Enough

Jake had eye lashes that could go on for days and a mouth that could be heard zip codes away. Every sentence had extra emphasis and usually required a hand gesture, hip pop, or hand in the face as he walked away. Jake made fun of me, a lot, had a perfect peanut sized body, and knew just how fabulous he was.

I didn't know Jake until he entered my fourth block class last year. He was one new face among many of familiar ones. He of course, had done his research on me, and wanted to see if my reputation as sergeant was one to meddle with.

Jake often played musical chairs in my classroom. I tried him in groups, in the front, in his own island, on the floor, on the desk, I would have tried teaching him while he was flying, if I could. By the end of the year we settled on his own desk in his own corner with his own things always placed inside.

Among a group of kids who loved to talk, Jake loved the sound of his own voice. He always wanted to read aloud, would rather talk it out then write it out, had a response for everything, and never backed down from a fight. He often had the funniest come-backs, not even realizing how witty he was. On more than one occasion I had to walk out in the classroom, laugh, then pull it back together to put him in his place after doing exact imitations of his peers.

Sometimes I couldn't handle the Tasmanian devil personality of Jake, and sometimes all I wanted to do was laugh with him. Sometimes he got kicked out of class, and sometimes he was suspended. Sometimes he wanted to walk down the hallway arm in arm, and sometimes he wanted to be independent. All the time he came to me in the morning, sat by me until the bell was about to ring, and promised he'd be in class later.

I was the bud of many jokes. I am petite, sound like mini-mouse and am often sassy. I am known still for certain phrases and Jake will never let me forget it. When on the brink of going crazy in a classroom Jake knew exactly how to make me laugh. Some common teacher phrases include "I'll wait", "When you're ready", and "You're wasting your own time". I added
"really" and "enough" to my own repertoire. When the classroom was just loud enough, and when I had been interrupted one too many times and my mouth was open to choose which phrase I was going to go with, Jake would stand up (usually on a piece of furniture), bend one knee, pop out one hip, cross his arms, and sassily say, "Enough!". Usually this brought my class and I to laughter and we moved on.

Behind his class clown reputation and active personality Jake could read, well. He struggled paying attention long enough to really comprehend information but when he could get it together long enough to connect concepts Jake was on top of the world. The reason Jake was a joy was because he was often happy. He loved hard, played hard, when bullied, was hurt hard, and wanted to fit in hard.

Jake is one I wish I had a second year with. With another 180 days of instruction and fewer days of interruption, I believe Jake would have seen monumental growth, even greater than the year before. He needs consistency, a place to be settled, and patience. If his current teachers are reading this, let him be funny, don't stifle his humor, it may just help you get through the "icouldgetpaidmoreforpeopletoactuallylistentome" moments and make you realize that he is one reason of many we teach. Without students like him I would have fewer colorful people in my life that have shaped my worldview.