The trouble started when the class hamster got out of its cage.

Judy
Jenkins was on hamster duty and I think she forgot to close the little door
after she’d replaced the hamster’s newspapers. Kids are so easily
distracted these days. It used to be all a teacher had to do was chant
“1,2,3, eyes on me” to get a room back in order. Attention spans have
gotten so bad that I’ve taken to firing a starter’s pistol to get the kids back
on track. Had to buy it myself, but the gym teacher told me the union rep
is going to see if we can get ammunition added to the budget next year.

So anyway, the hamster’s cage was left open, which wasn’t that big a deal
in itself. Certainly not the first time it’s happened. And it’s not like the
hamster has ever shown much interest in personal freedom before. On
other occasions where I’ve found the cage door open, the little furball was
still in there, contentedly running on its wheel, not a care in the world.

But then Scott Miller climbed on his desk—I guess he was imitating a
professional wrestler he saw at the Presidential rally or something—and in
his attempt to dropkick a friend, he missed and crashed into the
bookshelf. Well, the impact must have startled the hamster something
terrible, because it shot out of its cage and scurried down the shelf and
hid in amongst the dioramas of the President’s fourth inauguration.

You'd think it couldn't get much worse, but then someone yelled “rat” and
all the girls started screaming, including Judy, who should have known
better. Before I could even dig my starter pistol out of the desk drawer,
the Cooper kid grabbed a broom and started smashing dioramas like he
was playing whack-a-mole at the carnival. I was horrified and without
thinking, I shouted that it wasn’t a rat, just the class hamster, which in
retrospect was pretty stupid on my part because that
got everyone screaming.

What a disaster. I mean honestly, first bell hadn’t even rung yet and my
classroom was a shambles: the bookshelf was destroyed, Miller was
displaying more than a few concussion symptoms, and most of the class
was in tears either because they thought the class hamster had been
pulverized or they were furious they wouldn’t be able to enter their
dioramas in Wednesday’s patriotism contest.

Riots have started for less, so I was a little worried when someone asked
who was on hamster duty and everyone turned and stared at Judy and the
now-empty cage. The poor girl looked mortified. I do think it was just an
honest mistake; I certainly didn’t think she was trying to make a political
statement or anything, but I guess some of the children thought otherwise
because suddenly Billy Finn started shouting about “political prisoners”
and “due process” and out he comes with this flag.
Now I thought it was an ordinary flag, no different than the ones hanging
in the classrooms, hallways, bathrooms, and the forty-five flags in the
gym. The only difference was Billy’s flag didn’t have the President’s name
on it. Well, you can imagine the uproar that caused. Look, nobody has
more respect for the First Amendment than I do, but, as James Wilson
said, “Without law, liberty also loses its nature and its name, and becomes
licentiousness.” My undying appreciation for free speech aside, Billy had
crossed a dangerous line. So the Patriotism Officer had to come down and
remove Billy and his flag.

You know, teaching is hard enough with the regular interruptions—

protests, counter-protests, lockdown drills, Krav Maga training—so I hardly
have time to deal with something like spontaneous civil unrest. I don’t
even have free periods anymore because I have to use that time to make
homework packets for all the children who started working at the refinery
so they don’t fall too far behind. Not to mention, the last thing any teacher
wants to do in this political climate is give oxygen to a rabble-rouser. So
you can understand why I tried to move on quickly from Billy Finn’s
seditious outburst and get to the lesson I had planned.

But then of course someone asked why the President’s name wasn’t on
Billy’s flag. This is something we normally covered in class, but the state
boards were still printing the new workbooks with the new pictures of all
the old flags with the president’s name on them. I wasn’t about to touch
that topic until we got those books, so I pretended not to hear the
question.

Then the Schmidt girl wondered aloud if there was a time when the
president wasn’t the president, and then the Patriotism Officer had to
come take her too, that’s just basic stuff. It’s number four on the
"Classroom Rules" board that sits right next to the door.

That's when I took the opportunity to suggest that it would be better for
everyone if we all just forgot about Billy Finn and his flag. Then I had them
all stand and say the Pledge of Allegiance, you know, to reset the room.
But then nobody could remember which version to sing, on account of all
the recent changes to the words. I’ve been saying it for weeks, just put
“under God” at the end of every line and save us the trouble. The P.O.
returned just in time to hear the Dinato boy and Jeff McCoy’s son, Robbie,
flub their lines, so out they went too.

At this point, I noticed a few students stealing glances at the rules board. I
thought it might be handy to have the kids read the rules aloud, and I put
extra emphasis on rule number seven: “Don’t ask where the Patriotism
Officer takes unpatriotic students.”
When that was over, I started to write the day's lesson on the chalkboard,
but the Cornwell boy, who never missed an opportunity to derail
classroom progress, asked if Billy had smuggled the flag in from Portland
or one of the other ‘No-Go Zones’. Everyone gasped. As far as my class
was concerned, anything from Portland must be radioactive. So for the
second time in a month, I had to drag the Geiger counter out from the art
closet. I knew it was a waste of time but it had to be done. Even first-year
teachers will tell you, there’s no way you can get kids to focus if they think
they are being exposed to radiation.

By the time I packed the Geiger counter away, I had lost so much time
that I’d be lucky to get to the first vocabulary hand-out. Meanwhile, the
Patriotism Officer had taken up permanent residence at my desk, his
presence an implicit threat that any more subversive behavior would be
handled swiftly and with extreme prejudice. I appreciated the calming
effect this had on the class and began my lecture on one of our most
important patriotic traditions—voting for the President.

These students have been voting since kindergarten, but the new law
lowering the voting age to the third trimester had just been passed, and
State Ed.’s updated curriculum made it my responsibility to teach the
students that voting from birth was how things have always been. Not an
easy task with such an inquisitive group, not to mention the added
pressure of the P.O. scrutinizing my every word.

My heart rate jumped when the Dugan boy raised his hand. Dugan was
one of those irritatingly clever kids who loved getting a rise out of his
teachers. I thought for sure he was going to insist he hadn’t voted before
kindergarten, and the others would agree and then the P.O. would narrow
his eyes and probably notice the smashed dioramas, and then I’m the one
getting dragged out of here kicking and screaming.

To my relief, he asked how anyone was supposed to make an informed

decision at such a young age. I told him if he did his homework more
often, maybe he’d be better informed. The P.O. got a good chuckle out of
that one.

Then the Wenerstadt boy asked who the President’s opponent was and did
he have a strong political platform. I didn’t even have a chance to make
up an answer before the P.O. got him out of there too.

Maybe it was because so many of their classmates had been removed at

that point, but after the P.O. took Wenerstadt, a hush fell over the
remaining students. At first I thought it was just fear, but as I moved
around the room handing out vocab sheets, I sensed a solemnity to the
silence that suggested a change had occurred, like a door to some greater
understanding had started to swing open.

Then someone asked if there was a difference between patriotism and

nationalism, which were two of our vocabulary words. I said sure,
patriotism is pride in one’s country, whereas nationalism is the belief that
your national culture is superior to others—

—And they said that the line between the two gets a little fuzzy
sometimes.

And I said the voters have an ethical obligation to the republic and to each
other to reject leaders espousing nationalistic ideals, lest we risk our
democracy crumbling under the fascistic impulses of power-hungry
demagogues. Nobody wants to end up like Equatorial Guinea.

And they asked how political movements can ever succeed in

overthrowing entrenched authoritarian regimes.

And I said they must capture the hearts of the proletariat.

And they asked if it’s the proletariat who suffer most, why do they support
leaders who keep them in metaphorical chains?

And I said because the ruling class has papered their cages with the
trappings of patriotism and convinced them that the bars in which they
are confined are the only thing keeping them safe—

—And then the P.O. returned, and one of the boys in the back of the class
farted and everyone had a nice laugh.

Class was nearly over and I was feeling pretty defeated about how
unproductive the day had been. Then Cindy Fontaine asked why the
President’s face wasn’t on Mount Rushmore. Poor girl must have gotten
one of the really old textbooks at the beginning of the year. I shot the P.O.
an embarrassed look and confiscated it.

That’s when it happened—one of those ‘Aha!’ moments that every good

teacher experiences from time to time.

“Let’s have a field trip”, I announced. I led the students out to the parking
lot, where we set fire to Cindy’s book, just like the faculty do at the
monthly parent-teacher conferences when the parents tell us which books
are too offensive to have in schools. The kids were thrilled about getting
to do something so grown-up and patriotic, and even the P.O. must have
been impressed because he was nice enough to discreetly remove Cindy
before we re-entered the building, so the children could enjoy the
experience without distraction.
I was feeling positively buoyant when we returned to the classroom, so
swept up in the energy of the children chattering excitedly about the book
burning that I almost didn't notice that the hamster was back in its cage. I
announced the good news, but none of the children seemed to care. They
had forgotten all about the hamster and Billy Finn's flag and everything
else that had happened. When the bell rang they were still talking about
what a great lesson it had been, which is really what this job is all about.
Every day it becomes harder to remember why we do this job, but then
you have one of those rare days where you find a way to truly connect
with your students and get them excited about learning and, man, there's
no better feeling in the world.