Around the fourth or fifth grade, I had a major attitude, no pun intended. My classmates at times and mainly the staff of the school suffered the most from my passive aggressive disposition. One teacher in particular, Ms. Labe, was what I perceived as a child to be in her mid to late seventies. Her vocal cords were functioning at the level of a teenager; My memories of her consist of yelling and more yelling. With my disposition and her disposition, a shove occurred. After telling my mother, a conference was held between Ms. Labe, my mother, and I believe Mr. Tactum. To my relief, I was not scolded because either the school wanted Ms. Labe to retire or Mr. Tactum had a soft spot in his heart for me.
Troubled people have a way of seeking out other troubled souls.
There were button to be pushed that her daily dose of pleasure depended on. Kameran walked into the classroom. I don't recall exactly when but I do know that it wasn't the first month of school. I later discovered the truth behind her abrupt transfer from her previous high school. She didn't quite resemble a junior in high school. Her physical frame indicated that she was a high school student, but the Bratz book bag and elementary school pencils with the furry pencil tops was a sure give away that mentally she was not a junior in high school. Her walk was unique. It was a slanted walk.
Mental illness is something that is often ignored or misdiagnosed as something else such as a learning disability, mental retardation, or socially inept.
She practically stomped when she took a step; her steps were wide, awkward, and definitely not calculated. I cared. Maybe too much. She appeared to hate the fact that I cared so much, but she would reveal small snippets of who she was under this layer of defiance.
Kameran asked me “why do you care about me?”
“I care about you because you’re special and deserved to be cared for” I would respond.
“Why do you care when I don’t care?”
“I’ve told you why I care now would you please just accept it and stop questioning it” I answered.
As Kameran walked in the classroom with her asymmetrical walk, there was an eerie feeling in the air. I don’t recall the complete outfit, but I do recall sandals. Kameran was generally bubbly but would become irate instantaneously. This day she was euphoric but appeared to want to participate in a cat and mouse game. At this point, I discovered that there was something in my nature that ignited her defiance. As I’m writing on the chalk board, she’s walking around her desk with no shoes on. “Kameran, please but your shoes on” Hehehehehehe
While sucking her teeth and giggling, she asks, “Why?”
“Because it’s a safety hazard.”
“Alright, I don’t see what the big deal is but I guess I’ll put my shoes on” says Kameran as she straddles the desk.
“If you don’t stop, I’ll have to call security.”
After a minute, I call security. The laughter ceases. Now she’s furious. Security attempts to remove her from the class. The remainder of the class is transfixed. She becomes hostile with security. I’ve noticed when anyone enters Kameran’s personal space, she becomes jelled and tense. She gathers her belongings and misses her classmate’s head by a smidge. A drug test was requested. It was negative, of course.
My neighbors and school mates, Daron and Charisma, would talk to me from my parents’ bedroom window. I would only talk to them when my parents were at work. One day while at school, I was called down to see Mr. Hightower, the school social worker. Daron and Charisma recommended me to Mr. Hightower without my knowledge or consent. I walked in his office with an attitude. I had an attitude for quite a few visits, but Mr. Hightower fought through my layers of hostility and animosity much faster than I would have liked him to at the time.
She was always clingy. She was a freshman, but it was as if she wasn't ready to grow up. She was shy amongst her peers. Insecure. Unsure of who she was. Maybe it was the excess weight. It could have been the acne. She did everything that I asked her to do. She wasn't the strongest student, but she was capable. She was willing. She wanted my approval. Someone's approval. Definitely some acknowledgement.
Mrs. K had a difficult task at hand. She had to teach a tenth grade math class in the middle of the year. My geometry teacher became ill. Mrs. K was previously a guidance counselor. I didn’t know her personally, but I gave her a difficult time. My passive aggressive behavior became outright aggressive. Despite my attempts to sabotage a relationship between us, Mrs. K never stop portraying acts of kindness. She cared and immensely at that but why?
She was a trendy student. Fashionable. An independent risk taker in the realm of fashion. She was as blunt as her rock star hair cut (shaved head on one side with a star embedded in the fuzz of new growth and a layer of curls on the remaining side of the head with hair). Her bark was loud and her bite was all the more ferocious. She definitely had a chip on her shoulder. But why? She was so young. Insightful. Even polite...towards me and those she liked. However, in all of her efforts of politeness there was an attitude brewing. Waiting to erupt.....lash out at. Someone to throw all the hostility that was being held inside.
He was a chubby kid. Actually overweight. He tried so hard to be cool. His day began and set on being cool. He had to prove his masculinity. He resembled a girl. Maybe it was his hairstyle. His long box braids. His face was cherubic. He had freckles as I do. Watching him hold a pencil was a sight that nearly snapped my heart in two.
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