Every educator has one—that student, that know-it-all perched upfront, intercepting every question lobbed toward the teacher’s desk.
“Spansky,” I said, “let me do the answering, not you.”
He volleyed back. “I’m trying to help. Can’t I help?”
“Spansky,” I rephrased, “I’m giving you a direct order: Mind your own business.”
Deterrence? I doubt it. Spansky knew everything AND I MEAN EVERYTHING. All you had to do was ask him.
As for respect, he never received it. No one appreciated his assistance. On that rare occasion when he was actually correct, the questioner questioned the origin of Spansky’s answer. “Thanks, Parrot Head,” the recipient of Spansky’s good deed would say.
“Don’t call me that.” Spansky didn’t appreciate the title.
“I saw Brookes whispering to you.”
“I already knew the answer,” Spansky claimed. He defended himself, justified his expertise on many topics, his mouth in continuous motion, a nervous chatter box. “I don’t need Brookes’s help or anyone else’s,” followed by some long-winded story involving Spanskyworld.
One day, Prisoner Evans asked, “What’s whooping cough?” and as usual Spansky beat me to the punch.
“Whooping cough,” he answered, “is what chain smokers get. It’s fairly common. I know a couple of inmates in our unit who have it. Officer Fowler has it too.”
Ignoring Spansky, Prisoner Evans repeated the question to me: “What’s whooping cough?”
I referred him to the World Book Encyclopedias.
“Fine!” Spansky interjected, “Don’t listen to me. See if I care!”
In a matter of minutes Prisoner Evans located whooping cough and read the passage out loud. “Hey Parrot Head,” he chuckled, “I didn’t realize how many chain smoking babies we got in this world.”
Spansky quickly changed his tune, “I never said anything about chain smoking.” Then he talked about his kids, how they grew up, how their mother left them at an early age, how he practically raised them on his own.
No one listened.
13 comments:
Ooh, Mister Kotter, oo-ooh.
Brutal stuff. And real.
Keep it that way and you'll be blessed ;->
(And rewarded properly via the old school way ;->
Are you ever scared teaching inmates?
I was a chain smoking baby. My mother smoked through-out both of her pregnancies. She even smoked in the car with the windows rolled UP.
Still, I was nearly 10 pounds at birth.
It's amazing any of us survived who were born in the... er... um... late 60s...
Hey Sheri,
This post kind of reminds me of those radio commercials where the kids talk about smoking while taking a bubble bath, or coloring their books, etc. I, too, was trapped in a car full of smoke as a child.
Incidentally, my "Running Wind" votes are in and I'm giving you a high five.
As for being scared teaching inmates, after sixteen years I've pretty much seen it all... so I guess "no, not all the time."
I'm flashing back to a student...let's call him Walter. Yes, just exactly this kind of fellow.
Spanskyworld...I know how incredibly annoying the little chatterbox must be, and yet you really made me empathize with him, too. So eager to be important, yet undermining himself at every turn.
I can't STAND people like that, but at least I can express my utter disdain with impunity.
Albeit frustrating for you, the teacher, your Spansky, at least aided the day to pass and didn't whistle Jimmy Buffet tunes between meandering thoughts.
So much braggadocio and insecurity rolled into one character.These microcosms of life are a study all on their own Jim.
As you know, there are many variations of Spansky. We have one motor-mouth expert up at the lake who always starts each dissertation with some sort of put-down. "well, the 305 is not a torque-y motor. You really should put a bigger engine in there..."
Good on you for handling him adroitly.
Oh Lord.
The teaching situations we get ourselves into.
I was once pressganged to teach academic upgrading to a number of "sweathogs".
Yeah. I was Welcome Back Cotter, since I too came from their baroque background, but by the grace of what might be called the Canadian GI Bill, I somehow got an education, but some of the rough edges stayed.
Looks like your Spansky was the garden variety psycho and manipulator, not necessarily cunning, but you meet these people all the time if you visit froup hames, trailer parks and other babitats of optimists.
They're all very, very smart and will tell you so, but not smart enough to get rid of the stupid rat tail and the ridiculously long hair. Neo-hippies, their brains poisoned with the drugs, organic diet or no.
So when I moved from the parking lot to the college, I had some idea of what they had been through, though I must admit one of them was worse, far worse than your Spansky. This guy really needed to be spanksed.
He looks right across the table from me and says right out.
You are a fellatellist.
Ah, what to do. Reduced to your verbal resourses. Danger of getting down to his level, but in an atmosphere like this, you have to think on your feet.
"Fellately will get you everywhere," I joked.
I don't think he got it.
He said it again, but coarsely, like in the German word schwantszuger.
All eyes were on me.
No time for the culture derby or the chest-thumping.
This guy had to be squlched or I would lose control of the class.
"Don't talk with your mouth full"
The room went up in laughter..
Well, thank god for the old background.
Irritating, yes, but you have to admire his persistence and ability to "change his tune" so quickly.
hey.. thnx for visiting my blog :)
running short of time here.. will be back..
Great stuff here, Jim! Love the dialogue.
I had to know the bacteria that causes whooping cough, Bordatella pertussis, for my Microbiology final a week ago. It's a gram-negative obligate aerobe. Just in case you were wondering.
What a sad guy. The mean guy inside me wants to ask him "If you're so smart, why couldn't you stay out of the joint?"
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