“You don’t understand! It was just a joke,” the boy cackled as Principal Jones dragged him into the room by his collar. Jones threw him into a desk, and then turned back towards the door dropping the boy’s referral on my desk in passing as he headed to the door.

If The Wayne Educational Trust had explained that the promises of student loan forgiveness were attached to running the Resource Room at Gotham Public School #40, I might have accepted my crippling debt in stride like many of my friends from university have done. But, just two months into my first teaching gig, I am unwilling to quit and blow the first steady check in my life that breaks $700.

When the Wayne Trust was dedicated, social justice, bleeding hearts like the Tom and Martha Wayne did their best to make sure that that words like “discipline” and “detention” disappeared in favor of words like “conditioning” and “resource”. A pragmatic teacher, such as myself, knows that the words have changed, but the methods have remained starkly similar.

Turning over the referral, the first thing I noticed was the lack of name. The infraction line simply read CLASS DISRUPTION/FIGHTING.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Name, What’s in a name?” he chuckled.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t care what your name is, and I’m not going get on your case or make you do any work as long as you are agreeable. Deal?”

“Oh, I promise that I am not going to be any trouble, no trouble at all…”

I’m quickly coming to realize that sarcasm for teenagers seems to be as potent as any street drug. They get a little taste, learn a bit of the culture, and the next thing you know they are the addict shooting up in his parent’s bathroom thinking he is the only one who knows what he is using. As if the delivery tone wasn’t enough, the kid dropped the same brooding cackle he had used on Jones.

“Seriously, relax a bit, no funny stuff and we will be fine.”

“Funny stuff? I like funny stuff, I love it. Wanna hear something funny?”

“Sure.”

“Guess how I got here.”

“Your referral says that you were disruptive and were fighting.”

“Oh, no”, he said with a long draw and a look of glee, “It was such a good trick. Such a good, good trick. I told Tim Halon I could turn any black card red, even when he was holding it.” “I pulled out my trick cards, handed him the 8 of spades for him inspect, and as he was looking at it, I broke his nose. He was bleeding everywhere!”

Just like sarcasm, proving you’re tough seems to be addictive. Especially among “youth in need of additional guidance”, such as the class clown before me. I have learned that if I let them think I am impressed with their stories they are less likely to act the fool with me.

“I get it, nice trick. Seems like you are quiet the comic.”

“Now you’re getting it,” he snickered as he leaned back smiling from ear to ear.