Problem kids

Alphabet Soup–a not so palatable concoction obtained by mixing the monikers of students in 7Mathematics … er ‘A-S’.
This bowl of letters represented the class that caused me the greatest anxiety. Yes-siree-bob; once they had crossed the threshold of my room, every dilemma from A to Z could materialise.
As the current group of characters attempt to exit, a rabble of five ‘A-S’ers muscles past. If I did not protest, they would ignore my pleasant greeting. Most lessons, their individual positive attributes are swamped by a mini-mob mentality. In past months, the principal has seen fit to suspend each boy for several days.
My girls arrive and say hello. Half-a-dozen beaut kids who, unfortunately, find number stuff problematical.
The assembled lads needle them as they enter and the operetta begins. Muffled voices croon, “Heeeey-Mul-let”; C-G-E. I suspect Peter-the Problem-Child is the instigator but all mouths are conveniently behind backpacks. The nickname, coiffure related, does not amuse Bashful-Beck who pleads with me. “Oh-Siii-irrr.”; G-G-C.
I must be vigilant.
More faces flounder in, increasing the ruckus as they flop in their chairs. Allan-the-Argumentative, and Neil-the-Not-so-predictable; the latter is a giant and towers over all—me included. Charles-the Chatterbox enters with several of his cronies. I am truly thankful that my other larrikins seldom sway their behaviour.
The girls gripe about the boys; the boys grouch about everything. I commence my meticulously planned lesson, overhead projector at the ready as I daren’t turn my back.
Finally, T-for-Tyler appears—it’s his form: last to leave, last to arrive—as always. Struggling with his bag, he greets me with a cheery salutation on every occasion.
Now our Tyler experiences some difficulty in scrawling his AbC and D’s. When his pen and paper collide, his book slides across the desk.  Despite what could best be described as ‘fumbled-jumble’, he perseveres—assisted by his non-slip matting.
Nonetheless, I have not encountered a more positive student. He never grumbles, scowls, or swears: rarely retaliates to taunts, and seldom speaks ill of his peers.
Oh, and I forgot to add, Tyler has palsy. He limps. His left arm is withered and hangs awkwardly.
Yet Tyler remained the salt that added a well-needed, rich savour to that soup.
“The only disability in life is a bad attitude.” Scott Hamilton. (1958- ) American, Olympic Skater.

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