Nutter in the Class

God.

There’s one thing that’s guaranteed to make a teacher’s life hell. Not a troublemaker. We learn how to deal with them eventually. Not even a herd of troublemakers. No, the one thing guaranteed to make a teacher’s life hell is a freak student.

They’re usually quiet and well-behaved and pleasant of speech. That’s the irony. One freak student in a class makes all the rest nuts, because they know that someone’s not knuckling under the group delusion and that makes them all uncomfortable. Uncomfortable? Ha – it’s like sitting on a patch of bindiis, if observation’s anything to go by.

What I mean by the ‘group delusion’ is that teen self-centred view that they are the centre of the universe, that they know exactly what’s going on, what’s important, who’s important.

Then we throw Tiger Lily into the mix. Um, yes, Tiger Lily. Her parents are typical country traditional Aussies, so the name must have a flashback to the 60s involved in its creation. I wonder what saved her from ‘Heavenly Hirani’ as well. Sheer dumb luck? Or maybe that would be too much even for a full-on 60s flashback.

Anyhow, Tiger Lily has always been quiet and shy. She seemed to look at the world with different eyes. And of course, she’s always been a target because of it. I didn’t have much to do with her until the beginning of this year. I can’t help wondering if this is all my fault.

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Foot in Mouth

“I’m funny, aren’t I?” Pete asks me.

“Course you are!” I said.

“Huh – that nurse just glared at me and walked off… she should’ve been in hysterics!”

“Well, Pete darl – you do have a bad case of foot-in-mouth at times. Like – the proctologist joke?”

“Now what the hell was wrong with that? Come on – a proctologist is sick of people not understanding what he does then running away once he’s told them, and so he decides to tell ‘em he talks to arseholes all day. And when he tries it out on a cute blonde, she says to him -”

“’- Oh, you’re a legal secretary too?’ Yeah, that’s funny as hell – unless you tell it at a lawyer’s funeral, schmuck!”

“Aw, c’mon, everyone needed cheering up!”

“It’s a funeral, Pete – we’re all standing around trying to think fond thoughts about the dead guy, and you remind us he’s a lawyer?”

Pete snickers.

“So what’d you say to the cute little nurse?”

“I told her she had a bum just like Bridget Jones’”

I choke.

He looks aggrieved.

“I didn’t even get the chance to tell her I’d like to park MY bike in it!”

I give up. Keeping in the laughter will give me hiccups in a second.

“WHAT????” demands Pete, confused as all hell.

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Me Daughter

My daughter’s conversation is filled with, “Heath says…” and “Heath thinks…” and I’ve gotta tell ya, every now and then it makes me want to bang my head against somethin’ big.

She’s not nuts. No staring, no screaming, no freaky stuff. She just insists that she talks to Heath Ledger. In her head, duh, not on the phone, because the guy’s dead. I saw the funeral on TV and cried a bit meself, cos he was a bit of a spunk. The crappiest movie seemed shinier with him in it. But that doesn’t mean I want him talking to my daughter in her head, eh?

Crap. Now I’m talking like I believe it.

But is that so bad, mate? I mean, she believes it, right? And what proof have I got that’d prove her wrong? Can’t give him a ring and ask, “Hey, Heath mate, you been chatting to me daughter, mate? Cos she thinks you are, and if you’re not, mate, then she’s round the twist with a splash of lime, mate. Wassat? You are? Grouse. Ta, mate. See ya – and hey, I loved Brokeback, even though me hubby wouldn’t have a bar of it!”

Maybe I’m nuts.

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