WHY I TEACH-Part 25: X Marks the Spot

“I need a male chaperone for the upcoming FBLA trip,” I said to a stone-faced Mr. Myers.

“You’ll be fine,” he responded.

“I’d feel safer if I had a male chaperone with me.”

“Is it required?” Mr. Myers looked up at me.

“Technically, no, but I’d feel safer.”

“Then you don’t need one.” He went back to looking at something on his computer screen.

“Whatever,” I huffed as I turned to leave.

The morning of the overnight FBLA weekend conference, Stuart dropped me off at school. I’d gotten the keys for the school mini-van from Atticus. He’d promised me that in addition to expertly polishing floors, he kept the mini-van serviced and running great.

“She might not look pretty, but she’ll get you there,” he said.

He was right. The 20-year-old van lacked heating, air conditioning, a radio, and seatbelts, but she drove like a champ.

The two-hour drive to Athens was super quiet. The boys either slept, listened to music, or played on their phones. The best part was stopping for lunch, handing them each $10, and telling them to enjoy. They pooled their change and bought ice cream cones for everyone.

When we got to the hotel, the seven boys rock-paper-scissored to see who would get to sleep solo, while the other six shared beds. Terrance won.

“We have to check in to the conference in about 15 minutes, so unpack and meet me in the lobby in 15,” I said.

Athens, the party college town, became infested with over 3,000 high school students. As we walked to the conference center, the boys were amazed at all the kids in business attire. The battle to outfit them in shirts with ties and dress pants was real. I noticed a shift in the way they held themselves the closer we got to the conference center. The out-of-place awkwardness of dressing up for school faded away.

The check-in process ran like clockwork. Each student had a specific agenda to follow for the next two days, which included times and places for the event they were competing in. We walked around the conference center and located all the places they needed to be and then I dismissed them with the charge to meet back in two hours for the opening ceremony.

The time flew and as we gathered for the closing ceremony, we anxiously listened for our names as they announced the winners of each event. To my utter astonishment, two of my students were called to the stage as the top ten in their event. I watched as they called the 10th, 9th, 8th, 7th, 6th, 5th, and 4th place winners. My students were still standing on the stage. Third place went to one and the boys beside me lost it in an epic display of hoots and screams. I looked at Alex, still standing on the stage. He bit his lip and clenched his hands behind his back as he waited for the announcer to read the 2nd place winner—it wasn’t Alex.

Ape shit crazy. That’s what happened when they announced Alex as the first place winner. My students went ape shit crazy. As Alex left the stage, the boys rushed him, hoisted him on their shoulders, and carried him back to our seats.

“We need to celebrate!” Terrance said and I agreed.

Closing ceremony ended at 10:30, thirty minutes before curfew. We walked to a nearby bar and grill and ordered wings, cheese sticks, and pizza.

“Leon, why do you have black x’s on your hands?” I asked.

Leon quickly pulled his hands back. I notice Shane do the same.

“Alright, all hands on the table now,” I ordered.

Sheepishly, the boys did as they were told.

Leon and Shane were the only ones with black x’s on the back of their hands. “What does that mean?”

They both shrugged.

I turned to Terrance; he sighed. “It means they aren’t old enough to drink.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“When you go to a strip club and you are under the age of 21, they mark your hands so you can’t order drinks.”

My jaw hit the floor. “You went to a strip club? I thought you had to be 21 to get into a strip club.”

“Nope, 18,” Leon said. “We didn’t do anything bad. I just wanted to see what it was like.”

“Sure, sure. Holy crap guys! What happens when Mr. Myers finds out about this? I could get in so much trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leon assured me.

“Have you told anyone?”

They both looked down at the floor.

“Holy crap. This is not good. We need to get back to the hotel now.”

A very solemn group arrived back at the hotel. I noticed a teacher placing tape on the outside of one of the doors.

“Why are you doing that?” I asked.

She laughed and said, “So they don’t sneak out.”

I turned and looked at my students. “Don’t sneak out.”

The teacher laughed again. “You trust them?”

“Yes, yes I do.” I gave them each a hard look. “Goodnight, boys.”

Monday morning, an email popped into my box. As I headed to Mr. Myer’s office, I thought of how I would explain what had happened.

“Close the door behind you,” Mr. Myers said as I came into the room.

I did and then sat down and said, “Did you hear we came in first and third in an event this weekend?”

“No, I didn’t.” He folded his hands and rested them on the desk. “I would like you to explain something to me.”

Oh great, I thought. Here we go.

“Is it true that you were alone at a bar with seven male students after curfew?”

“Do you mean after the closing ceremony on Saturday night?”

“Yes. Saturday night, were you alone at a bar with seven male students?” Mr. Myer’s face puffed up.

“Yes, we went to celebrate.”

“So you admit to taking students to a bar?” His face started to turn red.

“No, we went to a bar and grill. We sat on the side that serves food, not on the bar side.”

“And you went to the bar after curfew?” The red of his face crept down his neck.

“Students are allowed to be out after curfew so long as they are with a chaperone and we were all together.”

“And you thought it appropriate to bring them to a bar?” he bellowed.

“It was a restaurant, not a bar. We ate food and then went back to the hotel.”

“This is unacceptable. I’ll be bringing this to the school board. You are dismissed.” As he spat out the last three words, he banged his hand on his desk.

I rushed back to my classroom and called Stuart. “At least he didn’t know about the strip club,” he said.

I laughed. “Yeah, but what am I going to do?”

“Did you break any FBLA rules?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Then get it in writing.”

I reached out to the FBLA director and he confirmed I’d done nothing wrong. He even said that particular restaurant was one of his favorites. He said he’d write an email to Mr. Myers and let him know I’d not broken any FBLA rules. The last thing he said to me was, “Next time, bring a male chaperone.”