"Psst."
"Excuse me."
"Hey, you. Yeah, you."
These words might grab the attention of someone in a theater or a checkout line or at a Fight Club, but in the workplace or in the schoolhouse, people like to be called by name.
Yet, increasingly, I am forced to use these attention-getting tactics in my classroom because I can't remember my students' names.
It might have to do with Baltimore County Public Schools' new A/B schedule that landed a total of 185 students in my classes that alternate daily. When students arrive at the start of each period, I have to ask, "Who are you and why are you here?"
It doesn't help I have multiple Maddies and Patricks and sets of identical twins and two girls named Caylee and Kallie. I have yet to pronounce either girl's name correctly, and it's December. I tried to call on the blonde one the other day but all that came out was "kuh-kuh-kuh." Another student muttered, "She'll never get this right."
Last week a student approached my desk, asking for a hall pass. As I sat, pen poised, ready to fill in the ubiquitous green slip, I could not recall his name. We held an awkward moment, our eyes locked as he waited for my brain to scan for a clue. A first letter? A last name? A sense of syllables?
I felt like Billy Collins' narrator in "Forgetfulness" who says, "Whatever it is you are trying to remember, / it is not poised on the tip of your tongue, / not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen."
I could conjure up a lot about this kid: his role as vice-president of the Best Buddies club, what costumes he and his best friend wore for Spirit Week and Halloween, his sister who I taught years ago and even the topic of her college application essay. Ironically, I had just set aside his typed response paper as a model for the class.
I had no name. I confessed.
Incredulous, he raised his eyebrows and mustered up the kindest tone, one he would use toward a senile centenarian on her birthday.
"Ryyyyaaaaan."
I am not that old!
My one crutch is my seating chart. As long as I have that in view, I can wing it. But when students come to me outside of class, when they are not sitting in row two, next to the windows, I lose confidence.
In the hallways they greet me by name, and I try to compensate for my weakness by sounding extra cheerful when I say, "How are you today?"
I've thought about making the students wear nametags, but then I realized they already have BCPS One cards, so that's a lead balloon.
It's not just my students' names I have to carry in my brain. I'm currently teaching two novels and "The Canterbury Tales." That's a lot of characters to keep straight. At night, they meet in my dreams where Christopher Boone takes the Tube to Canterbury with Mr. Gradgrind in his pocket, tutoring him facts for his A-level maths.
My cluttered brain is affecting my home life. I keep calling our dog and cat the names of deceased pets. I don't think they mind so much, but it upsets my daughter. I suppose I wouldn't want to be repeatedly called the name of a dead person I'd never met. No wonder the dog cocks her ears at me.
Maybe I should revisit Romeo's words to Juliet and contemplate if all this labeling is really necessary. Or perhaps all I need is the forthcoming winter break, a chance to catch up on sleep and TV shows, to detach myself from the perpetual jumble of the paper load and data entry and technology issues and education-based acronyms.
Yes, a break from my teaching responsibilities might restore my memory. Then again, out of sight — out of mind.
Sadly, it's not my students I want to forget.
Mary Beth Stuller teaches English at Hereford High School in Parkton. Her email is