My students were as chatty and gregarious as usual tonight, but for some reason, I found it to be especially irritating. In the middle of a particularly chaotic discussion, I finally stood up and roared, “SILENCE!”
There was silence. Except Dylan, who threw himself on the floor to retrieve a fallen eraser that had previously been stuck to his forehead. I honed in on him and shouted, “You’re going UPSTAIRS to SIT IN THE OFFICE if you make ONE. MORE. MOVE.”
Dead silence and absolute stillness ensued.
I turned to the dry erase board, seized a marker, and wrote: VERBAL VOMIT. Then I underlined it.
“Does anyone know what this means?” I asked.
Tentative hands slowly raised. I called on my beloved David, who ventured, “It’s when some just keeps talking and talking and saying stuff?”
I was pleased. For once. “Exactly. It’s the tendency to blurt out whatever comes to mind, regardless of how inappropriate it may be. For example, if we’re talking about prayer, and you yell out that you prayed for pizza the other day and then had a hamburger instead, that’s verbal vomit. And it has got to stop.”
Sixteen pairs of eyes were fixed upon me in dumbfounded fear. I continued, “I really appreciate that you guys want to share. I love that you feel comfortable talking in class. But quite frankly, I don’t care what you had for lunch last Thursday, and I don’t care how your dad feels about Lent. I just want you to be quiet so we can get through this incredibly easy lesson in a reasonable amount of time.”
The room was so silent, I could hear God shaking his mighty head in disapproval. I felt powerful. I felt in control. I felt like an asshole.
I sat down, picked up my lesson book, smiled, and nonchalantly announced that we were going to read about Moses on page four. I’m fairly certain there are sixteen eighth graders who now think their religion class teacher is possessed. That’s alright. There are worse things.