Twelve-year-old boys

It’s a curious fact that all the antics of twelve year old boys that I deemed stupid and immature when I was twelve amuse me no end in my students. It’s often a struggle to look stern. I once just had to bite my lip and look busy with a pile of papers, and then I caught the chief mischief-maker peeking at me, an expression of utter surprise on his face.
If my seventh-graders were animals the girls would be swans and the boys would be puppies. That’s how stark the contrast is between them. The girls, in their graceful dignity, are less amused by the boys than I am: they usually ignore them, or occasionally, when I’m otherwise occupied, tell them to shut up. But once or twice I’ve seen a girl shake with silent laughter at the boys’ tomfoolery.