I don't care if you don't want to know why I yell at fourteen-year-old kids, I will tell you anyway.

A) First, they are not 14. That is not germane as to why I yell at them; it is simply that they are actually 16 and 17.

B) There are "smart" kids in class (no, Aaron, I am not talking about you) who think, "I am going to show the other kids just how smart I am and how dumb the teacher is by saying she is wrong." The "dumb" kids hear the "smart" kid say, "You are wrong, teacher," and they think, "Oh, the teacher is dumber than the kid!"

So, I can let the "smart" kid look smart while I look stupid and the class loses faith in my abilities or better still I can prove that I am indeed correct.

C) Now, this is presupposing that anyone besides the "smart" kid is listening. But what "smart" kids learns is "Don't mess with the bull, mister, 'cause you'll get the horns." (that is from The Breakfast Club, profound isn't it.)

I know, I could blow it off. What do I care if they all hate me and think I am stupid? It is not a popularity contest. But I have this thing where being "right" is super-duper important to me. I probably would not care if they were not so rude about it but I am easily goaded into a fight.

And, not mud, I am sorry that I told you to go forth and sexually gratify yourself. I was wrong. Oh, what's that? An admission of err. See, I can admit I am wrong, if I am indeed wrong.

SEE!!!!! DAMMIT!!!!!!!!