My adorable ninth grade students are fast at work, completing their test much faster than I expected (unfortunately). As I scan the room, I see his face, staring at me, willing me to notice him.
His large, brown eyes hold a vacancy that is more vast than Niagara Falls. His mouth hangs open like a mentally challenged golden retriever.
Then those infamous words come out of his mouth.
"What is a predicate?!"
What is a predicate?! WHAT IS A PREDICATE?!
I have spend the last two weeks describing various grammar principles. You have taken notes, asked me questions, completed worksheets, and practiced sentences in class.
THIS IS AN OPEN NOTE TEST FOR GOD'S SAKE.
And you have the audacity to ask me what a predicate is.
It is at this point that I think you are an idiot.
There goes my "Compassionate Teacher Award of the Year."
I think I made baby Jesus cry.
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