On second though, don't answer that

I love the school I teach in. It’s awesome. I love my students. They’re great.

A while back my students and I wrapped up our unit on the 1920s and the Jazz Age. As a culminating project they worked in small groups to design a CD case. They had to write liner notes, include pictures, and do the design work. The idea was to make it look like a modern-day CD of greatest hits from the 1920s.

But the twist was, the song titles they included were not supposed to be actual songs. Students were to make up ten titles that reflect the era. “Just Monkeying Around” by J. Scopes and the Courtroom Rascals. That sort of thing.

After working for a few minutes, one group of three boys came up to me to see what I thought of their song titles so far. The way the four boys were huddle together and jostling one another, I should have known something was up.

They showed me the first title: “Triple K.” Okay. Good. I see what you got going there.

Next: “Beautiful Booz.” Prohibition. I get it. But I’m a little uncomfortable with that. We’ll come back to it. What else have you got?

“Jazz in My Pants”

What!? “Jazz in . . . ” What does that even mean . . .? Never mind, don’t answer that. No! No. No, you can’t include a song called “Jazz in my Pants.” Now go sit down and come up with some more song titles.

Oh man, oh man.

Jazz in my pants.

What were they thinking?

Sometimes I think that my students come to school every morning and ask themselves “What can we do today to yank Mr. VanNoord’s chain?”

Oh, the joys of teaching eighth-grade boys.