Eyebrow Emergency: What They Don't Teach You in School

The following post is probably the single-most blog-worthy moment to happen to me since this whole self-indulgent charade began. Let me tell you. It is good. Hold on to your eyebrows.

What Had Happened Was.....

I am not one of those teachers who wakes up at 5:00 AM to walk the dog, do the crossword, and perform twelve sun salutations before making my way to school. I am much more akin to one of my high school Lit survey teachers who occasionally found herself blow drying her hair behind the desk as class began. It's just my way.

Because of this, I recently found myself loaded down with fresh copies and tearing around the corner of the 7th grade hall precisely ten minutes before the morning's first bell. There I ran into a boy who will be referred to Spock. The nickname will click later. 

A little back story....

Spock is the only student that I've ever run into at a roller derby bout. He's less Justin Bieber. More Marilyn Manson. He is less Southern Baptist. More Wiccan. He's more likely to be caught in knee-high, lace-up Converse than Wallabees. He is the only student who's ever asked me, "Ms. P, do you think I could get away with elbow-length fishnet gloves here?" He's less Twilight.  And more Tim Burton. In a word, he's unexpected - as was his coming request.

"Oh, Ms. P, I am SOOOO glad to see you!" he wailed, with an exhale befitting a marathoner crossing the finish line.

As he normally errs on the dramatic side, I continued my hustle to the classroom barely making eye contact. "Okay, what's up? What do you need, Spock?"

"Okay, seriously, this is an emergency. Do you have any eyeliner?"

Aware of his musical leanings and fashion experiments, a certain image flashed through my mind before I continued...

"Now, Spock, you know I'm here for you, but I'm not your cool aunt! I can't give you eyeliner. Talk to your parents about it."

Exasperated, he responded, "Oh, Ms. P, it is SO not like that. This is an emergency." Suddenly, he grabbed my arm with one hand and, with the other, pointed to his eyebrow - or should I say, where his eyebrow had once been. 

                                        

What remained was a sort of half-eyebrow. The remainder ran from the top of his nose to where the arch had once began. The effect left him looking permanently befuddled. It was social suicide. 

Like Lauren Conrad faced with a life-or-death fashion emergency, I cringed. 

I dropped my purse and set my copies down, dragging him into my classroom. "What DID you DO? Did you wax it? Where did you get wax? What was your goal? Were you BORED?!" I fired a barrage of endless questions at him.

He cut through my curiosity with basic brutal truth, "Ms. P, I really can't go into it. No, not wax. I shaved it. But the point is this...I'm 13. I'm in middle school. I cannot, will not go to class with half an eyebrow, or I will never be anyone but the boy with one and a half eyebrows."

He had me there. 

"You're right. But look, Spock. I don't have eyeliner on me. However, I do have something else." I pulled him to the back of my classroom where I have an organizer full of school supplies. I rummaged around and pulled out two Magic Markers. Black and Brown. "Take your pick, buddy."

When they said "preferred by teachers," I'm pretty sure they didn't have this in mind.

Ever the goth, he chose black. 

"Hold still," I demanded, summoning all the eyebrow-sculpting advice I had ever read in beauty magazines. I uncapped the marker, warned him against laughing, and went to town.

In that moment, I thought: No education college in the land could ever prepare its graduates for such a time as this. They really don't teach you everything in The Art and Science of Teaching.

And let me tell you, as I stepped back to admire my handiwork, I realized that I had drawn him an eyebrow that would make a drag queen proud.

With that and a warning to not scratch, itch, or even think about sweating, I sent him off to homeroom. At lunch when he saw me, he pointed excitedly to my masterpiece and asked, "Is it still there?!"

The next morning, he walked proudly into school with a fresh brow, drawn with eyeliner. I grinned and asked, "Oh! Did your mom give in? Or did you walk to the drugstore to buy it yourself?"

He shrugged, "When I came home yesterday looking like I did, she offered to fix it for me until it grows back in."

Apparently Mama Spock didn't appreciate my fine handiwork.