I used to teach high school, Art and English. I taught on a Native American reservation, in kind of a rough school, and I was not all that suited to teaching high school. I found that high schoolers, with a few notable exceptions, were just like five year olds, but it was harder to take from kids over four feet tall. This is a story from one of the days that pushed me to the younger ages. And yes, I was actually this sarcastic.
Scene: A high school art room, complete with drafting desks and clay table, as well as all of the requisite paint spattered counters.
The class, already in progress, are for the most part mixing clay that they dug up themselves during a previous class period or working on bowls made from said clay. With a notable exception.
Allison: Aye, Mizz Hintsala, what we spossed ta be doin’, eh?
Mizz Hintsala: Well, Allison, I’d say you need to finish that pot you were working on yesterday. Your CLAY Pot.
Allison: Oh, Mizz Hintsala, I broke dat.
Mizz Hintsala: Really? You broke the other one too. Huh. Well, I guess you get to start over.
Allison: Oh, but, I did it…
Mizz Hintsala: No, you broke it. Start over.
Allison: (Walks over to clay table, stands there for about thirty seconds.) Where’s the clay then?
Mizz Hintsala: Where it was the last two times, I imagine.
Allison: No! Mizz Hintsala, I mean deres no clay here. It’s all gone!
Mizz Hintsala: Ah, well then you need to mix up some more dry clay.
Allison: Oh. How you do dat, then?
Mizz Hintsala: Well, if you remember back to last week when you mixed the last batch, you’ll find that info.
Allison: Oh, Mizz Hintsala! Your real sickining! I didn’t do dat.
Mizz Hintsala: Actually you did, and no one was more surprised than I. Do you not remember how?
Allison: Uh…no, I don’t. Will you help me?
Mizz Hintsala: Certainly. Get the dry clay.
Allison: Where is it then?
Mizz Hintsala: On the table in front of you.
Allison: Where?
Mizz Hintsala: Right there. (points)
Allison: Oh. But, it’s all dry and clumpy.
Mizz Hintsala: (looks at her for a beat) Yes dear, that’s why they call it dry clay.
Allison: Oh, yeah! But…how do I get it wet?
Mizz Hintsala: (looks at her for a beat) If you were outside right now, how would you be getting wet?
Allison: (thinks for a beat) It’s raining? I need to take the clay into the rain?
Mizz Hintsala: Well, you could, but it’s easier to get water out of the facet.
Allison:(face brightens) Oh, yeah! Okay Mizz Hintsala. (pauses) What do I put the water in?
I wonderful example of why I admire teachers so, but would never, ever, not in a million years be one… 
It put smile in my face. I give my highest respect to all the teachers!! I can never imagine myself in the situation
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