The Oath

I love most of my students, even when they drive me crazy. Sometimes I love them because they drive me crazy.

Utku is a special case. I alternately want to drop kick him across the room or pick him up and squeeze him. Despite the fistfuls of candy he eats between every class, he’s thin as straw. He has a squeaky little voice that emanates from a tiny little face punctuated by a big toothy grin that usually appears after he has said something inappropriate or just plain out of context. Since he has an attention deficit disorder, he is forever squirming in his chair, picking something off the floor, out of his pocket or off of someone else’s desk. His best friend doesn’t want to sit next to him (please don’t say to him hocam he’s my best friend in the world) because he’s too disruptive in class. Utku now sits with his desk firmly abutted to mine, almost directly under my nose.

Last week, we began a story telling project using paintings as starting points. Utku was particularily interested in the Roman soldiers in the Oath of the Horatii. He described the three men with arms raised in oath. He spoke of the swords to which they were pointing, pausing just slightly for dramatic effect. With an ever so slight Irish accent, he proclaimed, “The little bastards” and grinned his oversized grin.

I had to control myself from falling on the floor with laughter.