Return of the Pastafarian

A former student stuck this drawing to the window of my classroom, and it filled me with joy.

It’s so full of inside jokes.

First is the inclusion of the word “Bully.”

This was his name for me during the year we spent together. Every time I pressed him to work harder and better, he’d accuse me of bullying him, going so far as reporting me to the principal for my wicked ways, so before long, “Bully” became the name he used for me.

“Papa Smurf” was the nickname I assigned to him (tragically spelled wrong on this paper) after he expressed a fondness for The Smurfs one day. Not exactly creative, but sometimes a nickname sticks.

This time, it did.

The reference to Pastafarians and the Flying Spaghetti Monster comes from a discussion on religion. While talking about how different people believe in different things, he asked if religions are just “silliness” invented by people who wanted to take other people’s money, control their lives, and feel less frightened about death.

Insightful boy.

I said yes, at least in some cases, and informed him about The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, a satirical religion first born in 2006 in opposition to the notion of intelligent design.

Essentially, the religion is based upon the idea that if you’re going to believe in something as ridiculous as an all-powerful God who designed the universe, why not believe in something equally ridiculous, like a Flying Spaghetti Monster?

Both are equally silly and therefore just as likely to be real.

The Church of the Flying Spateggti Monster began as an intellectual bit of satire, but today, it’s a religion that some people claim as their own.

I also happen to own a copy of “The Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster,” which he found fascinating.

So for the rest of the school year, he declared himself a Pastafarian (a follower of the Flying Spaghetti Monster) and would crack jokes about the Spaghetti Monster whenever possible.

The picture on the page is his interpretation of me, of course. In addition to “Bully,” he would also call me “Big Brain” and one day came up with this drawing to represent me.

Not exactly the most flattering image of me that I’ve ever seen, but sadly, still better and kinder than many student drawings of me.

Teaching is a tough business. You spend a year of your life with a group of kids, loving them nearly as much as you love your own children, but then they leave you, sometimes never to be seen again.

It’s heartbreaking.

But sometimes they come back and visit. Occasionally they will remain in your life long after you’ve finished teaching them. Sometimes they even grow into adulthood and become your friend.

And sometimes you find something like this affixed to the window of your classroom, from a kid you haven’t seen in a long time, and your heart soars knowing they are still thinking about you, but probably not nearly as often as you think about them.