ASLEEP AT THE DESK

I suffer from Restless Leg Syndrome. I’ve capitalized that ailment because the effects are debilitating after so long. Wanting to go to sleep at night but not being able to is torture. Even worse, losing those sacred afternoon naps to a twitch is heartbreaking. I am sleep-deprived from the effects of this condition, as well as from getting up each morning at 5:00 a.m. to teach a 7:00 a.m. class. So, I am flabbergasted when students come to class, sit in their desks, and fall dead-to-the-world asleep.

As a kid, I NEVER fell asleep in classes. I was afraid of teachers. In the old days, a teacher wouldn’t hesitate to take a sleeping pupil to the hall, and with a swift, powerful, stinging swat bring him to full consciousness. The burning from the backside always kept eyes opened, even if they were flooded with tears. By the way, no child ever suffered a loss of self-esteem when he was paddled. He did, however, stay awake and learn.

As a teenager, the last thing I ever would do was fall asleep in a class. The teacher might embarrass a slumbering child. More often, so-called friends would do terrible things to the comatose adolescent. Shoe laces were tied together so that sleepy heads would trip when they left at the end of the period. Sometimes dozens of foreign objects were thrown into the hair of that sleeping person. Some guys had a more sadistic turn. They’d wait for the person in front of them to fall asleep. Then they would take out their Zippo lighter, strike them, and place the flame close to the person’s backside. Eventually, the heat would grow so intense that the sleeper would awaken and jump from his seat as if he were on fire. Then the sleeping kid was in trouble for disturbing class.

In the earlier years of my teaching career, I used to wake up students who were in my class. When I saw one, I would take my paddle and quietly walk behind his desk. The ensuing “smack” of a paddle hitting the top of the next desk proved to be an effective alarm clock. The system took away the paddle, so I had to rely on different things to wake students. Classrooms usually have floors with concrete slabs covered by tile. When I encountered a sleeping teen, I retrieved the metal trash can, walked to the side of the student’s desk, and dropped it. The bang was enough to give everyone a headache. Sometimes a frightened teen jumped when the can crashed, and he nearly killed himself as he tried to escape his desk. I suppose I should have regretted my actions, but I didn’t.

Kids these days aren’t bashful about laying their heads upon the desks and sleeping throughout class. Heck, a one and a half hour class period is just the right length for a nice nap. They aren’t too concerned about the things they do during a visit to dreamland. Some students drool in their sleep. When they do awaken, a pool of saliva covers the desktop. I ask them to mop up before they leave. Another student might have breathing problems, maybe a sinus infection or deviated septum. This physical ailment becomes apparent as soon as he drops into deep sleep because it is at this time that he begins to snore. Yes, he saws logs in front of God, classmates, and the teacher!

These sleeping children usually have an excuse for their tiredness. Some complain that they worked the late shift at one of our fine fast-food establishments. I ask them if they plan to make a career of asking people, “Do you want fries with that?” They sneer and let me know they have no intention of doing that for a living, at which point I suggest that they might well do so if they continue to sleep in class and fail English. Others say they sleep in class because they are sick. I ask them if they have come to school so that they can infect every other student and teacher. They answer “no,” and I tell them to stay home until they are healed.

Folks might want to know why I don’t wake them up. Have you ever heard of the saying, “Let sleeping dogs lie?” I’m not about to rouse someone who doesn’t want to be here in the first place. He needs rest for attending summer school and making up the credit they’ve slept away.