Retards like the zoo

Wednesday is fieldtrip day. Every week I plan something fun, engaging and possibly even educational for 15 whiny, depressed, bipolar teenagers. It’s sounds great to take kids on fieldtrips once a week, but it’s January and I’ve run out of museums and food banks. We’re unsuccessful in our community service endeavors. Each time I phone an organization to arrange a second visit, no one returns my calls. Last week we went roller-skating, on the paperwork I rationalized, “In compliance with state physical education standards….”

Yesterday I was discussing upcoming fieldtrips with my science teacher friend Dick Bell, who thinks it’s terrific I get to take my sped kids on fieldtrips once a week. I said, “Dick, I’m out of ideas. What the hell should I do with these kids?” Dick told me, “Take ‘em to the zoo. Retards like the zoo.”

I say, “Dick, I don’t teach retards.” He says, “I know, but it’s funny. Retards like the zoo.” I agree, it is funny, for two reasons: one, because it’s true and two, it’s a line from Rocky.

But I didn’t take them to the zoo. We didn’t really go on a fieldtrip this week. Next Wednesday midterms begin and my depressed bipolar kids have fallen behind on their work in regular ed. classes. Thus, we remained at school so they could complete some assignments and possibly pass a few classes. Teenagers are easily quelled by the prospect of a saltlick and bucket of partially hydrogenated vegetable oil. To prevent a rebellion my compromise was going to the mall food court for lunch. I ate at the Asian Cajun BBQ.