I tell Jing that I can't go to her swim meet, because I'm spending the weekend in Boston.

Jing: Are you staying at a hotel?

Me: Yep.

Jing: You should steal all the soaps and shampoos and everything.

Me: I always bring something back.

Jing: When I went on the cruise, there was a razor and shaving cream. I took it, and my mom asked why.

Me: Why did you?

Jing: For my future armpits!

Me: Your future armpits?

Jing: I only have one hair under one of them now, but someday...

Jing cracks me up yet again with her portrayal of yellow fever.

*

Tonight I helped Borun flesh out details for an admissions essay about what a magical day would be like. It included him in VIP seats at a Yankees game saving Barack Obama from a foul ball.

*

I believe these children are our future.

Jing's book reviews really capture her unique voice. I'd like to, but I just don't think I can take credit.

It's becoming clearer and clearer by the things I am privy to, that Jing has made me a kind of confidante. I try to be a good role model, but I'm still me.

Jing: My friend wants me to ask you this: What do you do if a bi girl asks you out?

Me: If a bisexual girls asks me out?

Jing: No, my friend.

Me: Oh. Is she interested?

The color drains from her face.

Jing: No!

Me: Then she should say she's not interested.

Jing: Not only is she a girl who likes another girl. She also has a boyfriend.

Me: So?

Jing: So that's cheating!

Me: Meh.

To get his mind off of plane crashes, I start asking Jeffrey what it's like to fly across the country all by himself. He quickly starts to sell the experience to me.

Jeffrey: It's so much fun. All I do is sit there. I don't get scared at all.

Me: What about the flight attendants? Do they check up on you a lot?

Jeffrey: No, I'm fine by myself. But they do give me extra snacks.

Me: Really?

Jeffrey: Yeah. Lots of drinks. And last time I got four bags of the purple chips!

Me: You mean blue corn chips?

Jeffrey: Ewww. They're corn chips? Yuck! I like potato chips.

Me: Corn chips are good. Doritos are corn chips.

Jeffrey: They are?

Me: Doritos are tortilla chips, which are made out of corn-

Jeffrey: Which is made out of potatoes!

Me: Uh, no.

Jeffrey's flying to Los Angeles next week to spend a week with his dad. He's nervous about the flight and looking for reassurance.

Jeffrey: There aren't a lot of plane crashes, right?

Me: Right. Hardly any. There are more car crashes than plane crashes.

Jeffrey: Oh. So when was the last plane crash?

Me: Uh... Yesterday. There was one in Madrid.

I start to giggle.

Jeffrey: Why are you laughing?

Me: Because it sounds like I'm lying to you about how rare plane crashes are, but really, they seldom occur. You will probably not die in a plane crash.

Jeffrey: Probably?!

I saw Jeffrey, the youngest kid I tutor, tonight. Since summer began, we've been meeting every two weeks instead of every Thursday. It's nice having some nights off tutoring, yet I have to retrain him a bit when I see him. You wouldn't believe how calm I am around kids. After seeing some crazy stuff in my two years as a Harlem schoolteacher, I just can't lose my cool when a kid fidgets. This is Jeffrey's problem.

A sense of humor and some good-natured sarcasm go a long way. All I have to is raise my eyebrows at Jeffrey, and he shapes up. If only teaching entire classes had been so easy. Today I told him he needed to keep his feet on the floor or cross-legged like mine. No other options, especially not kicking back and forth like a Rockette performance.

"Close your eyes and picture a calm body," I told him. "Now get that calm body." I chuckled when I wondered how he will remember me years from now when he's older and it's been years and years since our last session.

Maybe he'll think my calm body comments were hippie dippie. Will he remember how I read that passage to him from The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, but took out the profanities? Or that I gave him the colored gel pen for editing his work and told him he was abusing exclamation points and the word "very"?

I hope he remembers one thing I definitely will - the way he tried to get out of doing writing work by asking if anything interesting happened to me since we last spoke. He was procrastinating for sure, but genuinely curious. I like to tell my students funny PG-rated things that happen in my life, and they do the same.

"Hmmm..." I thought. "Nothing comes to mind this week." Except for right then, I meant.

I took this at Good Stuff Diner last Sunday. I think the stuff that was good wasn't the pancakes so much as the cool light fixtures.

The aggressor ain't just that pushy guy on the dance floor who doesn't seem to realize he's unattractive.

After I wiped the barf off my mouth with a sleeve, I punched this shirt really hard while quoting Gloria Steinem.

I went out with TBID and others last weekend to this NYU hangout. The place had a lot of guys shooting pool and drinking beer. Somehow, TBID and I convinced everyone in our party to play this hand clap game from my childhood. The guys were so competitive.

The 1 train platform at 168th Street looks different from most. Look how deep underground it is! It's so quiet down there and every noise is amplified. It felt extra cozy tonight when I walked in from the pouring rain.

Jeffrey is revising some of his writing when a complete non sequitur strikes him. As usual, I am too amused to be annoyed.

Jeffrey: What's the difference between a Christian and a Catholic?

Me: Christians believe in Jesus and God. Catholics are one type of Christian.

Jeffrey: My mom said that Catholics believe in the Father, the Son, and something else.

Me: The Holy Ghost.

Jeffrey: Huh?!

Me: Catholics believe in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

Jeffrey: Holy Ghost... That sounds creepy.

The new kid I tutor, Jeffrey, is the most outspoken fourth-grader I've ever met.

Jeffrey: What kind of girl are you? The kind that just stands around and talks, or do you run around and get loud?

Me: During recess, you mean?

Jeffrey: Yeah.

Me: Well, I don't have a recess. I haven't for a long time.

His eyes widen, and he nods sympathetically.

Me: But when I did, I guess I'd do both. Sometimes I'd talk; other times I'd race some of the boys.

Jeffrey: You can run fast?

Me: I used to.

He sighs.

Jeffrey: My mom says the same thing. "I used to run fast." I tell her, "Mom, you're not paralyzed now!"

Jing is always up for digressions and fortunately, they often lead to teachable moments. Except when I don't do the best job of explaining something.

Jing: What's an oxymoron?

Me: It's when a description of something contradicts itself, like... Well, like dull roar or tidy mess.

Jing: Or pretty ugly?

Me: Kind of, but "pretty" is being used more like an adverb there.

Jing: Or smart homeless person?

Me: Ummm, NO. And that's not necessarily a contradiction.

Jing: Homeless person who smells good?

Me: JING! That's not appropriate. What's with you?

Jing: Alright. Britney Spears with hair?

Me: No, no, no. That's not an oxymoron. And she has hair now.

I find it interesting that my knee and foot injuries both occurred on a Wednesday when I tutored Deedee. I'm not normally a superstitious person, but it's fun to speculate and shiver at coincidences. It shifts the blame from my own foolish actions (wearing dangerously cute shoes and taking too much pain medicine), plus I get to call Deedee "The Cursed One" in this spooky voice I stole from The Secret of NIMH. "Go to the LEEEEE of the STOOOOONE!"

My blue-brown foot is the third injury of the last two months. I hadn't mentioned the second one involving Deedee, because it's just now been resolved. It was much more serious than either of mine, and I've spent a lot of time fretting over it and feeling like I should do something.

A few weeks ago, Deedee was late to our session. It struck me as unusual, but I used the time to scarf down my tutoring energy snack and get the materials out. I was reading a book and eating sour straws rich in red-40 and formaldehyde when Deedee rushed in and immediately asked if she could go to the bathroom. I hardly had time to glance at her as she made a beeline for the elevator.

I savored a few more pages of my book. Deedee came back to our table, scraped back a chair, and sat. Book closed, I looked up and greeted her. Something was very wrong. Her lip was split and bleeding. My face must have broken in alarm, because her chin began to quiver.

"What happened?" I asked her.

Her shoulders began to shake, eyes filling with tears. Between gasps, she explained that she'd been running late to tutoring and had to run from her apartment building to our spot. When she'd flung open the swinging main door to get outside, it immediately swung back and hit her in the face. This might seem kind of Three Stooges and funny, but this was a heavy door to an apartment building. Not something you'd want to hit you in the face or on the ass as you make your way out. I'd thought Deedee had been in a fight or something. With Mike Tyson.

"And I broke my tooth," Deedee said. This was clearly the hardest thing for her to say. I swallowed hard to maintain a semblance of calm. The last thing she needed was me freaking out.

"Okay, let me see," I replied. "It's okay."

One of her front teeth was half gone at a diagonal. I couldn't help wincing.

"Have you called your mom yet?" I asked as I got out my cell phone.

Then Deedee really lost it. She didn't want to tell her parents. I think she thought she'd get in trouble for running late and for consequently rushing and injuring herself.

I agreed to call her house. I knew it might be difficult. Her mom doesn't speak much English and might flip out, so I was hoping Deedee wouldn't die of heartbreak in the next few minutes.

When Deedee's mom answered the phone, I explained what happened and that I'd be fine walking Deedee home. It was decided that Deedee's dad would come over and assess the situation. Meanwhile, Deedee and I should explore the nuances of grammar. I spent those long minutes before her dad came over assuring her that she'd be okay, it wasn't her fault, I was really sorry she was hurt, and that I wouldn't ever mind waiting a few minutes for her if she were running late.

Seeing her in distress broke my heart. I wanted to do something, but I had few words. I was really worried about the tooth. It had to hurt, and it looked awful.

"Amanda, is my tooth going to grow back? Please tell me it's going to grow back," Deedee pleaded.

Oh, how I wished it would. "It's a permanent tooth, so it's the only one you have," I told her "It can't grow back, but you can get it fixed by a dentist. Do you have a dentist you go to?"

Deedee shrugged; I felt sick. If Deedee's parents couldn't take her to the dentist to get the tooth fixed, I didn't know what to do. Am I in any place to take responsibility for something like that? It seems like something that isn't any of my business, but I want Deedee to be happy and well-adjusted and healthy. And as superficial as it may sound, that wouldn't happen if she had to spend the rest of her foreseeable future with a broken front tooth.

Deedee's dad arrived shortly and decided that she was well enough to finish the tutoring session. I argued politely, explaining it was no problem if she wanted to go home. He insisted, exerting fatherly dominance I couldn't translate.

I spent the rest of the session trying not to look at the tooth and being hyper-positive. I think Deedee saw right through it. She kept her hand over her mouth most of the time, until she got really excited about a Ray Bradbury story and forgot about her self-consciousness.

Deedee had gone to the dentist by the next week I saw her. She'd been told she'd need a root canal. Her tooth had crumbled even more at a diagonal. She was in a lot of pain due to nerve damage.

A week later, Deedee's dad reported that his insurance plan wouldn't cover any of the dental care Deedee needed. She seemed comfortable with her new look, but maybe that was just around me. I spent nights at home wondering how I could suggest paying for Deedee's dental bills in part or total. If I could even afford to do such a thing. How could an insurance provider not cover a root canal? I consulted some people who'd had similar dental procedures perfomed.

Last week, Deedee missed tutoring due to a dentist appointment. I tried to get all the information I could on the phone with her mom, but couldn't tell if she'd been given a permanent crown or what.

I finally saw some sort of resolution yesterday. As I walked in, Deedee waved. She smiled and I saw it - one front tooth that looked exactly like the other. I beamed. It's not a permanent fix, because the dentist wants to wait three months before putting a permanent crown on the stump of tooth left. Something about Deedee's young bones needing to recover. I'm just so happy that Deedee doesn't have to deal with the questions and stares she's probably been getting since the accident.

This whole experience really made me think about how close I am to the kids I tutor. Earlier this week, Borun started to tear up over this newspaper article we read. I was really surprised, as he has been taught to be so thoughtful and stoic. Jing has confessed she's afraid of getting her period, among other very personal anxieties about growing up. My new kid, Jeffrey, and I don't have a deep relationship at this point, but we could get there.

I'm honored to be a part of these kid's lives. In this hazy role, I'm not a parent or a friend, but I'm certainly not just a tutor. It feels so good to have people to care about who aren't family or friends my age or someone with whom I'm romantically involved. The kids I tutor have made my life - and schedule - complicated and unexpectedly richer.

One time I was at a winebar, and I referred to my wooden purse from the 1970's as "vintage."

The bartender slapped his hand to his head and rolled his eyes. "You kids," he scoffed. But he was very understanding when I started losing my accessories and dignity.

I talked to Jing yesterday, and she told me something that made me feel really old - creaky "When I was your age..." stories old.

Apparently, kids at her school write newfangled graffiti on bathroom stalls. Graffiti that involves IM screennames, like, "For a good time, IM babyrayrayXO!"

Back in my day, we used phone numbers...

Those kids.

I'm helping Borun revise an imagist poem for his seventh grade poetry project. Together, we ponder how to show and not tell.

Me: So what's going on here?

Borun: I'm a bird flying in the jungle.

Me: Okay, so this is looking better. But can you think of another way of writing that you flew in the direction of the sun? Another thing to call the sun or a way to describe it?

Borun: Uh...

Me: Like in "All Summer in a Day," Ray Bradbury says it's a coin and a lemon.

Borun: Hmmm... What about "the golden ball of gas"?

Me: I dunno. Sounds like a fart.

Borun eventually decides on "the golden orb."

Jing and I are reading a poem in which someone is said to "make a pass at" another someone. I suspect Jing has no idea what that means. My attempts to turn it into a teachable moment about context clues backfires.

Me: So they're on a date, and he kissed her even though she didn't want him to. So "making a pass" could mean...

Jing: Passing something, like they're playing around.

Me: No. Okay, look. "Making a pass" is when someone does something physical with someone else who they are attracted to.

Jing: [enlightened] Oh, yeah. Like the bases.

Me: Yeah, where first base means making out. And second base is touching-

Jing: Whoa, whoa. I thought first base was holding hands and second base was kissing and third base is touching and fourth base is-

Me: There's no fourth base!

Jing: Okay. So the homerun that's when two people, uh, do the Mommy-Daddy Dance.

I don't ask for any elaboration.

Last week, I assigned Jing a New York Times article about sex offenders in a working-class neighborhood in Long Island. She had to speak her mind when she handed over her short written response. It was the hardest I've laughed all week.

Jing: I hate sex offenders! What do you think?

Me: Well, I don't think anyone likes sex offenders.

Jing: I think that if they wanna offend someone, they should mess with each other. We'll put 'em all in one room.

Me: You mean, one sex offender should harass or assault another sex offender?

Jing: Yep. And then switch so they're even.

Last Friday, I was tutoring Jing, which means I was deflecting Jing's attempts to talk about anything but grammar.

Jing: Amanda, do you have a boyfriend?

Me: Yes.

Jing: Really?! What's his name?

Me: It's an unusual name.

Jing: Ooh. What is it?

Me: Guess.

Jing: Hmmm... Is it Tiger?

Me: Do you honestly think I'd date someone named Tiger?!

I had this stressful dream Monday night that I was supposed to escort a classroom of surly, spitting teenagers to an auditorium to vote in a mock presidential election. They refused to budge, and paid me little attention. I raised my voice to no avail, eventually resorting to frantic cursing under my breath. The aggravation was so real.

Then I was sitting in a room with an older woman, presumably a students' parent. She was rationalizing her son's behavior - he was one of the students who refused to follow directions. "What you don't understand," she condescended, "is that he was scarred by a recent voting incident. Also, he's uncomfortable that the school isn't more multicultural."

In the dream, I knew the voting incident the woman referred to occurred when her son was very young. It was doubtful that he knew much about it. Why such a far-fetched excuse? I also knew the parent was essentially throwing out the line that so many teachers I worked with faced - "You're not black, so you don't understand my kid. You can't get it."

Usually I disagreed, but other times I wondered. I still don't know what I think about all that, but without a doubt, I'm glad I'm no longer a teacher.

The bulk of my tutoring service of late has consisted of helping kids get ready for tests, big tests that determine what high school they'll go to or if they get into a private school. It's not the most fun thing in the world, though I know my potential offspring has two legs up in the process already. Well, would have unborn figurative legs up if admissions standards ever stayed the same, which they don't.

I've tried to teach Jing better interview demeanor and answers to little avail. Trying to impress is just not intuitive to her. She's even been assigned to write drafts of answers to common questions, all selling her as the smartest, cutest Chinese overachiever you ever saw. Today on Gmail chat, she needed some clarification:

Jing: wut do u mean describe an obstacle you overcame?
Me: An obstacle, or problem, that you got through.
Jing: ??
Me: Like the story about the girl on the playground who tried to fight you.
Jing: huh
Me: You told me last week.
Jing: o. can it be different
Me: Like what?
Jing: sumthin i make up
Me: Yeah, but make it realistic.
Jing: so nuthing with dragons
Me: You're kidding, right? No dragons!

Jing, the student I tutor on Friday evenings, cracks me up. Per her mom's request, I've started assigning her non-fiction. She chooses a book about a historical figure and then has to complete a dialectical journal of her thinking as she reads. Her first subject was Sacajawea. Below are actual entries from Jing's journal.

"I never even knew that you can have a baby at such a young age in the 1800s. In the book it said that Sacajawea was married when she was sixteen years old. OMG!!!!! When I grow up and get married, I'm not going to get married at age of sixteen. People will probably think I'm crazy or have mental abilities..."

"I fell bad for Sacajawea. She gets abused by her husband, even if she doesn't do anything wrong. There is this song called "Runaway Love" by Ludacris... Sacajawea should have been in the song. It should have been about how Sacajawea got abused by her husband for no reason."

"How did Sacajawea know which roots were good to eat and which weren't? She didn't have a book that said, 'Oh this root is not poisonous' or 'Be careful. This root is very poisonous.' Seems to me like Sacajawea was a very talented woman."

"Louise and Clark were kind of mean to Sacajawea and the Indian people that they met on their journey. Even when Louis and Clark took a sip out of the Pipe of Peace, they still treated a few of them with disrespect. This is kind of like what one of my friends wanted to do. Rainer wanted to see Karia and Ernie kiss. He said that if they kiss he'll pay each of them three dollars. This was taking a sip out of the Pipe of Peace. Karia and Ernie kissed. It's been a week, and Rainer still hasn't paid either of them one cent. This is being disloyal like the way Louis and Clark are sometimes to Sacajawea and the Indians."

It's Friday and I'm tutoring Jing, one of the most adorable little attention deficit poster children you could ever meet. We're talking about grammar when she suddenly remembers something she wants to ask me.

Jing: You know Shel Silverstein?

Me: Of course.

Jing: When did he die?

Me: Umm. I can't remember when exactly. I know I was still a kid, though. I think I was in middle or high school when I read that he died suddenly. I can't remember of what...

Jing: Oh, I know! [Grave pause] He died of an infected beard.