Passionate Forbidden Love Affair

It started like most other educational disasters, with something small, innocuous, and inoffensive – a hamster if truth be told. The class hamster- a petit, plump, cinnamon-colored ball of electric fluff affectionately deemed as Liberty- was missing from the cage. On that day, Liberty's care was trusted to Judy Jenkins, a usually reliable sixth grader and a girl who tends to space out. Breaking down of events: It emerged that after putting new bedding in Liberty's cage, she unknowingly left a tiny latch open on the side door.
Well, usually, this could not have been a big problem in any other circumstances. Liberty was not an adventurous person in any way possible. Instead, more often than not, if the cage were left somewhat open – which, in my defense, happens from time to time – she'd remain in her place happily circumstantially exercising on her wheel or storing sunflower seeds in her cheeks. She had a domesticated soul.
However, this was not one of those days.
It started like any other. The children came in slow motion, rubbing their eyes, their brains swimming in a sticky breakfast sugar rush, hunched under the burden of their sacks as if they were space travelers. I had only had my nascent derriere planted firmly on my chair, perusing through the notes I had taken on the day's civics discussion, when there was a resoundingly loud noise of a wooden object hitting the laminated floor.
He had climbed back up to the desk, maybe replicating something he had seen at the latest rally, and tried to do a kick right behind the head at his best friend, Danny. He fell short of it as expected and ended up slamming violently against the classroom bookshelf. A soft and powerful sound of a crash resounded through the room, and after it, papers, bright colors, and something else flooded the room. Liberty. She leaped from the blow and seemed to spasm for freedom, and indeed, the busted open door of the cage she did. Amidst the rubble of the bookshelf now on the tiled floor, among the Presidential Fourth Inauguration display, which the students had so lovingly created, she went unseen.
It was then that an individual shouted, "RAT!"
Instantly, pandemonium erupted.
Shrieks pierced the air. Desks screeched against the floor. Judy, who should have known the rodent was her pet, slavishly panicked along with the rest of them. I wandered through the table drawers in search of the toy police pistol I had been using instead of proctoring methods. Sometimes, one would need to point at themself and say, "1, 2, 3, eyes on me." Finally, I realized that the only way to restore order was to discharge a round into the air around me. I had even bought it myself, but the gym teacher told me that the union was petitioning for blanks to be included in next year's instructional supplies request.
However, one of the Cooper twins got to me first and picked a broom, with which he started whacking the display shelves with an unbelievable vigor that could only be matched by a whack-a-mole carnival champion. Dioramas were reduced to rubble. A model motorcade was decapitated. A small "burning" of the President made from papier-mâché and painted in gold plus ribbon was pinched on the ground, adding to the carnage.
I screamed over the noise, "It is not a rat, it is the class hamster!"
Reflecting on that, that was an error.
The name "hamster" seemed to be a bit heavier than the name "rat." Due to it being government-owned, hints of obsolescence surrounding Liberty felt like a loss to the people. Children shrieked again, some in horror and some in anger, while others just for the fun of it.
It glimmered in him that Scott Miller had lost his balance and was staggering; he looked drunk. He might've had a concussion. Judy was near tears. All the other characters started to debate what Liberty fleeing the scene would mean. It was the sort of scene that would not look out of place in any film of the outstanding disaster. The set was destroyed, the extras were running amok, and the leading actors were ad-libbing.
Then arose the question that no teacher wants to be asked at a time of social tension: For instance, in a conversation that involves a description or discussion of a particular day or week, it will be perfectly fine to ask a question like: "Who was on hamster duty today?"
All heads turned to Judy. The cage, which was previously partly opened, was now fully open in front of her like a gate to a zoo. She shrank into her chair. I did think then – and still think – that it was not anyone's intention to offend me. However, looking at the current political reality, some of the children are more inclined to have a negative perspective.
Billy Finn got up in disgust and exclaimed, "She set a political prisoner free."
I froze. Oh no.
Before I could prevent him from doing so, Billy pulled out a mini flag. First, it is easy to dismiss such advice as the rambling musings of someone suffering from an indolent imagination. It resembled the Australian flag one could see in different places of the school: in the corridors, in classrooms, in restrooms, and on the ceiling of the gymnasium; but there was one major difference: It did not have the President's name inscribed on it anywhere like Billy's did.
The uproar was immediate.
I respect the First Amendment. I have always promoted discussions and debates in my teaching practice before. However, James Wilson could not have said it better: the saying is, "where there is no law, there is no liberty, but where there is law, there is license." They were now treading more on thin ice as far as participating in the affairs of state was concerned and crossing the border into rebellion.
So I went and fetched in the Patriotism Officer.
He was prompt and promptly took Billy and his contraband flag away. One thing that was rather peculiar to me was the fact he had to use tongs to hold the flag.
Now, what you might be thinking is that it must sound like an overreaction. But let me make it clear that the concept of teaching has evolved. Amidst the protests, counter-protests, emergency drills, and the recent certification in self-defense training that the school board mandated for all faculty after the Lockdown Incident last year, there is barely any time to teach. And I, for one, was not going to let some child in the sixth grade embarrass me in front of other children and disrupt the entire class session.
I tried to pivot.
The words were barely out of the person's mouth when he held a textbook and asked, "Why there was no President's name on the flag Billy had?"
I pretended not to hear.
We would have done that in our lesson plan on state symbolism, but the new workbooks with the pictures of new flags were still awaited. The State Board said that they continued to be printed and redacted for historical connections that were considered by some as wrong. I would not dare deal with that lesson without being armed with the content that the teacher provided us with.
But of course, another student, the Schmidt girl, just breathed out loud, "Has there ever not been a president?"
That was the time when the Patriotism Officer had to take her off, too.
Honestly, whoever was responsible for coming up with the rules would have done a better job; for instance, Rule Four, which is stuck on the Classroom Rules board. "Don't question presidential continuity."
Pouncing on this opportunity, I pointed to Rule Number Seven's education to the children. "Do not ask where the Patriotism Officer sends unpatriotic students."
To bring the temper back down, I recited the Pledge of Allegiance with the class, for no one was able to decide on which one was the right interpretation. With all the changes over the last few weeks, the wording had become quite unclear. I had been insisting on the idea of fixing "under God" at the end of the form to reduce bureaucracy and confusion, but the department was still arguing.
Then, the Dinato Boy and Robbie McCoy forget the script, and they are off the stage as well.
By now, some of the students were looking at the Rules board uneasily. I attempted to get back to instructional activities by attempting to teach the vocabulary lesson on civics and different terms used when Cornwell, who enjoyed goading his teacher, raised his hand and asked if Billy's flag was bought in Portland or some more No-Go Zone. The classroom collectively gasped. To their way of thinking, anything from Portland was frowned upon as radioactive.
So it came once again that for the second time of the semester, the Geiger counter was needed out from the closet of art supplies.
Was it necessary? Of course not. However, as soon as radiation became an issue, there could be no thought of continuing the studies without a proper test.
By the time I had waved the counter over Billy's desk, I barely managed to see the outline of the building block most of the time. The Patriotism Officer had been sitting at my desk as if to guard me and the contents within, as well as to intimidate me. Even his mere appearance could suggest that he would seek reprisal for even further provocation. Ironically, it brought a sort of order to the room.
To continue with the lesson, I moved to the next unit on what, in my view, is the greatest democracy in the world—electing the President.
The new laws on early enfranchisement of the young in various polls have seen my students exercising their rights since their early childhood in kindergarten. However, a new act passed before that made the legal voting age the third trimester. As outlined in the curriculum, it was now my turn to tell them that voting from birth was the way it had always been. It was not easy; all the while, the P.O. was observing my choice of words as if it were an eagle eyeing a rabbit in the middle of an open field.
Then Dugan raised his hand.
Dugan was one of that rare breed of intelligent students who took a lot of pleasure in debating. I prepared for some argument that the child couldn't vote until the age of five, the class would revolt, and I would be branded as a counter-revolutionary.
Instead, he said, "How can one be expected to make such a decision at such a tender age?"
A blessed relief.
"If only you did your homework, maybe you would know better," I answered.
The P.O. chuckled.
Then, the writer was compelled to ask Wenerstadt who the President was contending against. Did the other guy have a strong message, too?"
He was out of my sight before I could come up with an answer.
Oddly enough, the atmosphere turned quite different after that. It could be because of the fear that brought them or maybe because the size of the class had been reduced, but the students became rather composed. As I was distributing the slips of paper containing the assigned vocabulary terms, I felt that something—which was most likely concern or early-stage understanding of the gravity of our political talk.
One day, someone asked me the following question: "What do you understand about patriotism and nationalism?"
"Oh," I responded, "patriotism is, in fact, pride in your country." Nationalism is where a person believes that their nation is superior to the rest of the nations on the globe.
They nodded. Then came the follow-up: "But one does get blurred with the other doesn't it?"
"It does," I admitted. That is why one is supposed to refuse to vote for leaders who seek to employ nationalist motives. Otherwise, as it follows from the given analysis, democracy might crumble to authoritarian rule.
"Like Equatorial Guinea?"
"Exactly."
"How can one exorcise political movements to bring changes in authoritarian political systems?"
They have to influence the proletariat."
Therefore, one has to wonder, if the proletariat suffers the most, why do people still sustain the leaders that keep them in the chains of metaphorical servitude?
"Because the leaders make them believe that their life is a jolly cage and the bars are their shields rather than imprisonment."
Then suddenly, the Patriotism Officer came back from the hall.
Suddenly, a boy farted in the back of the hall.
The tension evaporated. People even burst into laughter in what must have resembled a gentle wind. It was already getting dark, and I was very tired. Drained. Defeated. But then Cindy Fontaine raised her hand as if wanting to add her opinion on what was said.
"A humorous question some people might ask is, 'Why isn't the President's face on Mount Rushmore?'
I looked over. She was holding what appeared to be one of the older textbooks from her seat. It's a first edition. I looked at the P.O. with embarrassment, then took the book away from him.
That's when inspiration struck.
"Let me take you out," I said frivolously.
We then proceeded towards the car park, following the practice of parents burning books at the monthly curriculum meetings, and burned Cindy's book. The students were elated. The Patriotism Officer was also a blessing, politely escorting Cindy out because the others were able to have an enjoyable evening without any political interference.
On our return, the students showed a lot of enthusiasm in the classroom. It took me a while to even realize, but there she was: back in her cage, small and unassuming once more, yet powerfully present – Liberty.
That is why I mentioned it, but people do not care about it any longer. They had moved on. The Taj Mahal had lost its Brightness Liberty, the flag of Billy, and the footprints on the crushed dioramas. The students were still talking when the bell went off, and they were still full of energy and ideas.
The day was not perfect at all. It is necessary to note that it was not effectively a productive day for me, as measured in Ayres' Definition of Productive Day.
It had been a real day, though, and life was slowly getting back to normal as they dealt with the business that clients brought to them. In this context, I also taught them something more – not just some words or what democracy looks like, but about the many-sided and even ambiguous character of our country.
In this job, however, this is a bare minimum or as good as it gets.