My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "How do you benchpress a hippo?" "Start when it's born." "Uh-huh." "Seriously. Work on it while it's a little pup, and once the years go by, voilà!" "No." "Master hippo bencher." "No." "Think about it. You could make it onto the Guinness Book of World Records! Ooh! Or better! Start the Hippo Olympics!" "The Hippo Olympics." "Yep." "Just when I think you can't get any weirder." "You're just mad that you didn't come up with it." "Oh, boy. Now how many times have I heard that line before?" "I just have so many creative ideas!" "Yes. For example, the idea that you think I'd be jealous of your random innovations." "Uh-huh?" "Very creative." "I know." "...That's not a compliment, John." "I'll take it as one." "Nope." ...

The students tried to tell me that the grades I gave them were unfair. That they weren't prepared, or they didn't have the proper notice, or they thought I hadn't offered them a chance to build their skill set. Needless to say, I was unfazed. "Look," I argued, "this is a similar assignment you would get in ninth grade. You're twelfth graders. You should have known these tricks by now, and it is not my job to always remind you of the basics. I expect more from you at this point."