Little Black Cat
Cesar's a nice boy in my middle school English class. He's repeating the eighth grade to improve his language skills. But he doesn't seem to mind. Cesar spends too much time in the school restroom, claims to see spirits, and misses a month of school to spend Christmas in Mexico - which may account for his repetition of the eighth grade. But he's rapidly becoming a better student, so it's okay. One day as I rise from my desk, he says with seeming concern, "You okay, Mrs. H? You ain't coming off that chair so easy." Then he snickers. That's not okay. Not the grammar and certainly not the reference to my antiquity. I fight the urge to lash out. "How'd you like a third run at eighth grade, smart ass?" I could say. But I don't. Cesar is teasing. It may be that I am a trifle insecure about my advancing years. It's not that I don't know I have arthritic knees, that I'm getting older, that I need a nap every day. Of cou...