QM is an outspoken child from a dysfunctional family. His older brother dropped out (or was pushed out when sitting in a classroom and following along with the daily routine -- opening his book [which assumes HE BROUGHT IT in the first place], listening without put downs as others responded, responding appropriately when called upon, etc.); his aunt, one of the brightest I've had the pleasure of teaching, is a math teacher in a nearby town.
Q is plenty bright enough, but some days, someone who did not already know him would never guess it! Today was obviously one of those days.
My second hour is the "big" Spanish class this year. Among the Spanish I students were three boys. They sat together, even though they are not still in junior high. Q leaned his head back against the white board, and began gently banging it, "marching" to the beat of his inner drummer.
As the hour drew to a close, he raised his hand and announced, "My head hurts."
I have one of those DUH-BUH moments. I raise my eyebrows as I glance at him.
He responds, "I have this cut right back here (pointing to the back of his head)."
My eyebrows go up even further, an "Oh, really?" look. "You have my permission to quit banging it, should you so choose."