"Nobody's Laughing!"

This one kid at Hawthorne, a junior with attitude and a lot of smarts, he was one of those quite and snide types. John was a tough nut, a silent type who just looked for any opportunity to condescend.

Spiky hair, bright yet quiet yet also lethal in his put-downs, nothing was ever good enough for this kid.

He was one of the lightest Hispanic students I had met at the high school. He was a drowsy type at times, too. A hooked nose matched with a low voice, and he was not a fan of mine.

At first, he was in the third period class, the class from hell, the worst class that I have ever "taught". It was in that class that the kids really taunted me, and their first target was my coin pouch, or "coin purse" as I called it. I did not see the harm in it, at first, but the other students quickly went for the jugular.

When I started charging students a dime for every extra sheet of white paper that they used, they all said that they wanted an extra sheet. . .they wanted to see my "purse". I was not laughing.

God, how I hated that, and they knew it! Some kids just gave me a dime or a nickel because they wanted to see the "purse".

That one kid, John, was a prime instigator. He just loved messing with me about my coin purse.

Then he moved to the Zero period class, and I was glad. One fewer smart aleck would make my life easier, so I thought, and I was convinced that the kinder veneer overall in the morning class would dampen his sarcasm, to some extent. He was bright enough to hold his own in the class, no doubt about it. But he did not do his work, presumably because he assumed, as did many other students, that  I was not going to be in the class very long.

One day I skipped out of the six suffering weeks that I slumped through. When I returned to class the next morning, still keeping my head up (although I wanted to crawl into the covers at home and hide), he just remarked:

"Interesting. You were sick for one day, and now you're back. . ."

This kid had it out for me, but not in a cut-throat way like certain other students.

Well, the day came, with some relief, that I would not get the job, and I can look back and laugh, that it all worked for good, enough that I would never have to put myself through the ringer of teaching.

That one kid was a part of the package that pushed me to the edge, you could say. If he had not been such a thorn in my side, I might have been very sad that I did not get the job -- at least as far as Zero period is concerned.

I left that school in a half-huff, half-thrill of joy. I was glad to leave, sad that I had to leave, because change is no fun, especially since I was on the move for a place, a job to settle in.

After six weeks at another school, I came back as a day-to-day sub,this time covering for another history class. And there was John, sitting in the front, drab and smug as ever. I was prepared for him to rub it in my face, how I got canned from the previous class, but I decided not to care.

While going over the seating chart for the day, John asked me if I was going to write the class agenda on the back board. "You can see it for yourself."

"You are a lazy sub. . ." he remarked. At that point, I had given up on caring what he thought of me.

When I made a joke with another student, he snidely commented under his breath: "Nobody's laughing." This guy did not have the grace to let go, but I refused to let that stop me. For the next three days, that I covered that class, he just sat at his desk and did nothing.

Next year, I was back covering an English class. The students were the younger set, a tawdry group in some ways, students whom I had met in the same class with the same teacher. During passing period, I ran across John, and I could not help myself this time:

"Nobody's laughing! Nobody's laughing!" I refused to be bitter, and I was happy. He started faking laughs, like Elaine Benes from Seinfeld.

The next week, I was covering an art class, my favorite assignment, because that meant that I would sit around and draw and get paid for it. The advanced class showed up during fourth period, and John was one of the artistic mix.

"No, you have to leave!" I joked, but he settled into his seat. I began catching up on old times with some of the other students in the class. Inevitably, John's sly taunting self resurfaced one last time, but for some reason, he did not have the bravado to ask me, so he whispered to a neighbor: "Ask him about the purse. . ."

This time, I pounced and shouted at John: "Sure. Show us your high heels!"

And the whole class burst out laughing. John just closed his eyes to take in the hit, smiling that I had finally beat him at his own game.

The last time I saw him on campus, he and I were both smiling.

And what is a smile but a sign that a man is laughing, on the inside!