A LESSON IN LIFE

I saw my ol’ teaching pal Coach R. yesterday, and we had some laughs, as we always do when we bump into each other. He no longer lives in our burg, having moved onward and upward, but we have remained in contact over the years.

Every time I see him, I think of the research paper assignment we once team-taught to the seniors who were unlucky enough to be in his government class and my communications class at the same time. One year we were challenged by a new boy in school who had the worst organizational skills that either or us had ever seen, which resulted in what has come to be known in finer educational circles as The World’s Worst Research Paper.

For an entire two months this kid, J, spent every class period rummaging through his book bag, magazines, locker, whatever. Anything to avoid actual work. While the other students were busy reading, highlighting, writing note cards, typing, etc., J was usually sitting on the floor grumbling and fighting with his chaotic book bag, which looked like a landfill had exploded inside. Call 9-1-1. The same scenario was repeated day after day after day, in spite of attempts to give him extra help.

The paper’s due date finally arrived, and before school started J came into my classroom carrying an archaic typewriter--the kind that weighs close to a ton. He dramatically dropped it on my desk, along with his "finished" paper, wearily stating that he was up all night typing it--like I was supposed to feel sorry for him for not doing a lick of work the previous 60 days.

I wish I could say it was a stellar research paper, but it was just the pits. Lower than the pits, actually. There were so many typos that I gave up marking the corrections after the first page. On top of that, the paper was as disorganized as J, himself. Now, I rarely gave an F to any of my students’ research papers; as long as they tried, they would always get a passing grade, even it was of the barely passing category. This time, however, I had no choice but to deliver the big F-Bomb.

I don’t know whatever happened to J after graduation, or if he even graduated, but I figure he is probably making more money now than Coach R. and I combined. Research paper be damned, he’s likely managing some underground toxic waste dump, rolling in dollars, and laughing all the way to the bank. . --That’s the way life usually works. He who carries the messiest book bag and heaviest typewriter always gets the last laugh. :)