Middle Schoolers Know Everything

Middle Schoolers Know Everything

By,
Jennifer E. Miller

I added to my scope of volunteer experience and am helping with the yearbook committee at the kiddo's school. This year, a class of 7^th and 8^th graders will design and compile both the elementary and middle school yearbooks. The class teacher is excited I could help, and I was looking forward to it, too. I write. I snap photos. I can help with yearbook. It will be fun, I told myself.

It’s only the third week of class, but already I have a deeper understanding why some animal species eat their young. I had all but forgotten one important characteristics middle schoolers: they already know everything. 

Keeping thirteen/fourteen-year-olds focused is like demanding a toddler to nap after consuming caffeine. When the teacher is giving the day’s lesson plan, the kids multitask. By multitasking, I mean tripping each other in the classroom, being dramatic about the resulting boo-boo and making the girls giggle about it. Other times, they kick one another’s chairs, or somersault over the carpet. This instigates peers to point and laugh while others bark at them to shut up and listen. They insist it can all be done while mindfully attending to their assignment, once they've asked for the details a second or third time. I’m curious how teachers survive an education career while maintaining a functional level of sanity.

The students arrived to the yearbook class with their own visions of what it should entail. In other words, it must be a cake class. An easy way to earn a passing grade. On the first day, they quickly decided on a design plan for the elementary book. Although creative, the discussion went something like this: 

"Hey how about if we design the book with such-and-such and accent it with yadda-yadda."

"Yep, sounds good."

Surely, their reason for speedy decision-making was to allow more time for chit chat. But I easily caught on to their rouse. To keep them on task I asked, “That sounds great. What do you think you should do next?”

One boy rolled his eyes. “Um, duh. Now we wait for people to give us photos.”

With a grin upon her face, the teacher gave them a glimpse into their future as yearbook editors.

“Well, in fact, you guys will be responsible for collecting most of the photos. You will be required to attend events and activities to photographically document them.”

Insert teenagers wrinkling noses, curling lips, and scoffing at not getting their way.

“You mean we actually have to go to stuff?!” one girl exclaimed.

“Yeah, like, who has time for all that?” another said.

“You can’t be serious,” a boy grumbled, with a slight an eye roll.

“Yes, I am serious. One or two of you will be present during various activities,” the teacher explained. “You guys will be taking ownership of the yearbook production.”

Snobby snuffs of disapproval puffed out of their noses. They were certain that there was no need for them to "actually do stuff." 

“But...but...but...for all the other yearbooks, parents provided the photos,” the boy whined. “It’s unfair that you want us to do it now.”

Unfair. Welcome to real world, kid, I thought.

One student brightened. “Hey! That means we can go with the elementary kids on their field trips.”

“Oooo. Skip class. Yessssss!” agreed another.

“Nice try, but no,” their teacher said.

“Ohhhh,” the class said in unison, disappointed.

I tried lifting their spirits. “You know, as the photographer, you essentially are an observer, rather than a participant. It gives you a unique perspective.”

Once again, middle schoolers know everything.

“Whatever. We just have more work now. It should've been enough to organize the books in the first place.”

I wanted to ask if they thought it would be enough if their parents only gave them shelter, leaving the responsibilities of cooking and paying bills for them to deal with. I wanted to inform them that even though a boss gives a stack of papers with a deadline, it doesn’t mean he or she won’t add more duties. Effort, in any of life’s aspect, doesn’t simply begin and end; its continuous. Seeds can be planted in dirt, but need nurturing even when they sprout into plants. Water alone won’t always do. Insects will need to be kept away, leaves pruned, soil tilled. Care is ongoing.

The effort they put into their lives, and the yearbook, is also continuous. The end result depends on this, and on their flexibility to adapt to life's little surprises. It was apparently surprising to them to be responsible for taking photos for the yearbook; you know, a book full of photos.

But, I forgot, middle schoolers already know everything.

This will be fun, I reassured myself.