."
DW looks up at me in the bleachers, gives me a seriously apologetic look, and signals for me to get down there. I grab my bag and Tyler, and we head down. Everyone is staring. I refuse to make eye contact with anyone.
Tyrell's coach is nearing him, when Tyrell announces " Coach get away from my cock!!!" I have never in my life seen a kid as out of control as Tyrell was at this point. I was truly amazed.
The coach warned Tyrell that the police had been called, when Tyrell decided to pull his pants up. He walks over to the bench, gives some of his teammates a high five, then exits the gym.
DW, Tyler and I follow him out. DW asks Tyrell him for an autograph. Tyrell agrees, we get to my car, and he scribbles his name on the McDonalds bag that was still in my car. He proudly hands it to DW. DW then says, "Kid, you have no idea how famous you really are."
I pull up to DW's house. Tyrell demands that DW kiss me goodnight. I about shot myself. I told Tyrell that this was inappropriate. He announced that his Dad's girlfriend kisses her friends all the time. DW laughs, kisses me on the cheek, and gets out.
The boys then fight over who will sit in the front seat. They begin punching each other. I stop the car, remove my seatbelt and turn around--just in time to see Tyrell clock Tyler so hard that his mouth starts to bleed. All over the back seat of my new car. I scold Tyrell and give Tyler my jacket to soak up the blood that is now gushing from his mouth. I did about ninety all the way back to their home. Luckily, his mouth stopped bleeding. I then turned them over to the care of the 20 year old girlfriend who asked me if I "had a smoke she could bum." I told her I didn't smoke. She asks "What do you smoke?"
I said goodnight and got the hell out of there. Next Tuesday I take them to see their dad in jail.
Fuck you guys. All of you passed up what DW referred to as "Better than a fucking Lakers game."
So it begins, Thursday, four o'clock, I arrive at Tyler and Tyrell's residence to pick them both up. I honk my horn a multitude of times, but no one exits the house. Fuck. I pull up into a handicap parking spot, leave the car running, and run up to their door. After several punches to the door, no one comes. I let myself in.
The home smelled like cats and smoke. The combination of T.V. and CD player almost deafened me. Both boys are on the couch, staring at the set. Tyrell had to be at his basketball game an hour early to practice. I scare the shit out of them both when I walk into the TV room. I ask if they are ready to go, and they say yes. We leave--the TV and CD player remain on, and the girlfriend remains on the dads bed. She is out for the count.
We walk out to my car and there is a cheap-ass rent a cop by my car. He begins to bitch at me for parking in a handicap spot. I need not respond to him, as Tyrell busts out with "Me and my brother have to be in special reading classes." I laughed. Not exactly the response he was looking for.
We all get in the car, the rent-a-cop continues to talk to me. He is signaling at me to roll down my window. I ignore him and slam the car into reverse. We have a basketball game to attend.
We arrive at Tyrell's middle school and drop him off. Tyler and I go get McDonald's. We hit the drive-through, and I buy them both dinner. Tyler eats his in my NEW car, spilling shit all over the place. I ask him to be more careful. He says OK, and continues dropping french fries everywhere.
We then go pick up my friend DW, who has expressed great interest in attending one of the games. DW was a baller in High School, but I actually met him in college, where he continued to star on the court. Sadly, he relied way too much on his image, and not enough on the actual game, so his post-college career has been pathetic. But, at one time, he was quite a star, especially regionally.
Tyrell knew who he was, and it was going to be a surprise for him when we arrived at his game with DW.
So we arrive back at the school, it is 5:00, the game was to start at 5:30. I have DW take Tyrell his food. Tyrell was speechless, all he could muster up was "I saw you on TV." Tyrell then spouted out something about DW and I getting married and adopting him and his brother. This was too much for DW, so he returns to the bleachers.
The next twenty minutes is filled with DW bitching at me, Tyler asking DW what it is like to be "really black", and Tyrell trying to show off on the court for DW.
The game finally starts, but Tyrell is not a starter. We could see him bitching to his coach about this, but could not make out any words. Tyrell then points to DW, the coach looks over, Tyrell jumps up and down in temper tantrum, and the one of the starters is pulled. Tyrell is in.
All is normal for a long ass time. Tyrell is on his best behavior, and is playing a great game. Half-time rolls around, and Tyler is throwing his Ju-Ju fruits on the court. He is aiming for the center. DW is encouraging this behavior. I do nothing to stop it, because it is funny. Finally it is announced on the microphone that "anyone throwing objects at or on the court will be asked to leave."
Second half begins, and immediately Tyrell is shoved by a kid on the other team. They talk shit to each other throughout the next 5 minutes of the game. Finally, after the kid makes a remark about his dad being in jail and his teacher having to take care of him, Tyrell's dam breaks.
In the angriest, loudest tone I have ever heard come out of that kids mouth, he screams "Don't make me cotton candy your ass, Mother Fucker!! I'll cotton candy that shit right now, Mother Fucker!" The referee blows his whistle, and throws Tyrell out of the game. Tyrell will not accept this. To the referee he says, "You want your ass cotton candied too mother fucker? Cuz I will cotton candy that shit, and with a capital K."
Yes, he said with a capital K. One of his spelling words last year was cotton. I am a poor teacher.
Everyone in the gym is angry, mothers are covering the ears of their children. DW stands up and shouts out "Cotton candy him kid. Candy dat ass!!"
DW is now ejected. Tyler then stands up to contest both ejections, when he is also ejected. He calls the ref a "Pansy ass mother fucker." DW then repeats it, except a lot louder.
At this point, everything is chaos. Tyrell is refusing to leave the court. All his teammates are cheering him on, as is DW. He is loving the attention. He then decides to drop his shorts, grab his penis, and tells the entire visiting side of the bleachers to "EAT THIS".
DW was barreled over laughing, headed toward Tyrell, I was in shock. DW actually goes out onto the court, and tries to coax Tyrell off of it. Tyrell looks at DW, again grabs his penis, and suggests that DW "suck my twelve-year old cock."
DW looks up at me in the bleachers, gives me a seriously apologetic look, and signals for me to get down there. I grab my bag and Tyler, and we head down. Everyone is staring. I refuse to make eye contact with anyone.
Tyrell's coach is nearing him, when Tyrell announces " Coach get away from my cock!!!" I have never in my life seen a kid as out of control as Tyrell was at this point. I was truly amazed.
The coach warned Tyrell that the police had been called, when Tyrell decided to pull his pants up. He walks over to the bench, gives some of his teammates a high five, then exits the gym.
DW, Tyler and I follow him out. DW asks Tyrell him for an autograph. Tyrell agrees, we get to my car, and he scribbles his name on the McDonalds bag that was still in my car. He proudly hands it to DW. DW then says, "Kid, you have no idea how famous you really are."
I pull up to DW's house. Tyrell demands that DW kiss me goodnight. I about shot myself. I told Tyrell that this was inappropriate. He announced that his Dad's girlfriend kisses her friends all the time. DW laughs, kisses me on the cheek, and gets out.
The boys then fight over who will sit in the front seat. They begin punching each other. I stop the car, remove my seatbelt and turn around--just in time to see Tyrell clock Tyler so hard that his mouth starts to bleed. All over the back seat of my new car. I scold Tyrell and give Tyler my jacket to soak up the blood that is now gushing from his mouth. I did about ninety all the way back to their home. Luckily, his mouth stopped bleeding. I then turned them over to the care of the 20 year old girlfriend who asked me if I "had a smoke she could bum." I told her I didn't smoke. She asks "What do you smoke?"
I said goodnight and got the hell out of there. Next Tuesday I take them to see their dad in jail.
42: Tyler's nose candy:
When Tyler arrives at school today, he is very excited about that snack that he brought. He kept asking me if he could tell me something. I respond with the usual "Does it have to do with the work we are doing right now?" He answers with the usual "No," and we proceed with the days lesson.
Snack time rolls around, the kids who brought their snack get it out of their backpack. I hand out goldfish crackers to the rest. My phone then rings, it is our speech-language pathologist, and it is regarding some important shit. I am on the phone with her for one and a half minutes. I then hang up the phone, and turn back to the tards.
I can't believe what I see: Tyler is snorting Pixie Stick sugar.
He had opened up three little Pixie Sticks (which he knows he is not supposed to bring for snack), had lined up rails of sugar, and was using the paper pixie stick tube to snort the shit with!
I run over to him and snatch the pixie stick from his hand. He says "Hey, what do you think you are doing??" I told him we do not out things in our nose.
He said "I tried to tell you earlier, but you wouldn't let me."
I ask him what he had wanted to tell me. He says, "My dad always snorts stuff, he calls it nose candy. Before he went to jail, he gave me a bunch of my own nose candies, and told me I was allowed to have them at school."
I referred Tyler to our counselor, who will conduct some sort of drug intervention program with him.
Snack time rolls around, the kids who brought their snack get it out of their backpack. I hand out goldfish crackers to the rest. My phone then rings, it is our speech-language pathologist, and it is regarding some important shit. I am on the phone with her for one and a half minutes. I then hang up the phone, and turn back to the tards.
I can't believe what I see: Tyler is snorting Pixie Stick sugar.
He had opened up three little Pixie Sticks (which he knows he is not supposed to bring for snack), had lined up rails of sugar, and was using the paper pixie stick tube to snort the shit with!
I run over to him and snatch the pixie stick from his hand. He says "Hey, what do you think you are doing??" I told him we do not out things in our nose.
He said "I tried to tell you earlier, but you wouldn't let me."
I ask him what he had wanted to tell me. He says, "My dad always snorts stuff, he calls it nose candy. Before he went to jail, he gave me a bunch of my own nose candies, and told me I was allowed to have them at school."
I referred Tyler to our counselor, who will conduct some sort of drug intervention program with him.
39: The Tyrell Lap:
I go to another of Tyrell's basketball games. Why? HIS DAD IS IN JAIL AND HE NEEDED A RIDE!!! (He is serving ninety days for three DUI'S. This is the same dad who got his ass kicked my Mexicans and mooned a basketball game).
Tyler and Tyrell are currently under the care of their dad's girlfriend, who I met when I arrived to pick them up at their low-income housing complex. She appeared to be around 20 years old.
There was nothing but mayhem in the parking lot--kids running around, hitting each other, adults having conversations with each other from 50 yards away, a police car. I was honestly scared to get out of my car. I thought the presence of the police car would ease the fear, but there was no officer around. Someone who lived there could have stolen the police car from all I could gather.
I pull myself together and walk up to their apartment. Out comes Tyler, Tyrell, AND THE GIRLFRIEND! She didn't have a drivers license, and wanted a ride to the game. Whatever, I didn't care that she would be in my car, except that she reeked of wet cigarette smoke.
Once we arrive at the game, the girlfriend disappears, and is not seen again. Tyler and I watch the game together, people stare at me, probably thinking I was the dad's girlfriend. Things are going well, Tyrell is playing a great game, and I bought Tyler soda pop and candy. Everything was actually very normal, until the third quarter, when Tyrell's SBD (severe behavior disorder) kicks in.
The ref makes a call against him, and the damn breaks. Tyrell yells out "You're a stupid fucker!" He is immediately ejected. Not just ejected but actually thrown out of the gym. The ref orders him to the locker room.
He is SO angry that he ignores the ref and removes his jersey and lays it flat in the center of the court. Instead of heading to the locker room, he jogs a full lap around the boundary line of the court. While he is doing this he is throwing his arms up and down screaming "RRaaaahhh" with occasional obscenities. He has the scariest look on his face that I have ever seen. Upon completion of the lap he exits the building. He doesn't even get his stuff from the locker room. His jersey was still in the middle of the court. Nobody in the entire gym had any idea how to react.
I calmly supress my laughter and react in my usual manner: I just leave, taking Tyler with me, of course.
Tyrell is outside next to my car waiting. I ask him if he has seen the girlfriend. He hadn't, so we just leave.
On the way home I drive through Dairy Queen and buy them both a Blizzard. Tyrell deserved it, as the "Tyrell Lap" was possibly the funniest thing I have ever seen.
We pull into the parking lot of their complex. Still, at 8:30 p.m., there are kids running all over the place. The police car is still there. I walk them up to the door, not knowing what to do with them. Luckily, the girlfriend is there--WITH SOME FUCKING GUY!!!!! She tells me that she had gotten a ride back with a friend. Her hair looked like sex.
Sadly, I said goodbye to the boys. I was truly worried about the girlfriends ability to adequately care for them.
I called Child Protective Services the next day. My third call to them in the past month. The staff there knows me by name.
Tyler and Tyrell are currently under the care of their dad's girlfriend, who I met when I arrived to pick them up at their low-income housing complex. She appeared to be around 20 years old.
There was nothing but mayhem in the parking lot--kids running around, hitting each other, adults having conversations with each other from 50 yards away, a police car. I was honestly scared to get out of my car. I thought the presence of the police car would ease the fear, but there was no officer around. Someone who lived there could have stolen the police car from all I could gather.
I pull myself together and walk up to their apartment. Out comes Tyler, Tyrell, AND THE GIRLFRIEND! She didn't have a drivers license, and wanted a ride to the game. Whatever, I didn't care that she would be in my car, except that she reeked of wet cigarette smoke.
Once we arrive at the game, the girlfriend disappears, and is not seen again. Tyler and I watch the game together, people stare at me, probably thinking I was the dad's girlfriend. Things are going well, Tyrell is playing a great game, and I bought Tyler soda pop and candy. Everything was actually very normal, until the third quarter, when Tyrell's SBD (severe behavior disorder) kicks in.
The ref makes a call against him, and the damn breaks. Tyrell yells out "You're a stupid fucker!" He is immediately ejected. Not just ejected but actually thrown out of the gym. The ref orders him to the locker room.
He is SO angry that he ignores the ref and removes his jersey and lays it flat in the center of the court. Instead of heading to the locker room, he jogs a full lap around the boundary line of the court. While he is doing this he is throwing his arms up and down screaming "RRaaaahhh" with occasional obscenities. He has the scariest look on his face that I have ever seen. Upon completion of the lap he exits the building. He doesn't even get his stuff from the locker room. His jersey was still in the middle of the court. Nobody in the entire gym had any idea how to react.
I calmly supress my laughter and react in my usual manner: I just leave, taking Tyler with me, of course.
Tyrell is outside next to my car waiting. I ask him if he has seen the girlfriend. He hadn't, so we just leave.
On the way home I drive through Dairy Queen and buy them both a Blizzard. Tyrell deserved it, as the "Tyrell Lap" was possibly the funniest thing I have ever seen.
We pull into the parking lot of their complex. Still, at 8:30 p.m., there are kids running all over the place. The police car is still there. I walk them up to the door, not knowing what to do with them. Luckily, the girlfriend is there--WITH SOME FUCKING GUY!!!!! She tells me that she had gotten a ride back with a friend. Her hair looked like sex.
Sadly, I said goodbye to the boys. I was truly worried about the girlfriends ability to adequately care for them.
I called Child Protective Services the next day. My third call to them in the past month. The staff there knows me by name.
37: Tards go to play, all hell breaks loose:
A few weeks ago I received an invitation from the local Children's Theater inviting my class and me to a performance of Hansel and Gretel.
For taking tards out in public, there is almost nothing worse than a play. Whenever there is a calm moment in my class, I say this: "If I wanted to be busy I'd go see a play." But the kids were excited, so I decided to go ahead and get my yearly play punishment out of the way.
I send home permission slips two weeks prior to the play date. [FYI: Normal classroom teachers send home permission slips ONE week prior. Plus I realize that acquiring the entire $5.50 to cover the cost of the trip may require some serious re-budgeting.] The day prior to the play I only have 3 slips turned in.
Being a good little Riti Sped, I call the homes of the 10+ kids that had not turned theirs in. Amongst the litany of unbelievable conversations I have with whoever answers on the other line, my favorite is this:
An answering machine that says "You have reached the Mercer family. We are unable to come to the phone at this time because Lola is shopping, Mark is watching football, Antoni is nowhere to be found and Tom is picking his nose."
The above is a true, unabridged greeting on the voicemail of one of my tard families. Normally I would have thought this was lame, but that my tard Tom does constantly pick his nose, so this is funny.
Surprisingly, all but 2 of my tards get their permission slips on the morning of the trip. The other two will have to spend the day in the preschool tard class. Nice.
The bus ride there was actually quite calm. I think that adjusting to the size of a regular school bus was a bit much for them. I can only imagine the thought processing in their little heads, something like, "Wow. A long bus and seats without restraint equipment--what is this strange new world??"
Our bus arrives at the auditorium, and there are tons of kids all over the place. At least a couple thousand. If one of my tards gets loose, the shit will hit the fan. This worries me, so I assign each tard a buddy to hold hands with and to be "in charge of." This proves to be a good idea, as they argue with each other over who is actually in charge, squeeze the crap out of each others hands, and kick at each other.
The best part are the other kids. Imagine being a normal kid, say sixth grade or so, and seeing a line-up of tards holding hands, stomping through the crowds. The kids were snickering, joking, I heard "look at that" plenty of times. Tons of kids are staring, but my tards are LOVING IT!! They are waving and smiling, still holding hands, basking in the attention.
Since my group is disabled, I am able to reap the rewards of "special needs check in." We are all escorted in, and given the front row of seats to the left of the stage, next to the crying room, coincidentally.
All of the ruckus of the crowds coming in, the noise, etc. causes Lindsay to cry. She wants to sit on my lap. I let her. Soon after this, she has to go to the bathroom, and one of my aides takes her. Things seem to be going smoothly, so I pull out the latest Tucker Max story and start to read it from my purse and begin to read it.
I am about one minute into it, laughing hysterically, when I realize that there are a bunch of kids behind me, peering over my shoulder. I put the papers back in the purse, and hear one kid tell another one that the paper I had said "vagina." Immediately they begin to laugh. I chuckle to myself, as it is kind of funny.
While waiting for the production to begin, nothing that great happens, although Tyler does say "Let's get this bitch on the road."
In preparation for the story of Hansel and Gretel, I read the story to the kids nine times prior to the play. NINE TIMES. We also talked about how it is only a story, and that witches who eat kids are not real, parents don't really lose their kids in the woods, etc.
I am confident that nine times had been enough, and that the kids will understand the play. I was wrong. The witch scares all of the little kids.
Emmy and Brian are crying and screaming. Now I realize the strategic seating arrangement. I take them both to the crying room. But they can still hear the play through speakers in the crying room. So we sing songs and look away from the stage.
Then they fight over who will sit on my lap. Then, and this fucking kills me, they want to hear the story of Hansel and Gretel. I had not of course brought the book with me. But I did have the latest Tucker Max story. I quickly stop this line of thought.
We remain in the crying room for the entire duration of the play. The rest of the tards did such a good job of watching and tying in the ideas from the book to the play. I was so proud of them!! I almost cried on the bus when they told me how much they loved it.
We got back to school, and, aside from Tyler repeatedly telling everyone that he "would of schooled that witch bitch," all goes well. I give them all granola dip bars. They fight over who gets rocky road and who gets peanut butter.
For taking tards out in public, there is almost nothing worse than a play. Whenever there is a calm moment in my class, I say this: "If I wanted to be busy I'd go see a play." But the kids were excited, so I decided to go ahead and get my yearly play punishment out of the way.
I send home permission slips two weeks prior to the play date. [FYI: Normal classroom teachers send home permission slips ONE week prior. Plus I realize that acquiring the entire $5.50 to cover the cost of the trip may require some serious re-budgeting.] The day prior to the play I only have 3 slips turned in.
Being a good little Riti Sped, I call the homes of the 10+ kids that had not turned theirs in. Amongst the litany of unbelievable conversations I have with whoever answers on the other line, my favorite is this:
An answering machine that says "You have reached the Mercer family. We are unable to come to the phone at this time because Lola is shopping, Mark is watching football, Antoni is nowhere to be found and Tom is picking his nose."
The above is a true, unabridged greeting on the voicemail of one of my tard families. Normally I would have thought this was lame, but that my tard Tom does constantly pick his nose, so this is funny.
Surprisingly, all but 2 of my tards get their permission slips on the morning of the trip. The other two will have to spend the day in the preschool tard class. Nice.
The bus ride there was actually quite calm. I think that adjusting to the size of a regular school bus was a bit much for them. I can only imagine the thought processing in their little heads, something like, "Wow. A long bus and seats without restraint equipment--what is this strange new world??"
Our bus arrives at the auditorium, and there are tons of kids all over the place. At least a couple thousand. If one of my tards gets loose, the shit will hit the fan. This worries me, so I assign each tard a buddy to hold hands with and to be "in charge of." This proves to be a good idea, as they argue with each other over who is actually in charge, squeeze the crap out of each others hands, and kick at each other.
The best part are the other kids. Imagine being a normal kid, say sixth grade or so, and seeing a line-up of tards holding hands, stomping through the crowds. The kids were snickering, joking, I heard "look at that" plenty of times. Tons of kids are staring, but my tards are LOVING IT!! They are waving and smiling, still holding hands, basking in the attention.
Since my group is disabled, I am able to reap the rewards of "special needs check in." We are all escorted in, and given the front row of seats to the left of the stage, next to the crying room, coincidentally.
All of the ruckus of the crowds coming in, the noise, etc. causes Lindsay to cry. She wants to sit on my lap. I let her. Soon after this, she has to go to the bathroom, and one of my aides takes her. Things seem to be going smoothly, so I pull out the latest Tucker Max story and start to read it from my purse and begin to read it.
I am about one minute into it, laughing hysterically, when I realize that there are a bunch of kids behind me, peering over my shoulder. I put the papers back in the purse, and hear one kid tell another one that the paper I had said "vagina." Immediately they begin to laugh. I chuckle to myself, as it is kind of funny.
While waiting for the production to begin, nothing that great happens, although Tyler does say "Let's get this bitch on the road."
In preparation for the story of Hansel and Gretel, I read the story to the kids nine times prior to the play. NINE TIMES. We also talked about how it is only a story, and that witches who eat kids are not real, parents don't really lose their kids in the woods, etc.
I am confident that nine times had been enough, and that the kids will understand the play. I was wrong. The witch scares all of the little kids.
Emmy and Brian are crying and screaming. Now I realize the strategic seating arrangement. I take them both to the crying room. But they can still hear the play through speakers in the crying room. So we sing songs and look away from the stage.
Then they fight over who will sit on my lap. Then, and this fucking kills me, they want to hear the story of Hansel and Gretel. I had not of course brought the book with me. But I did have the latest Tucker Max story. I quickly stop this line of thought.
We remain in the crying room for the entire duration of the play. The rest of the tards did such a good job of watching and tying in the ideas from the book to the play. I was so proud of them!! I almost cried on the bus when they told me how much they loved it.
We got back to school, and, aside from Tyler repeatedly telling everyone that he "would of schooled that witch bitch," all goes well. I give them all granola dip bars. They fight over who gets rocky road and who gets peanut butter.
35: Poetic justice is sweet:
This story is almost enough turn to make me question my atheist principles.
Tyler's father came into the school today. Tyrell had been out sick for three days, and the end of the third day his father showed up to get his work to make up. I was not pleased with this for several reasons:
1. I do not like him. He is not a good person (see above story).
2. He had not called to tell me he was going to do this. Therefore, I am unprepared with a tard make-up work packet.
3. He smelled like a fucking dumpster.
4. Someone had obviously kicked his ass. BOTH of his eyes were black, he had various cuts on his face, open wounds on his arms, bloody knuckles, and his hand was wrapped with medical tape. Did I mention he stank?
Merely looking at him obligated me to question his well-being. I didn't want to, but it really was inevitable. I am hoping that he will tell me that his tard kicked his ass.
Unfortunately this is not the case. The dad tells me that he was at the drive-thru of Taco Bell when he is cut-off by a car full of Mexicans, making him lose his rightful place in the line-up. (Note: he uses the word Mexicans this time only, after this he just says 'cans') Words are exchanged, birds are flipped. The 'can' driver then gets out and pulls him out of his car. He throws him on the ground, and begins kicking him. Then, the other 'cans' get out and help the driver 'can' to whoop his ass.
And, from a first-hand perspective, I can verify that they did, indeed, whoop his ass.
I asked him if he had gone to the hospital. He said "No, I'm okay." He is not okay, but I don't say it. I tell him that I don't have the make-up work prepared, but would send it home with a sibling the next day. He says OK, and turns to leave. I tell him that I hope his son gets better soon, and that his own injuries healed soon, yada yada yada. He then stops, turns to me and says "Yeah, well ya fuck with one bean and ya get the whole burrito."
I guess sometimes everything does come out in the wash.
Tyler's father came into the school today. Tyrell had been out sick for three days, and the end of the third day his father showed up to get his work to make up. I was not pleased with this for several reasons:
1. I do not like him. He is not a good person (see above story).
2. He had not called to tell me he was going to do this. Therefore, I am unprepared with a tard make-up work packet.
3. He smelled like a fucking dumpster.
4. Someone had obviously kicked his ass. BOTH of his eyes were black, he had various cuts on his face, open wounds on his arms, bloody knuckles, and his hand was wrapped with medical tape. Did I mention he stank?
Merely looking at him obligated me to question his well-being. I didn't want to, but it really was inevitable. I am hoping that he will tell me that his tard kicked his ass.
Unfortunately this is not the case. The dad tells me that he was at the drive-thru of Taco Bell when he is cut-off by a car full of Mexicans, making him lose his rightful place in the line-up. (Note: he uses the word Mexicans this time only, after this he just says 'cans') Words are exchanged, birds are flipped. The 'can' driver then gets out and pulls him out of his car. He throws him on the ground, and begins kicking him. Then, the other 'cans' get out and help the driver 'can' to whoop his ass.
And, from a first-hand perspective, I can verify that they did, indeed, whoop his ass.
I asked him if he had gone to the hospital. He said "No, I'm okay." He is not okay, but I don't say it. I tell him that I don't have the make-up work prepared, but would send it home with a sibling the next day. He says OK, and turns to leave. I tell him that I hope his son gets better soon, and that his own injuries healed soon, yada yada yada. He then stops, turns to me and says "Yeah, well ya fuck with one bean and ya get the whole burrito."
I guess sometimes everything does come out in the wash.
34: Tyler's father is the retarded one:
Remember Tyler's father, the one who mooned a junior high basketball game? He might be the worst parent ever. His son Tyler is a tard, and thus very impressionable, and his father is impressing very bad things on him. Two examples:
Tyler was sent home Thursday around noon for this: we were doing a unit on Martin Luther King Jr. He announces to the whole class that his Dad said "What is black and yellow and makes you laugh? A bus full of black people rolling over a cliff."
On MLK Jr. Day, my school has the day off, but I ran up to the school to get some papers I need to correct. There were some kids riding their bikes around the parking lot, and one of them is Tyler. I asked him if he was enjoying his day off. This is exactly what he said:
"My dad said that we don't celebrate that troublemakers birthday."
It is almost enough to make my jaded soul sad.
Tyler was sent home Thursday around noon for this: we were doing a unit on Martin Luther King Jr. He announces to the whole class that his Dad said "What is black and yellow and makes you laugh? A bus full of black people rolling over a cliff."
On MLK Jr. Day, my school has the day off, but I ran up to the school to get some papers I need to correct. There were some kids riding their bikes around the parking lot, and one of them is Tyler. I asked him if he was enjoying his day off. This is exactly what he said:
"My dad said that we don't celebrate that troublemakers birthday."
It is almost enough to make my jaded soul sad.
29: Tard parent makes ass out of himself, literally:
I go to a basketball game at the junior high. I do this because a current student of mine, Tyler, has a brother, Tyrell, playing. He is a former student of mine. I agree to go to the game, but I take a friend with me.
When I get there I see Tyler, who introduces me to his father. His father appears to be my age, and will not let go of my hand when I shake it. He is also wearing a jersey. I hate this shit. I automatically label him as poor white trash. His behavior this night will prove I am correct in my assessment.
The game starts, and Tyrell is playing is playing well. He is a good athlete. Almost every call that the ref makes against Tyrell's team receives a loud "LOOOSER" comment from the dad. Tyrell fouls someone and the dad disagrees. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WATCHING, REF? OPEN YOUR EYES." Other parents are staring. My friend and I are about to die from trying to hold in our laughter.
A penalty is later called against one of Tyrell's teammates. "THAT IS BULLSHIT," the dad calls out. At this point he is approached by the coach about his behavior, and asked to calm down and stop making these remarks.
He is basically calm for the rest of the game, until the last 2 minutes, when Tyrell fouls out. At this, the dad stands up, yells "KISS THIS REF" and moons the entire court and everyone on the bleachers. He is then ejected from the game. I can not contain myself. Tyler is crying because he doesn't want to leave the court. The gym is virtually chaotic with the commotion.
The game over, everyone start filing out of the gym into the parking lot, parents, kids, teachers, coaches, etc. Tyrell's dad is in the parking lot yelling at Tyrell for his on court performance. Everyone is staring.
The family gets into their mini-van, and all of them are fighting. They pull out of the parking lot, when the dad slams on the brakes, screeching the tires and to bring the van to an abrupt stop. The door flies open and out tumble Tyrell and Tyler. The dad pulls off, not even bothering to close the van door, leaving the brothers to walk home. Tyler and Tyrell are beating the shit out of each other on the sidewalk as we all watch. At least 50 parents/kids are watching this. They are swearing at each other and fighting ruthlessly.
My friend and I get in my car and begin to drive out of the parking lot. We get about a quarter mile down the road from the school when we pass Tyler and Tyrell, still kicking the shit out of each other as they walk home.
When I get there I see Tyler, who introduces me to his father. His father appears to be my age, and will not let go of my hand when I shake it. He is also wearing a jersey. I hate this shit. I automatically label him as poor white trash. His behavior this night will prove I am correct in my assessment.
The game starts, and Tyrell is playing is playing well. He is a good athlete. Almost every call that the ref makes against Tyrell's team receives a loud "LOOOSER" comment from the dad. Tyrell fouls someone and the dad disagrees. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WATCHING, REF? OPEN YOUR EYES." Other parents are staring. My friend and I are about to die from trying to hold in our laughter.
A penalty is later called against one of Tyrell's teammates. "THAT IS BULLSHIT," the dad calls out. At this point he is approached by the coach about his behavior, and asked to calm down and stop making these remarks.
He is basically calm for the rest of the game, until the last 2 minutes, when Tyrell fouls out. At this, the dad stands up, yells "KISS THIS REF" and moons the entire court and everyone on the bleachers. He is then ejected from the game. I can not contain myself. Tyler is crying because he doesn't want to leave the court. The gym is virtually chaotic with the commotion.
The game over, everyone start filing out of the gym into the parking lot, parents, kids, teachers, coaches, etc. Tyrell's dad is in the parking lot yelling at Tyrell for his on court performance. Everyone is staring.
The family gets into their mini-van, and all of them are fighting. They pull out of the parking lot, when the dad slams on the brakes, screeching the tires and to bring the van to an abrupt stop. The door flies open and out tumble Tyrell and Tyler. The dad pulls off, not even bothering to close the van door, leaving the brothers to walk home. Tyler and Tyrell are beating the shit out of each other on the sidewalk as we all watch. At least 50 parents/kids are watching this. They are swearing at each other and fighting ruthlessly.
My friend and I get in my car and begin to drive out of the parking lot. We get about a quarter mile down the road from the school when we pass Tyler and Tyrell, still kicking the shit out of each other as they walk home.
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