The Boss

BV is, shall I say, not the brightest spark in the cigarette box when it comes to his edumacation. Back in September I felt victorious when he actually chose to read (albeit just the caption to a photo); by midyear he tripled his score on a benchmark assessment (to 30%); in March he had a 1.8% grade in class and was given an alternative schedule that would hopefully make him move around a little more, since he’s so huge.

Then there’s TW, a small boy who talks way too much, swaggers, can do great schoolwork but mostly doesn’t, and worships BV.

“It’s like TW is trying to be a gangster,” a colleague said.

Another teacher told about this exchange between TW, BV, and her, with other nearby students–including BV–fully aware of the the conversational manipulation at play. TW seemed to have no clue he was being played with:

BV: I hate America.

TW: I hate America, too. It sucks.

Teacher: TW, you know you always just say whatever BV says. BV, now say that you like America.

BV: Oh, I love America.

TW: You know, I do, too. I love America.

Finally the other day I had a chance to do my own field test of TW’s ability to blindly adopt whatever, whenever. This had nothing to do with BV, who had been out of my class for months.

Anyway, TW was creating an advertisement about himself (to introduce himself to his teacher next year) on which was proclaimed, “I am the boss.”

Me: Really? I heard you just go along with everybody else.

TW: No, I’m the boss.

Another student: Show Mr. Jacobs that you’re the boss, TW. Tell me something to do.

TW: Okay. What do I tell you to do?

The End.