Girl, you be just changin’ colors.

4th block with my 10th graders:

S had a new pair of jet black jeans, and she hadn’t washed them so the dye got all over her hands and she wiped her face, arms, neck, etc throughout the day. She had a black coating all over her.
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D: What is on your hands?
K: You’re darker,  you been tannin’?
S: No what are you talking about?
C: Girl, you be just changin’ colors.
S: Damn its all over my hands. Mr. C, can I go to the restroom?
Mr.C: Yeah but it’s dye, so it’s going to be hard to get that off. Try some napkins first.
S: Shit! Is it on my face?
Mr. C: Yeah, it’s everywhere.
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Cause I’m a Firestarter

2nd block with my 9th graders:
While waiting on brownies in the oven…
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J: I can catch this mitt on fire.
Mr. C: That’s a fire retardant mitt. It was designed to not catch fire.
J: Bet me.
Mr. C: I don’t need to bet you.
J: You turn this mitt inside out, and you rub it on the fire.
Mr. C: Yeah, but what’s the point?
J: Cause I’m a firestarter. That’s why I want to be a fireman.
Mr. C: Firemen put out fires, they don’t start them.
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I don’t work with books

1st Block with my Seniors:

C showed up for the 4th time this whole semester. He was writing on the desk when I walked up to him.
—————-
Mr.C:  How about we write on our paper instead of the desk? And you need to put up your mp3 player.
C: I dont work with books.
Mr.C: You don’t what?
C:  I don’t work with books. I hate books. I know my life is like a movie. I don’t like reading the bible. I like to listen. I don’t like books.
Mr. C: Why?
C: Why I don’t like books? I grew up with the consequences of books. When i’m not books, when i’m not studying or reading books, I get in trouble.
Mr. C: You won’t get in trouble, I just want you to do some definitions so I can get you some grades, you haven’t been to class in a while.
C:  Look at my eyes.
Mr. C: You look sleepy, but it’s early in the morning.
C:  I’m really fucked up right now. I smoked 3 blunts, took 4 xanax.
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What ’bout my chips!?

1st Block with my Seniors:

We were making taki chips (corn flour tortillas, hot sauce, steak seasoning, caribbean jerk seasoning, garlic, and salt) and had just put them in the oven when the fire alarm went off:
——————–
Mr. C: Alright, let’s go.
J: Mannnnnnnn! What ‘bout my chips?
Mr. C: I turned the oven off; they will just cook a little while we’re gone.
J: They gunna burn!
Mr. C: We’re going to burn if we don’t get out of here, now let’s go.
——————
It turned out that someone just pulled the fire alarm, so we came back in and finished cooking. The chips were delicious. But the reality of the situation was that one of my students was more worried about chips than the possibility of an actual fire. Hmm…


Maths: “42” is the New “27”

(Mr. C birthday edition)

4th block with my 10th graders:

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K charges into the room.

K: Happy birthday Mr. C! I heard they say it on the intercom this mornin’.
Mr. C: Thank You Keyvonte.
S:  (comes in) Happy Birthday Mr. C!  (sings the entire birthday song.)
Mr. C: That was sweet, thank you Carlita.
S: How old you is? 28?
Mr. C: No, 27, but you were really close.
S: Ah damn I was just guessin’.
K: Nah Mr. C is 42 years old. He was born in 1966.
Mr. C: That math doesn’t work out but I assure you I’m not that old.
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burfday

(Tomorrow is my birthday, so this is a special edition.)

1st Block with my Seniors:
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R: What’s tomorrow?
Mr. C: Friday, it’s my birthday actually.
R: Ah yeah! I’m gon’ smoke a blunt wit you on your burfday.
Mr. C: Thanks but I don’t smoke, anything.
R: Well we is gon’ drink den.
Mr. C: Ehh…, I appreciate it though.
R: Come on Mr. C, you gotta shake it!
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Mr. Meathead

3rd Block with my  9th Graders:

R: Mr. Meathead, what’s #2?
Mr. C: Meathead? Why do you call me Mr. Meathead?
R: Cause you don’t eat meat.
Mr. C: Oh. Well “meat head” means a strong muscular person, like a wrestler or football player.
R: Oh well I just like to call you that.
Mr. C: Yeah, well that really doesn’t make sense to me. Just call me Mr. C.
(I hold up the letter “C” in a hand motion.) It’s really easy to remember.
R: Oh, that’s the crip symbol! You throwin’ up the crip!
Mr. C: It’s a C.
R: Yeah that’s the symbol.
Mr. C: Well it was a letter of the alphabet long before it was a gang sign.

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