Last Monday, our school lost 3 seniors, suddenly, in an auto accident. Three of a class of 18 or so, a class universally recognized for its high good humor and good-naturedness. And the three? They were more often than not in the center of all the bonhomie. Among the three, one whom I will call "Bobo" for blogging purposes.

Bobo was obviously a smart and talented student, and afflicted with an entirely normal laissez-faire attitude towards school, especially (in my experience) the more petty rules and mathematics. It would not be surprising to find the phrase "has lots of potential" on his report cards more than once, I'll bet.

Nontheless, Bobo was an engaging person, well-liked by all — faculty and students alike. His Polish heritage and strong European life experiences (despite his being California born-and-bred) lent him a cosmopolitan air. He often caught flak in my class for his "filthy European ways," and was the good-natured target of more than a few piroghi barbs.

But mostly, Bobo was legend for being caught chewing gum in my class, roughly 5 days a week, 40 weeks a year, for over a year. His unrepentant gum-chewing was never flaunted, never hostile, never in-your-face, but instead became a running gag between Bobo and yours truly.

Usually, I wouldn't even tell him to spit out the gum. Rather, I would merely remark upon the topic at hand, waving at the white board and the functions upon it, and say something like, "Why, it's easy! It's easier —" at which point, the class would finish up with, "—easier than chewing gum in my class!" Bobo would blush a little, never upset, rise up and toss the gum in the trash. And class, such as it was — interrupted by the seniors responding to snippets of phrases of mine with 80's power ballads, or showtunes, or movie quotes from myriad bad movies — would go on. Organized chaos.

For over a year.

And then, Monday, after school, he and the others were taken from us in the snap of two fingers. Tuesday, the school was closed; Wednesday, we had to get back on the horse and start forward whether we wanted to or not.

Calculus is the first high school class of the day for me, coming 4th period, after 7th grade algebra 1a. It is a class populated by seniors; almost the whole class. They came filing in, solemnly; I prepared to teach them a little about limits of functions, although no one was really up for it.

Bobo's desk, of course, was empty, along with one of the other desks.

I said something inconsequential, then stopped, noticing one of the girls chewing gum.

I made as if to ask her if she were designating herself the Bobo replacement-gum-chewer for the rest of the year, when I caught, in my peripheral vision, another one of the girls chewing gum.

And then a boy. And then the one senior, sitting in the back, who isn't even in the calculus class. What was he doing there? And then —

— they were all chewing gum. Bobo's brand. And smiling, knowingly.

My eyes went all blurry and I believe I may have called them idiots, or worse. We all broke up, laughing. It was.

It was perfect.