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Incorrigible

Bill Tope

Bob sat at his desk in the 1st grade classroom,
blinking his eyes and rolling his head to first
one shoulder and then the next. This drew
the unwanted attention of his teacher, Miss
Edison. She stepped briskly down the aisle.

“Robert, I’ve told you before to cut out the
antics. You know you’re disturbing the other
children.” Bob sneaked a glance at the boys
and girls in his class, saw their happy grins;
at the moment, they were happy not to be
him.

Bob coughed nervously. “And that cough,”
said Miss Edison. “I’ve sent you to the school
nurse a dozen times but there doesn’t seem
to be anything physically wrong with you.” She
laid heavy emphasis on the word “physically,”
which set the other children off laughing. “So,”
she concluded unfeelingly, “if you’re trying to
get out of class, you can just forget about it.”

Bob’s face grew hot, his skin a bright pink.
He stared down at his desk. He wished he
could sink through the floor. “Now, you sit
there and don’t move a muscle for the rest
of the day or you’re going to be in big
trouble.

Bob laid his hands flat on his desktop and
tried to hold himself still. Miss Edison
hovered over him and everyone was watching
expectantly. Suddenly Bob’s head turned to
the left. his arm shot out straight and he
coughed hoarsely. Once again the children
exploded in gales of laughter.

Miss Edison blew out a disgusted breath and
told the class to be silent, that this wasn’t
funny. The teacher intoned somberly, “A class
cut-up did no one favors.” The classroom
settled down, listening to every delicious word.
This was how delinquency and a life of crime
began, she added fiercely.

Bob stole another look at his classmates, again
saw their derisive, toothy grins. “You can just
stay in class for recess and when the rest of us
go to lunch!” proclaimed the teacher. “I wash
my hans of you. You are, Robert, truly
incorrigible.” And she stalked back to her desk.

Little was known of Tourette’s Syndrome in the
1950s.

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