Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that happen to a man. ~Leon Trotsky (Lev Davidovich Bronstein), Diary in Exile, 1935
Tonight I went out with the remnants of our supper club. We've lost quite a few members to moving away for school or work and babies.
As I was paying for my food, I became acutely aware of how much older I am than most of the others in that group. The cashier offered them tickets about a college promotion, but I must look "too mature" for that now. As we talked, one of our group is headed for college, and conversation turned to tales of dorm days long past.
It struck me how on the brink of all those crazy memory-building experiences he is and how far past them I am now. I could feel every one of the gray hairs on the top of my head as though they had transmuted to stainless steel threads.
I am approaching 30 at light speed. I have never been too worried about my age. It's just a number, after all, and I've been blessed with a lot of wonderful things and people and it's all been crammed into these 29 short years. I can't complain.
It's just that lately, ever since I got home from Japan, I have felt things slowing down. I wonder if maybe they're supposed to.
I miss going to Wal-Mart in the middle of the night because my roommate and I needed a break from school. I miss sitting on the porch at the Wesley and talking to my friends, speaking with passion about everything and nothing. I miss getting together to do things.
I know life changes, and maybe, just maybe someday my life will change in this way, too, but right now, I hate these changes. Everyone I know, all the friends I used to have have been consumed by family and work and we never see each other. We never do anything. I guess everybody has broken off into self-contained units, and I don't have a unit of my own.
Maybe that's the problem. I just feel like the transmission on my life has been thrown into neutral and I don't know how to get it back in gear. I worry that I'm going to turn into the stereotypical "old maid" school teacher living alone except for cats. I'm almost there already. I haven't met anybody in a LONG time who interested me at all. Why is that? Why can't I do all my other friends did years ago and find somebody to spend my life with?
Age has snuck up on me. I don't mind the wrinkles (only a few...thank God and genetics for good bones), the aches in my hands and knees, or the gray streaks. However, I really, really do mind the being alone. That's the one thing that growing older hasn't taught me how to deal with gracefully.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Monday, May 30, 2005
Returning to Normal
No quote tonight. I just don't want to go look one up. Summer laziness.
The year ended well. I finally got all my kids done and all my grades in. I totally rearranged my classroom. I love it. It looks, for no readily apparent reason, about four times as large.
I also had some great news. I am going to get to teach AP English next year! I was so shocked. I had wanted AP, and was planning to take the training for the course this summer, but I never expected to be able to teach it for years and years. I am proud to have been chosen, and a little nervous, too.
It's exciting to be able to teach a class at the "college" level, or as close as you can get with HS students, again. But it's also kind of nervewracking. Am I good enough to do this? I think I can. I'll do my best. Gambate, ne?
In other trivia from my world, I just broke my DELL SUCKS rule and ordered a Dell DJ from them. I needed it for the upcoming summer trip, and I think it will work better with my computer than an IPod would. I paid with my regular bank account, so no more of the every month hassle with Dell. I hope this thing is going to be as spiffy as I think it is....
On Sunday, I had a chance to use my Spanish more. A man from Guatemala came to our church, and since I"m the only one who has any Spanish, they called me at 9: 30 to come down and talk to him. He was looking for a Spanish-speaking church, and I had to tell him there's only one, and it's not in our tiny town. A larger city, the city where I teach, has a church with Spanish services. We had a good discussion. He was the neatest guy.
As I was talking to him, I kept thinking about how little effort most of this state has put into creating services for the growing Spanish-speaking population. It's almost a sullen refusal. It's like they're saying, "If we don't make it easy, they won't come," and indeed, I've often heard sentiments of this kind expressed. There's plenty of, "Why don't they learn English if they're going to come here?" around.
If these people had ever had the experience of being a minority, of not being able to ask for toilet tissue in the store, or not being able to go to a doctor by yourself, then I think they would get off their prejudicial high horses a little. I have long stated that everybody ought to have to go spend two or three months in a foreign country, and one in which they don't speak the language. I think so much of people's blase callousness to the problems immigrants are having in our area stems from the fact that they've 1) stopped seeing the basic humanity of their fellow man, and 2) never had to scratch and survive themselves.
One of the most embarrassing things I've ever had to do was explain my menstrual cycle to my boss so he could document it on a Japanese medical form. At that point, I was really sick and running a fever, almost deaf in one ear from an infection that had gone on too long, and on top of all of that was heaped the shame of illiteracy. He was embarrassed to have to ask, I was mortified to have to answer, but thank God and the Japanese sense of saving face, we were able to move past that.
I came home from Japan with a keen sense of what it's like to be helpless because of language. I was a trained, educated professional, but so often, I know the people I was encountering though me of subnormal intelligence. It's a natural reaction, maybe, to think that the person who doesn't speak the language you've been babbling in since birth is somehow odd. I was frustrated and even when I took classes to learn, my progress was slow, and technical situations like the doctor were still beyond the grasp of my basic-greeting-color-number-directions Japanese.
It's wrong for there not to be more help for people in this area. I do what I can. I offer my little ESL classes, but I still feel it's too little. I hear stories from my students sometimes that make me aware that they're facing the same problems I faced in Japan, and I wish I knew how to do more to help them. I am hoping to find some like-minded people and get some serious help made available for them. God willing, we can cut off some of the hardship before it begins. Life in a new place when you've left family behind is hard enough without little things being stumbling blocks.
The year ended well. I finally got all my kids done and all my grades in. I totally rearranged my classroom. I love it. It looks, for no readily apparent reason, about four times as large.
I also had some great news. I am going to get to teach AP English next year! I was so shocked. I had wanted AP, and was planning to take the training for the course this summer, but I never expected to be able to teach it for years and years. I am proud to have been chosen, and a little nervous, too.
It's exciting to be able to teach a class at the "college" level, or as close as you can get with HS students, again. But it's also kind of nervewracking. Am I good enough to do this? I think I can. I'll do my best. Gambate, ne?
In other trivia from my world, I just broke my DELL SUCKS rule and ordered a Dell DJ from them. I needed it for the upcoming summer trip, and I think it will work better with my computer than an IPod would. I paid with my regular bank account, so no more of the every month hassle with Dell. I hope this thing is going to be as spiffy as I think it is....
On Sunday, I had a chance to use my Spanish more. A man from Guatemala came to our church, and since I"m the only one who has any Spanish, they called me at 9: 30 to come down and talk to him. He was looking for a Spanish-speaking church, and I had to tell him there's only one, and it's not in our tiny town. A larger city, the city where I teach, has a church with Spanish services. We had a good discussion. He was the neatest guy.
As I was talking to him, I kept thinking about how little effort most of this state has put into creating services for the growing Spanish-speaking population. It's almost a sullen refusal. It's like they're saying, "If we don't make it easy, they won't come," and indeed, I've often heard sentiments of this kind expressed. There's plenty of, "Why don't they learn English if they're going to come here?" around.
If these people had ever had the experience of being a minority, of not being able to ask for toilet tissue in the store, or not being able to go to a doctor by yourself, then I think they would get off their prejudicial high horses a little. I have long stated that everybody ought to have to go spend two or three months in a foreign country, and one in which they don't speak the language. I think so much of people's blase callousness to the problems immigrants are having in our area stems from the fact that they've 1) stopped seeing the basic humanity of their fellow man, and 2) never had to scratch and survive themselves.
One of the most embarrassing things I've ever had to do was explain my menstrual cycle to my boss so he could document it on a Japanese medical form. At that point, I was really sick and running a fever, almost deaf in one ear from an infection that had gone on too long, and on top of all of that was heaped the shame of illiteracy. He was embarrassed to have to ask, I was mortified to have to answer, but thank God and the Japanese sense of saving face, we were able to move past that.
I came home from Japan with a keen sense of what it's like to be helpless because of language. I was a trained, educated professional, but so often, I know the people I was encountering though me of subnormal intelligence. It's a natural reaction, maybe, to think that the person who doesn't speak the language you've been babbling in since birth is somehow odd. I was frustrated and even when I took classes to learn, my progress was slow, and technical situations like the doctor were still beyond the grasp of my basic-greeting-color-number-directions Japanese.
It's wrong for there not to be more help for people in this area. I do what I can. I offer my little ESL classes, but I still feel it's too little. I hear stories from my students sometimes that make me aware that they're facing the same problems I faced in Japan, and I wish I knew how to do more to help them. I am hoping to find some like-minded people and get some serious help made available for them. God willing, we can cut off some of the hardship before it begins. Life in a new place when you've left family behind is hard enough without little things being stumbling blocks.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Oddness and Cheese
Not the kind of cheese that melts, either. No quote tonight.
Item One: I discovered today that my blog has been ruled "Tasteless/Obscene" by the internet filter that's on our school computers. I had to laugh. Me? Obscene? It's enough to make me feel like a stand-up comedian on Comedy Central. I think it was either the "run! bastard alert" or the "jackass" comment from earlier blogs. I just can't get over the fact that I now really do apparently have a PG-13 rating. How bizarre.
Item Two: In the flurry of crap that's come out for the new Star Wars movie, I found something I had to have. No, not the big Yoda that talks (creepy...creepy). Not the $400 lightsaber you can really kill your friends with (why? A walking stick does the job pretty well, right cuz?). I am the proud owner of Darth Tater, better known by his pre-Sith name, Mr. Potato Head. I love it. It's the perfect blending of sci-fi and tacky. He is now guarding my living room. It's great.
Item Three: The Burger King guy is back. Have you seen the latest commercial? He and Darth Vader are starting at each other. Both are breathing out of their big plastic masks. It was kind of cool. Now I'll probably have nightmares about that thing....
Item One: I discovered today that my blog has been ruled "Tasteless/Obscene" by the internet filter that's on our school computers. I had to laugh. Me? Obscene? It's enough to make me feel like a stand-up comedian on Comedy Central. I think it was either the "run! bastard alert" or the "jackass" comment from earlier blogs. I just can't get over the fact that I now really do apparently have a PG-13 rating. How bizarre.
Item Two: In the flurry of crap that's come out for the new Star Wars movie, I found something I had to have. No, not the big Yoda that talks (creepy...creepy). Not the $400 lightsaber you can really kill your friends with (why? A walking stick does the job pretty well, right cuz?). I am the proud owner of Darth Tater, better known by his pre-Sith name, Mr. Potato Head. I love it. It's the perfect blending of sci-fi and tacky. He is now guarding my living room. It's great.
Item Three: The Burger King guy is back. Have you seen the latest commercial? He and Darth Vader are starting at each other. Both are breathing out of their big plastic masks. It was kind of cool. Now I'll probably have nightmares about that thing....
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
The Hands
"A sense of humor is a major defense against minor troubles. " -- Mignon McLaughlin
I am very bad with guys. Part of this is because of a basic disbelief in their sincerity. That's a long story that I won't go into here, but it's true. Additionally, I don't know how to flirt. Somehow, that part of southern girl upbringing missed me. I don't know how to handle it when a guy shows interest in me. I was always the least interesting of my friendship group. Guys always went for my friends, and I was always the tall, quiet one in the background. I've been lucky to have some really tremendous guy friends, but my romantic batting average is pitiful.
After an odd, but trauma-free day of school, I was looking forward to seeing my friends in our biweekly dinner club. We were going to my favorite Mexican restaurant and I always feel better when I know a cheese-laden plate is going to be laid before me at some point in the evening. Nothing is as nice as cheese. :)
Anyway, there is a guy at my favorite restaurant who always flirts with me. I don't know what to think about that. I get so embarrassed that I think I'm going to burst into flame. He's actually told me on more than one occasion how much he likes tall, pretty girls. (I suppose that's me...) He's asked at least two of my guyfriends I've been in the restaurant with if I'm their wife/girlfriend, etc., etc.
The thing is, he's not bad looking. I don't get the "RUN!! BASTARD ALERT!!" vibe off him. I just can't believe that his complements are personal toward me. I wonder how many other girls he says stuff like that to daily, and I flash back to the jerk from grad school who loved all women and told them so. If I thought his complements were related to some aspect of me other than the fact that have anatomical aspects opposite to his own, then I might feel differently about the guy.
Tonight, he came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders while he asked my cousin "who the pretty lady was." I, like most other modern American women, have a thing about that. I couldn't believe it! He just walked up and put his hands on me without permission. As I once told the guy from grad school, unless you'd like to lose those hands, don't put them on me without me saying it's okay.
I did the Southern Lady thing and just waited until he took his hands away. He wasn't trying to cop a feel. It was just strange. I don't know what to think about it. I don't know why I didn't break him into a half dozen small writhing pieces. I responded in the only way that seemed appropriate: I threw back my head and I laughed.
I am very bad with guys. Part of this is because of a basic disbelief in their sincerity. That's a long story that I won't go into here, but it's true. Additionally, I don't know how to flirt. Somehow, that part of southern girl upbringing missed me. I don't know how to handle it when a guy shows interest in me. I was always the least interesting of my friendship group. Guys always went for my friends, and I was always the tall, quiet one in the background. I've been lucky to have some really tremendous guy friends, but my romantic batting average is pitiful.
After an odd, but trauma-free day of school, I was looking forward to seeing my friends in our biweekly dinner club. We were going to my favorite Mexican restaurant and I always feel better when I know a cheese-laden plate is going to be laid before me at some point in the evening. Nothing is as nice as cheese. :)
Anyway, there is a guy at my favorite restaurant who always flirts with me. I don't know what to think about that. I get so embarrassed that I think I'm going to burst into flame. He's actually told me on more than one occasion how much he likes tall, pretty girls. (I suppose that's me...) He's asked at least two of my guyfriends I've been in the restaurant with if I'm their wife/girlfriend, etc., etc.
The thing is, he's not bad looking. I don't get the "RUN!! BASTARD ALERT!!" vibe off him. I just can't believe that his complements are personal toward me. I wonder how many other girls he says stuff like that to daily, and I flash back to the jerk from grad school who loved all women and told them so. If I thought his complements were related to some aspect of me other than the fact that have anatomical aspects opposite to his own, then I might feel differently about the guy.
Tonight, he came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders while he asked my cousin "who the pretty lady was." I, like most other modern American women, have a thing about that. I couldn't believe it! He just walked up and put his hands on me without permission. As I once told the guy from grad school, unless you'd like to lose those hands, don't put them on me without me saying it's okay.
I did the Southern Lady thing and just waited until he took his hands away. He wasn't trying to cop a feel. It was just strange. I don't know what to think about it. I don't know why I didn't break him into a half dozen small writhing pieces. I responded in the only way that seemed appropriate: I threw back my head and I laughed.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Walking on the Rooftop of Hell
There's a quote somewhere, I can't remember if it's Rumi or Basho, that says, "We're all walking on the roof of hell gazing at flowers." Today, I put a foot through the roof and shattered the illusion.
It didn't happen to me. It happened to one of my students. She came in early to ask about makeup work. She'd been out for four days, something that was out of character for her. She's one of my most diligent students. Her family background is, like so many of my kids lives, littered with the unimaginable. Although she's not yet seventeen, she's seen a close family member slain in cold blood by a former lover, members of her immediate family put in prison, and other members of her family following paths that will probably lead them to one of those two same destinations.
She's very strong. She's very steady. She has dreams and goals, and she works hard to get to them. She didn't do well in English last year, but has been very pleasantly surprised that she can do well in my class if she tries. I have been so proud of her this year, and so happy to be able to mark solid, strong B's for her almost every grading period.
This morning, after a brief discussion about makeup work, she told me that she'd probably be out again tomorrow. I never want to pry. Life is a personal thing, and it's full of crap that most people don't really want to have to explain over and over again. I could tell that something was wrong, though, and I gently asked her if there was anything I could do.
She started crying. My steady, strong student had silent tears running down her face, and my heart almost broke. I knew it had to be something terrible. I just went to her and hugged her. I didn't know what else to do. I got her some Kleenex, sat her down in a desk, and asked her what was wrong.
She had a baby three days ago, and her baby is dead. My sixteen-year old student miscarried, and the baby, premature by three months, wasn't strong enough to survive. She told me her story with tears streaming.
What do you even say? There are no words for grief that deep. There is no response. Anything that is said is too pale, too weak, too trite, too much a cliche to ever begin to be a response. What I wanted to say was that although I don't know what it's like to hold life inside me and lose it, my heart hurt for her. I wanted to rock back and forth and scream with her at the loss. These are not the done things, though.
So many people would just shut it out as a sad moment and go on. Too often, I've heard people insinuate that such things are either a punishment or somehow deserved because the girls are poor, or black, or too young to be having a baby, anyway. I'm sure some self-righteous jackass might even say it was better all the way around that the baby didn't make it. How anybody could look at another human being in pain and be that...un-human...is beyond my ability to comprehend. She is my student. She is a person. She is a girl child. Her heart was just cut out of her. How could anyone turn away from that?
This is the second time this year I've had a student face the unbearable. Another of my girls had a baby and lost her own mother in the space of 5 months. She, like my other one, is not yet seventeen years old. From mother to orphan in less than half a year. Again, there are no words.
I remember the day she came to tell me her mother was gone. She came to ask me for any work she'd need for the next few days. I figured something had happened and she'd gotten suspended, so I asked what happened. Her eyes couldn't focus. I will never forget. The day was so sunny. She looked out past me at the huge oaks that can be seen from the end of the hall windows and she said, "My mother just died. I have to go home." I almost fell down. Again, I grabbed her and hugged her. What else is there to do?
I wish I had the power to give these girls back their girlhood. I wish I had the power to give them a chance to be a teenager before they have to be adults. So many of my kids come from places where home is not a refuge, but another level of hell. So many of them have darkness chasing them.
I feel so useless to them. What good is pronoun/antecedent agreement when you've been up with a colicky baby all night? Is there anything other than prayer and a sympathetic ear I can give them? It rips my heart out to see them so young and in so much pain.
Tomorrow, my steady, solid student will go to bury the tiny body that is all that remains of the baby she'd looked forward to with such happiness. I'll be working on To Kill a Mockingbird with my classes. We'll all go on walking on the roof of hell and trying to focus on the flowers while avoiding the gaps and thin spots that will send us right back down again.
It didn't happen to me. It happened to one of my students. She came in early to ask about makeup work. She'd been out for four days, something that was out of character for her. She's one of my most diligent students. Her family background is, like so many of my kids lives, littered with the unimaginable. Although she's not yet seventeen, she's seen a close family member slain in cold blood by a former lover, members of her immediate family put in prison, and other members of her family following paths that will probably lead them to one of those two same destinations.
She's very strong. She's very steady. She has dreams and goals, and she works hard to get to them. She didn't do well in English last year, but has been very pleasantly surprised that she can do well in my class if she tries. I have been so proud of her this year, and so happy to be able to mark solid, strong B's for her almost every grading period.
This morning, after a brief discussion about makeup work, she told me that she'd probably be out again tomorrow. I never want to pry. Life is a personal thing, and it's full of crap that most people don't really want to have to explain over and over again. I could tell that something was wrong, though, and I gently asked her if there was anything I could do.
She started crying. My steady, strong student had silent tears running down her face, and my heart almost broke. I knew it had to be something terrible. I just went to her and hugged her. I didn't know what else to do. I got her some Kleenex, sat her down in a desk, and asked her what was wrong.
She had a baby three days ago, and her baby is dead. My sixteen-year old student miscarried, and the baby, premature by three months, wasn't strong enough to survive. She told me her story with tears streaming.
What do you even say? There are no words for grief that deep. There is no response. Anything that is said is too pale, too weak, too trite, too much a cliche to ever begin to be a response. What I wanted to say was that although I don't know what it's like to hold life inside me and lose it, my heart hurt for her. I wanted to rock back and forth and scream with her at the loss. These are not the done things, though.
So many people would just shut it out as a sad moment and go on. Too often, I've heard people insinuate that such things are either a punishment or somehow deserved because the girls are poor, or black, or too young to be having a baby, anyway. I'm sure some self-righteous jackass might even say it was better all the way around that the baby didn't make it. How anybody could look at another human being in pain and be that...un-human...is beyond my ability to comprehend. She is my student. She is a person. She is a girl child. Her heart was just cut out of her. How could anyone turn away from that?
This is the second time this year I've had a student face the unbearable. Another of my girls had a baby and lost her own mother in the space of 5 months. She, like my other one, is not yet seventeen years old. From mother to orphan in less than half a year. Again, there are no words.
I remember the day she came to tell me her mother was gone. She came to ask me for any work she'd need for the next few days. I figured something had happened and she'd gotten suspended, so I asked what happened. Her eyes couldn't focus. I will never forget. The day was so sunny. She looked out past me at the huge oaks that can be seen from the end of the hall windows and she said, "My mother just died. I have to go home." I almost fell down. Again, I grabbed her and hugged her. What else is there to do?
I wish I had the power to give these girls back their girlhood. I wish I had the power to give them a chance to be a teenager before they have to be adults. So many of my kids come from places where home is not a refuge, but another level of hell. So many of them have darkness chasing them.
I feel so useless to them. What good is pronoun/antecedent agreement when you've been up with a colicky baby all night? Is there anything other than prayer and a sympathetic ear I can give them? It rips my heart out to see them so young and in so much pain.
Tomorrow, my steady, solid student will go to bury the tiny body that is all that remains of the baby she'd looked forward to with such happiness. I'll be working on To Kill a Mockingbird with my classes. We'll all go on walking on the roof of hell and trying to focus on the flowers while avoiding the gaps and thin spots that will send us right back down again.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
The Future
"And in today already walks tomorrow." ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Today two future possibilities presented themselves that made the thought of more years of teaching tolerable. The first was a suggestion about teaching AP English. Our wonderful AP teacher is starting to think about retirement, and it has been suggested that I might possibly be considered for that position when he goes. The more I think of it, the happier I am. AP is more like college than any other course I'd teach. Theoretically, although the actuality is frequently different, I'd also be teaching the most motivated of students in an AP course. I am going to start looking into what's necessary to get ready for that.
The other possibility comes through the retirement of another colleague. We will need a creative writing teacher next year, and possibly an oral communication teacher as well. Both those options sound wonderful. I just need something different to break up my day. If I had a class that wasn't the equivalent of a 4WD expedition into a bottomless mud pit, then I think I could endure some of the other better. Right now, I'm teaching the same thing 6 periods a day. Everybody needs a break. Maybe one of these options will be mine.
I'm especially excited by the possibility of teaching creative writing. I have always wanted to do that. I don't know if I'd be any good at it or not, but I think it will be so much fun to try. I think working like that would also inspire me to do more of my own writing.
We'll have to wait and see, ultimately. Things are changing very fast right now, so who knows?
Today two future possibilities presented themselves that made the thought of more years of teaching tolerable. The first was a suggestion about teaching AP English. Our wonderful AP teacher is starting to think about retirement, and it has been suggested that I might possibly be considered for that position when he goes. The more I think of it, the happier I am. AP is more like college than any other course I'd teach. Theoretically, although the actuality is frequently different, I'd also be teaching the most motivated of students in an AP course. I am going to start looking into what's necessary to get ready for that.
The other possibility comes through the retirement of another colleague. We will need a creative writing teacher next year, and possibly an oral communication teacher as well. Both those options sound wonderful. I just need something different to break up my day. If I had a class that wasn't the equivalent of a 4WD expedition into a bottomless mud pit, then I think I could endure some of the other better. Right now, I'm teaching the same thing 6 periods a day. Everybody needs a break. Maybe one of these options will be mine.
I'm especially excited by the possibility of teaching creative writing. I have always wanted to do that. I don't know if I'd be any good at it or not, but I think it will be so much fun to try. I think working like that would also inspire me to do more of my own writing.
We'll have to wait and see, ultimately. Things are changing very fast right now, so who knows?
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Why We Do This
"In teaching you cannot see the fruit of a day's work. It is invisible and remains so, maybe for twenty years." ~Jacques Barzun
The end of school is the toughest time for teachers. It's harder than the first day when every teacher walks in to the great unknown with hopes, expectations, and a lesson plan to carry them. It's harder than the panic right before Christmas when high spirits and grading deadlines play havoc with holiday happiness. It's harder than testing season when adrenaline carries you through the big day twitching like a caffeine junkie in a bad overdose and you feel like a rubber band stretched right to the point of breakage.
It's hard because, in so many cases, there's no hope left. No hope that student X is going to wake up and try to make something out of this opportunity to learn. No hope for student Y that he will pass. No hope that seventh period is going to turn out to be anything other than silly and hyper.
After school, it's not uncommon for us to gather in the halls after the kids go to the buses. We blow off steam about the day. It's sort of a safety valve that helps us pick up the pieces and go on. Today, though, our conversation was more bitter than it's been at any other time so far.
All of us, 30-plus year veterans, teachers in mid-career, and rookie me, were asking why we bother to do this anymore. It's so discouraging to come into a class and face blatant disrespect and disobedience every day. Despite the fact that all of us would bend over backwards and do on a regular basis to help out a student in need, we're a caste of something less than human beings. The kids are selfish and rude. They put forth no effort and expect to "reap what they didn't sow," to borrow Biblical metaphors.
As I'm typing this, I feel 500 years old. I feel like a caricature of a teacher, the type of person I never thought I'd be. My friends and I always swore we'd be never be like this, and yet now, all my conversations with my teacher friends, no matter what school they're at, no matter what stage of their career they're in, sound the same. Same complaints, same frustrations, same worries.
So this is my question: Why the hell are we still doing this? (Oops...there goes the PG rating again...shame, shame) Additionally, all of us are teachers by nature as well as by vocation. What do we do when the thing that makes our hearts move and sing becomes a source of agony? Is this a "thorn in the flesh" we have to endure? Is this an age, a generation that will pass? Where do we go if we don't stay where we are? And the one that keeps me up at night...does all this heartsblood I pour into my work matter at all? Do I touch a life or make a difference at all?
Supposedly, teaching is one of those professions that requires a basically optimistic outlook. As the quote says, you do the best you can, sketch the sign of the cross over them, and send them out into the world. I feel like I'm folding origami boats and setting them adrift on the current. I don't know how seaworthy these little crafts are. My fingers feel less and less nimble as I make the folds. I don't know if I'm doing it right anymore.
Maybe this is just a part of the natural cycle of the school year. I don't know. All I know is the idea of 24 more years of this seems unimaginable. Who will I be after 24 more years of this? Will I be a twisted-up old maid school teacher who comes home to only cats for company? Will be be able to feel compassion for my students anymore, or will they all just be "idiots in the hall"?
Where did the joy go? I used to love going to school. Even earlier this year, I loved it. Right now, though, I just want to take a personal day or five and disappear.
Tomorrow, I'll rise and put on my professional face. I'll focus on the positive, look for the silver lining, and call the glass half full. Tonight, though, I'm an old maid school teacher who wants to escape.
The end of school is the toughest time for teachers. It's harder than the first day when every teacher walks in to the great unknown with hopes, expectations, and a lesson plan to carry them. It's harder than the panic right before Christmas when high spirits and grading deadlines play havoc with holiday happiness. It's harder than testing season when adrenaline carries you through the big day twitching like a caffeine junkie in a bad overdose and you feel like a rubber band stretched right to the point of breakage.
It's hard because, in so many cases, there's no hope left. No hope that student X is going to wake up and try to make something out of this opportunity to learn. No hope for student Y that he will pass. No hope that seventh period is going to turn out to be anything other than silly and hyper.
After school, it's not uncommon for us to gather in the halls after the kids go to the buses. We blow off steam about the day. It's sort of a safety valve that helps us pick up the pieces and go on. Today, though, our conversation was more bitter than it's been at any other time so far.
All of us, 30-plus year veterans, teachers in mid-career, and rookie me, were asking why we bother to do this anymore. It's so discouraging to come into a class and face blatant disrespect and disobedience every day. Despite the fact that all of us would bend over backwards and do on a regular basis to help out a student in need, we're a caste of something less than human beings. The kids are selfish and rude. They put forth no effort and expect to "reap what they didn't sow," to borrow Biblical metaphors.
As I'm typing this, I feel 500 years old. I feel like a caricature of a teacher, the type of person I never thought I'd be. My friends and I always swore we'd be never be like this, and yet now, all my conversations with my teacher friends, no matter what school they're at, no matter what stage of their career they're in, sound the same. Same complaints, same frustrations, same worries.
So this is my question: Why the hell are we still doing this? (Oops...there goes the PG rating again...shame, shame) Additionally, all of us are teachers by nature as well as by vocation. What do we do when the thing that makes our hearts move and sing becomes a source of agony? Is this a "thorn in the flesh" we have to endure? Is this an age, a generation that will pass? Where do we go if we don't stay where we are? And the one that keeps me up at night...does all this heartsblood I pour into my work matter at all? Do I touch a life or make a difference at all?
Supposedly, teaching is one of those professions that requires a basically optimistic outlook. As the quote says, you do the best you can, sketch the sign of the cross over them, and send them out into the world. I feel like I'm folding origami boats and setting them adrift on the current. I don't know how seaworthy these little crafts are. My fingers feel less and less nimble as I make the folds. I don't know if I'm doing it right anymore.
Maybe this is just a part of the natural cycle of the school year. I don't know. All I know is the idea of 24 more years of this seems unimaginable. Who will I be after 24 more years of this? Will I be a twisted-up old maid school teacher who comes home to only cats for company? Will be be able to feel compassion for my students anymore, or will they all just be "idiots in the hall"?
Where did the joy go? I used to love going to school. Even earlier this year, I loved it. Right now, though, I just want to take a personal day or five and disappear.
Tomorrow, I'll rise and put on my professional face. I'll focus on the positive, look for the silver lining, and call the glass half full. Tonight, though, I'm an old maid school teacher who wants to escape.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Back again
"A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures in the doctor's book. " ~Irish Proverb
After the testing was over, the week just flew by. I was so tired that I went to sleep early almost every night last week, and this week, I'm feeling slightly less like a dead teacher and slightly more like a real person.
Payday also helps. There is no day so precious in the paid once a month world as payday. I bought several books by Carolyn Haines. They're light mystery set in the Mississippi Delta. I'm on a Mississippi kick again right now, and I guess I'll probably write more about that in a forthcoming post.
There's nothing earthshattering to report, but as with so many things, I felt myself falling out of the habit of writing. This is sort of a blog space filler. Tomorrow, perhaps, real sentiment will be seen.
After the testing was over, the week just flew by. I was so tired that I went to sleep early almost every night last week, and this week, I'm feeling slightly less like a dead teacher and slightly more like a real person.
Payday also helps. There is no day so precious in the paid once a month world as payday. I bought several books by Carolyn Haines. They're light mystery set in the Mississippi Delta. I'm on a Mississippi kick again right now, and I guess I'll probably write more about that in a forthcoming post.
There's nothing earthshattering to report, but as with so many things, I felt myself falling out of the habit of writing. This is sort of a blog space filler. Tomorrow, perhaps, real sentiment will be seen.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Old Houses and Wanderlust
"I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move." ~Robert Louis Stevenson
I'm starting to get itchy feet again. I have been looking at other houses and other cities and wondering if the grass might be green there, too. I don't know why I do that. Maybe I inherited it from my grandmother. She moved about every 5 years. There was something within her that drove her from house to house, state to state.
There's this great old house very close to the school I work at. It's a three story Italianate. It has the tower and everything. Right now, it's almost hidden behind overgrown grounds, but it has a magnolia and azaleas, and with some love could be beyond beautiful. I imagine that the inside has hardwood floors, probably worn and scuffed, and tall ceilings. I imagine that the view from the tower window looks out across the rooftops of the other houses, and that I could probably just see my school from it. I look at the old hammock on the porch and imagine a summer afternoon with a book. I think I'm in love with that house.
Of course, this is house adultery. I also love the house I'm in right now. This is my family legacy and my family home. It sits on seven acres and has more space than I and another couple of families could use. It has a privacy that a town lot, no matter how large, could never give. Every time I walk through, I can feel the love of my grandparents surrounding me. This set of grandparents, my mother's parents, lived in the same house for more than 20 years. From them, I get the desire to nest.
One day, that great old Italianate will go on the market, and I'll have to make a choice. I'll have to either turn in and take a look or grip the wheel and come home. I don't know if the gypsy or the nester will win out in the end.
I'm starting to get itchy feet again. I have been looking at other houses and other cities and wondering if the grass might be green there, too. I don't know why I do that. Maybe I inherited it from my grandmother. She moved about every 5 years. There was something within her that drove her from house to house, state to state.
There's this great old house very close to the school I work at. It's a three story Italianate. It has the tower and everything. Right now, it's almost hidden behind overgrown grounds, but it has a magnolia and azaleas, and with some love could be beyond beautiful. I imagine that the inside has hardwood floors, probably worn and scuffed, and tall ceilings. I imagine that the view from the tower window looks out across the rooftops of the other houses, and that I could probably just see my school from it. I look at the old hammock on the porch and imagine a summer afternoon with a book. I think I'm in love with that house.
Of course, this is house adultery. I also love the house I'm in right now. This is my family legacy and my family home. It sits on seven acres and has more space than I and another couple of families could use. It has a privacy that a town lot, no matter how large, could never give. Every time I walk through, I can feel the love of my grandparents surrounding me. This set of grandparents, my mother's parents, lived in the same house for more than 20 years. From them, I get the desire to nest.
One day, that great old Italianate will go on the market, and I'll have to make a choice. I'll have to either turn in and take a look or grip the wheel and come home. I don't know if the gypsy or the nester will win out in the end.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Natchez
"Welcome to Natchez, Mississippi - the oldest civilized settlement on the
Mississippi River!" -- Official Natchez Webpage
I spent Friday in Natchez. Natchez is amazing. I hadn't been there since our 5th grade Mississippi Trip, and all I remembered about it was Longwood.
This time, I got to walk around and appreciate the beauty of the town. I love river towns anyway. They all seem so calmly saturated with history. The downtown was sort of genteelly shabby. It seemed that it was impossible to turn without finding an interesting shop or a wonderful old house.
I also went back to Longwood. It's amazing. I kept thinking, "What would it have been had it been finished?" I could almost picture it in my mind as the docent described the marble that was to go on the floors. Looking up into that unfinished expanse stretching five floors above me, I was in awe of Haller Nutt's dream. He included so many revolutionary design elements. He must have been an amazingly smart man.
I had sort of a weird thing happen there, too. The house is one of those places that feels...I don't know...watchful. It, in the tradition of all old houses in the South, is supposed to be haunted. Supposedly, when the haunting is active, the lights flicker, the chandelier moves, and things move by themselves.
The whole time I was in the first room of the tour, the lights flickered, and the chandelier started to shimmy. Not like a puppet on a string, but enough to notice. The tour guide kept looking at it with a puzzled expression on her face, but she didn't say anything about it until we got into the next room. A candle had fallen from a three candle candelabra, and she laughingly said, "Oh, Dr. Nutt and Julia are playing with things again." She picked it up and shoved it, and I mean twisted it with FORCE, into the holder. She wiggled it with her fingers. It wasn't going anywhere.
It stayed in the holder until we moved into the next room. Then, suddenly, it leapt out of the holder, off the table, and into the middle of the floor. I don't see how it could have gotten off the table by itself. It was strange. Nothing that could be proven, but I don't think I'd want to be there after dark. None of us commented on it, and we moved on to the upstairs part of the tour soon thereafter. I don't know whether I had a brush with Dr. Haller Nutt, but I really enjoyed his house.
I loved Natchez, odd stuff and all. I found a really amazing potter, Connor Burns, whose stuff I will have to have more of. I am just learning about U.S. pottery and I have so much to find out. I also found a potter who works in the Native American style and bought a very nice cat shaped rattle head figure.
In the confines of that one small city, there was pottery, Thai food (thank GOD), good BBQ, shopping, a blues festival, old houses, and everything I love to be around. I think I want to move to Natchez. Maybe then Haller Nutt could throw things at me on a regular basis. :)
Mississippi River!" -- Official Natchez Webpage
I spent Friday in Natchez. Natchez is amazing. I hadn't been there since our 5th grade Mississippi Trip, and all I remembered about it was Longwood.
This time, I got to walk around and appreciate the beauty of the town. I love river towns anyway. They all seem so calmly saturated with history. The downtown was sort of genteelly shabby. It seemed that it was impossible to turn without finding an interesting shop or a wonderful old house.
I also went back to Longwood. It's amazing. I kept thinking, "What would it have been had it been finished?" I could almost picture it in my mind as the docent described the marble that was to go on the floors. Looking up into that unfinished expanse stretching five floors above me, I was in awe of Haller Nutt's dream. He included so many revolutionary design elements. He must have been an amazingly smart man.
I had sort of a weird thing happen there, too. The house is one of those places that feels...I don't know...watchful. It, in the tradition of all old houses in the South, is supposed to be haunted. Supposedly, when the haunting is active, the lights flicker, the chandelier moves, and things move by themselves.
The whole time I was in the first room of the tour, the lights flickered, and the chandelier started to shimmy. Not like a puppet on a string, but enough to notice. The tour guide kept looking at it with a puzzled expression on her face, but she didn't say anything about it until we got into the next room. A candle had fallen from a three candle candelabra, and she laughingly said, "Oh, Dr. Nutt and Julia are playing with things again." She picked it up and shoved it, and I mean twisted it with FORCE, into the holder. She wiggled it with her fingers. It wasn't going anywhere.
It stayed in the holder until we moved into the next room. Then, suddenly, it leapt out of the holder, off the table, and into the middle of the floor. I don't see how it could have gotten off the table by itself. It was strange. Nothing that could be proven, but I don't think I'd want to be there after dark. None of us commented on it, and we moved on to the upstairs part of the tour soon thereafter. I don't know whether I had a brush with Dr. Haller Nutt, but I really enjoyed his house.
I loved Natchez, odd stuff and all. I found a really amazing potter, Connor Burns, whose stuff I will have to have more of. I am just learning about U.S. pottery and I have so much to find out. I also found a potter who works in the Native American style and bought a very nice cat shaped rattle head figure.
In the confines of that one small city, there was pottery, Thai food (thank GOD), good BBQ, shopping, a blues festival, old houses, and everything I love to be around. I think I want to move to Natchez. Maybe then Haller Nutt could throw things at me on a regular basis. :)
A Very Bad Day
"Never argue with a fool. People might not be able to tell the difference." -- Author unknown
Today, this quote saved me from turning into a frothing-at-the-mouth screaming idiot myself. A parent came for a conference that turned into a personal attack.
She sat there and accused me to my face of lying about her daughter and changing the attendance record. Her daughter is failing every single class. Her daughter's attitude is legendary. Yet, I am the villain. I am "picking on her" and apparently, have designed every aspect of my classroom management strategy, including other referrals for other students, with no other purpose than to frame her child.
I am offended to the core of my being. I could feel my blood pressure rise and I wanted to say and do so many things. This quote sprang to mind, and I suddenly just sat there and let her rage. It was clear to everybody what she was. I didn't have to defend myself. Everything is documented. The administration can tell when and if anything was changed in the system. I don't even know how to change stuff in the attendance program once it's entered.
She got so out of control that the administrator ended the conference. The crazy woman grabbed her papers and her child, tore down the hall screaming that her child needed a new class and a new teacher, and peeled rubber out of the parking lot. Everyone heard it. Everyone saw it. I was very proud that I managed not to leap across the table and rip her throat out with my teeth.
I know this isn't over. I know she or her mother is going to create a huge scene at least once more before the end of the year. As long as it doesn't harm my car or me personally, I'll consider it a good ending. I just want her gone. I'm tired of fighting her crap attitude and watching it infect my other students.
Mom brought me a carton of ice cream and I think I'm going to go dive into it. Today was a bad, bad day. Tomorrow, hopefully, will be better. I'll try to update tomorrow.
Today, this quote saved me from turning into a frothing-at-the-mouth screaming idiot myself. A parent came for a conference that turned into a personal attack.
She sat there and accused me to my face of lying about her daughter and changing the attendance record. Her daughter is failing every single class. Her daughter's attitude is legendary. Yet, I am the villain. I am "picking on her" and apparently, have designed every aspect of my classroom management strategy, including other referrals for other students, with no other purpose than to frame her child.
I am offended to the core of my being. I could feel my blood pressure rise and I wanted to say and do so many things. This quote sprang to mind, and I suddenly just sat there and let her rage. It was clear to everybody what she was. I didn't have to defend myself. Everything is documented. The administration can tell when and if anything was changed in the system. I don't even know how to change stuff in the attendance program once it's entered.
She got so out of control that the administrator ended the conference. The crazy woman grabbed her papers and her child, tore down the hall screaming that her child needed a new class and a new teacher, and peeled rubber out of the parking lot. Everyone heard it. Everyone saw it. I was very proud that I managed not to leap across the table and rip her throat out with my teeth.
I know this isn't over. I know she or her mother is going to create a huge scene at least once more before the end of the year. As long as it doesn't harm my car or me personally, I'll consider it a good ending. I just want her gone. I'm tired of fighting her crap attitude and watching it infect my other students.
Mom brought me a carton of ice cream and I think I'm going to go dive into it. Today was a bad, bad day. Tomorrow, hopefully, will be better. I'll try to update tomorrow.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Tired
"I was too old for a paper route, too young for Social Security and too tired for an affair." -- Erma Bombeck
I am so tired. I would like to sleep for about a week. The combined stress of state testing, regular end-of-the-year insanity, and preparations for this summer trip are about to finish me off. I'm not sleeping much or well. As you can tell by the time of the post, I should be in bed, but I've just finished working on something I've got to have for a weekend meeting, and even though I'm exhausted, I don't think I could sleep.
Whenever I feel like this, I always wonder if I'm supposed to feel like this. Am I so tired because I'm doing the right thing well, or because I'm doing the wrong thing altogether? If I were in full-time ESL, would I be so tired? Is this a physical thing or an emotional one?
I love my kids. Most of them are a real joy. Watching them grow this year like seedlings breaking the surface of the garden soil has been an educational experience for me as well as them. Sometimes, though, it's just overwhelming. Right now, it's overwhelming.
The paperwork is endless. Today, one of my 7th period kids lost her mind and was sent out. All of them are acting nuts, and we still have 4 weeks of school left.
On top of all this, our lovely school board issued its new school calendar for next year. They've added more days to school and we now start back on Aug. 1. Why can't they see that more classroom days aren't the answer?
Anyway, I need to try to lay down and sleep. I have to take a trip tomorrow, and I guess driving and sleeping don't mix well. Maybe at some point I'm going to have 5 minutes for myself.
I am so tired. I would like to sleep for about a week. The combined stress of state testing, regular end-of-the-year insanity, and preparations for this summer trip are about to finish me off. I'm not sleeping much or well. As you can tell by the time of the post, I should be in bed, but I've just finished working on something I've got to have for a weekend meeting, and even though I'm exhausted, I don't think I could sleep.
Whenever I feel like this, I always wonder if I'm supposed to feel like this. Am I so tired because I'm doing the right thing well, or because I'm doing the wrong thing altogether? If I were in full-time ESL, would I be so tired? Is this a physical thing or an emotional one?
I love my kids. Most of them are a real joy. Watching them grow this year like seedlings breaking the surface of the garden soil has been an educational experience for me as well as them. Sometimes, though, it's just overwhelming. Right now, it's overwhelming.
The paperwork is endless. Today, one of my 7th period kids lost her mind and was sent out. All of them are acting nuts, and we still have 4 weeks of school left.
On top of all this, our lovely school board issued its new school calendar for next year. They've added more days to school and we now start back on Aug. 1. Why can't they see that more classroom days aren't the answer?
Anyway, I need to try to lay down and sleep. I have to take a trip tomorrow, and I guess driving and sleeping don't mix well. Maybe at some point I'm going to have 5 minutes for myself.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Who's Out There?
"A single rose can be my garden; a single friend, my world." -- Leo Buscaglia
I often wonder who is reading this little blog. I know my good friend DEG is out there. It's funny. He and I have communicated more through this blog than we have in years. Isn't that crazy?
I think several members of my family are reading it, too. Hello, assorted relatives.
I wonder who else sees it, or if anybody does. I don't necessarily put it out there to be read, but for some reason, when I noticed my counter had somehow broken 200, even though it advances every time I reload after an update, I was surprised.
Tonight's musing is short and largely pointless. If you're out there reading, you might leave me a post and let me know. Just to satisfy my catlike curiosity. ;)
I often wonder who is reading this little blog. I know my good friend DEG is out there. It's funny. He and I have communicated more through this blog than we have in years. Isn't that crazy?
I think several members of my family are reading it, too. Hello, assorted relatives.
I wonder who else sees it, or if anybody does. I don't necessarily put it out there to be read, but for some reason, when I noticed my counter had somehow broken 200, even though it advances every time I reload after an update, I was surprised.
Tonight's musing is short and largely pointless. If you're out there reading, you might leave me a post and let me know. Just to satisfy my catlike curiosity. ;)
Saturday, April 16, 2005
I Won!
"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession." -- Robert Frost
When my dad and I went down to run and fold our church's bulletin today, he asked me if I'd checked my mail today. That may sound odd, but sometimes I go a couple of days without doing that. Nothing very important ever comes to me except bills. Who needs them on top of a long day?
As we were coming back, he stopped and picked up what was in the box. In the pile was a letter from the people who sponsored the literary contest I entered awhile back (see previous postings). I won first place! I was so happy.
It turns out my mother already knew. A former teacher of mine and colleague of hers was the judge for the competition. The entries were all anonymous, but when she found out who wrote the poem she'd chosen, she called my mom and told her. Mom had been keeping the secret for about a week.
It's an extra layer of happiness to me that this former teacher was the judge. It's actually the second time she's chosen me for a poetry contest, but I bet she doesn't remember the first one. I wrote for and won a "Roses are Red" variation contest in 9th grade. It was my first competition win.
I will go to an awards presentation in a couple of weeks to receive the prize. I had hoped I'd win with one of the three poems I entered, but I'm not sure if I believed it would really happen. It's so encouraging. I'm glad I entered because I started not to do so. I haven't had anyone who could help me refine my work since my undergraduate days, and I was hesitant to put anything out there without some polishing.
I wish I had somebody to help me refine my stuff. My college creative writing professor was so amazing for that. He never pulled punches, and as a result of his classes, I made so much progress as a writer. One of the pieces I wrote for him took first prize at a competition I entered during college.
I've often thought of writing to him with newer stuff, but that's such an imposition and presumption. He is a producing poet himself and has new classes every year to help. I would feel strange about asking him to help me, random student from years ago.
This was a much-needed encouragement. It renews my desire to write again. Not for the prizes. Not for any kind of victory. Rather, because, as the quote at the beginning says, the poetry is a part of who I am, and it's a part I've been keeping locked away since Japan. It's time to open the doors and see what happens.
When my dad and I went down to run and fold our church's bulletin today, he asked me if I'd checked my mail today. That may sound odd, but sometimes I go a couple of days without doing that. Nothing very important ever comes to me except bills. Who needs them on top of a long day?
As we were coming back, he stopped and picked up what was in the box. In the pile was a letter from the people who sponsored the literary contest I entered awhile back (see previous postings). I won first place! I was so happy.
It turns out my mother already knew. A former teacher of mine and colleague of hers was the judge for the competition. The entries were all anonymous, but when she found out who wrote the poem she'd chosen, she called my mom and told her. Mom had been keeping the secret for about a week.
It's an extra layer of happiness to me that this former teacher was the judge. It's actually the second time she's chosen me for a poetry contest, but I bet she doesn't remember the first one. I wrote for and won a "Roses are Red" variation contest in 9th grade. It was my first competition win.
I will go to an awards presentation in a couple of weeks to receive the prize. I had hoped I'd win with one of the three poems I entered, but I'm not sure if I believed it would really happen. It's so encouraging. I'm glad I entered because I started not to do so. I haven't had anyone who could help me refine my work since my undergraduate days, and I was hesitant to put anything out there without some polishing.
I wish I had somebody to help me refine my stuff. My college creative writing professor was so amazing for that. He never pulled punches, and as a result of his classes, I made so much progress as a writer. One of the pieces I wrote for him took first prize at a competition I entered during college.
I've often thought of writing to him with newer stuff, but that's such an imposition and presumption. He is a producing poet himself and has new classes every year to help. I would feel strange about asking him to help me, random student from years ago.
This was a much-needed encouragement. It renews my desire to write again. Not for the prizes. Not for any kind of victory. Rather, because, as the quote at the beginning says, the poetry is a part of who I am, and it's a part I've been keeping locked away since Japan. It's time to open the doors and see what happens.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Ask and Ye Shall Receive....
"Every moment of your life is infinitely creative and the universe is endlessly bountiful. Just put forth a clear enough request, and everything your heart desires must come to you." -- Mohandas Gandhi
Today was so weird. It was a constant tidal flow of the good and the stupid.
I started the day with the discovery that some of my students had swiped about 7 of the meager number of copies we have of TKaM. Of course, in my extremely literary mind, this action is rife with irony. Not that I don't appreciate the literary merits of the situation, but it pissed me off to the N-th degree. We have nothing. They know we have nothing. They steal bits of the nothing we have.
Anyway, after a diatribe and lots of guilt (I learned it at my grandmother's knee, and NOBODY was better than she), I retrieved most of the books. I anticipate the others trickling in tomorrow.
After dealing with that crap, I got some really good news. After the PowerPoint presentations mentioned in the last post, I decided to look around and see if I couldn't find some way of getting one for the classroom. I looked up manufacturers of LCD projectors, located a rep for Mitsubishi Electronics, and wrote him a letter. Yesterday, I talked to another rep for a company that does demos for them. Today, I got confirmation. They are making us a great deal on a used demonstrator. I felt like I was walking on air!
I didn't really expect anything to come of my requests. I was so happy! Now I can do PowerPoints for other things. I have so many ideas already. I plan to incorporate pictures from this summer's trip to England into a PP about Shakespeare.
The day swung back down with some of my later classes. Other stuff also happened. In my infinite dumbness, I put the wrong shipping address on a package I ordered. I was pretty low when school ended.
Then the up-wave came again. It's not a big event, but it was nice. A prescription that I need was accepted by my insurance, so it no longer costs me a million dollars a month. I also found out that I don't owe the government anything this year on taxes. Two big pluses for me. Tonight when I got home, the company I ordered the materials from wrote me back to say they'd gotten the package as a return and were sending it to the corrected address. I didn't lose my money/stuff after all.
Even though today was a day of gains, I hope tomorrow is a little more even keel. I need some peace. The weekend was almost non-existent, and this week is taking its toll. Whenever I get too tired, every little thing affects me more than normal. This weekend, I'm going to try to SLEEP!!!
Today was so weird. It was a constant tidal flow of the good and the stupid.
I started the day with the discovery that some of my students had swiped about 7 of the meager number of copies we have of TKaM. Of course, in my extremely literary mind, this action is rife with irony. Not that I don't appreciate the literary merits of the situation, but it pissed me off to the N-th degree. We have nothing. They know we have nothing. They steal bits of the nothing we have.
Anyway, after a diatribe and lots of guilt (I learned it at my grandmother's knee, and NOBODY was better than she), I retrieved most of the books. I anticipate the others trickling in tomorrow.
After dealing with that crap, I got some really good news. After the PowerPoint presentations mentioned in the last post, I decided to look around and see if I couldn't find some way of getting one for the classroom. I looked up manufacturers of LCD projectors, located a rep for Mitsubishi Electronics, and wrote him a letter. Yesterday, I talked to another rep for a company that does demos for them. Today, I got confirmation. They are making us a great deal on a used demonstrator. I felt like I was walking on air!
I didn't really expect anything to come of my requests. I was so happy! Now I can do PowerPoints for other things. I have so many ideas already. I plan to incorporate pictures from this summer's trip to England into a PP about Shakespeare.
The day swung back down with some of my later classes. Other stuff also happened. In my infinite dumbness, I put the wrong shipping address on a package I ordered. I was pretty low when school ended.
Then the up-wave came again. It's not a big event, but it was nice. A prescription that I need was accepted by my insurance, so it no longer costs me a million dollars a month. I also found out that I don't owe the government anything this year on taxes. Two big pluses for me. Tonight when I got home, the company I ordered the materials from wrote me back to say they'd gotten the package as a return and were sending it to the corrected address. I didn't lose my money/stuff after all.
Even though today was a day of gains, I hope tomorrow is a little more even keel. I need some peace. The weekend was almost non-existent, and this week is taking its toll. Whenever I get too tired, every little thing affects me more than normal. This weekend, I'm going to try to SLEEP!!!
Friday, April 08, 2005
A Taste of the Good Stuff
"Education's purpose is to replace an empty mind with an open one." -- Malcolm S. Forbes
I had the best day today. It started out stressful as I was trying to hook my laptop to my class TV for PowerPoint presentations. As usual in such situations, my laptop was uncooperative, and I was scrambling to fill the gaps with something while I worked. I finally borrowed the office's super projector thing, used the school's laptop (yes, we only have the one...we're a poor school), and got the presentation running. The kids were so into the presentations.
I gave a PP on the Civil Rights Movement and on the Jim Crow laws of the 30's to help them understand Mockingbird better. I had prepared the PPs for teaching Mockingbird in Japan, but the same material worked with my 10th graders.
I couldn't get over how involved they became. They were asking questions and all of them were awake and interested. For those of you unfamiliar with the world of modern secondary education, that in and of itself is a minor miracle. I encouraged them as much as possible to go home and talk to the people living in their own houses and communities who had lived through these events, and I saw some of them who probably never considered those people as anything except for "old" look consideringly.
After the PPs, they broke up into Reading Circle discussion groups where every person has a different facet of the material to present. I was unsure of how well they'd do or if they'd do the work involved, but all but 6 all day long did it, and by some miracle, even if it was only the miracle of the new, they enjoyed it. I felt almost reborn. It was almost like teaching in the college ESL programs in Indiana or Japan.
They left talking about the materials they'd seen. They left curious to read more. I have students who came to me with no interest in reading who are eagerly plowing their way through this book, and I'm so proud of them I could cry. It's not anything that I'm doing, but it's what they're discovering they're capable of themselves. It's what they are finally looking around and seeing in the world other than the trivialities of teenhood. I am so happy for them!
At the same time, I feel kind of like an anxious gardener with a tender new planting before me. I am worried that it won't take. I am worried that some harsh weather will come to shrivel it before its roots grow deep enough to support and nourish. I know not all of them will care, but to have some of them so interested is like a gift from God. Maybe I can make a small difference somehow.
I had the best day today. It started out stressful as I was trying to hook my laptop to my class TV for PowerPoint presentations. As usual in such situations, my laptop was uncooperative, and I was scrambling to fill the gaps with something while I worked. I finally borrowed the office's super projector thing, used the school's laptop (yes, we only have the one...we're a poor school), and got the presentation running. The kids were so into the presentations.
I gave a PP on the Civil Rights Movement and on the Jim Crow laws of the 30's to help them understand Mockingbird better. I had prepared the PPs for teaching Mockingbird in Japan, but the same material worked with my 10th graders.
I couldn't get over how involved they became. They were asking questions and all of them were awake and interested. For those of you unfamiliar with the world of modern secondary education, that in and of itself is a minor miracle. I encouraged them as much as possible to go home and talk to the people living in their own houses and communities who had lived through these events, and I saw some of them who probably never considered those people as anything except for "old" look consideringly.
After the PPs, they broke up into Reading Circle discussion groups where every person has a different facet of the material to present. I was unsure of how well they'd do or if they'd do the work involved, but all but 6 all day long did it, and by some miracle, even if it was only the miracle of the new, they enjoyed it. I felt almost reborn. It was almost like teaching in the college ESL programs in Indiana or Japan.
They left talking about the materials they'd seen. They left curious to read more. I have students who came to me with no interest in reading who are eagerly plowing their way through this book, and I'm so proud of them I could cry. It's not anything that I'm doing, but it's what they're discovering they're capable of themselves. It's what they are finally looking around and seeing in the world other than the trivialities of teenhood. I am so happy for them!
At the same time, I feel kind of like an anxious gardener with a tender new planting before me. I am worried that it won't take. I am worried that some harsh weather will come to shrivel it before its roots grow deep enough to support and nourish. I know not all of them will care, but to have some of them so interested is like a gift from God. Maybe I can make a small difference somehow.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Clowns and other scary things
"People don't buy from clowns." -- Claude C. Hopkins
I guess Ronald McDonald would be considered the ultimate refutation of this....
Is anyone else afraid of the clownish thing Burger King is using in their ads now? If you haven't seen it, you can see a pic and a short clip here. The King is beyond wacky. He's the kind of thing that shows up in nightmares. He moves far too fast and with a stealth that's not conducive to calm affection. Only nasty things scurry like that...cockroaches, rats, psychopaths in movies...
I particulary hate the one where the guy looks out his window and sees a far away speck. He turns to say something to his wife or look at something, and when he turns back, that big old freaky plastic head is filling up his window offering him a heart attack for breakfast. They both laugh and the sun shines blissfully on a "happy morning."
I can tell you right now that I wouldn't be laughing if that thing showed up outside my window. I'd be grabbing either my kendo shinai or a baseball bat. One of my friends (who will probably read this eventually) was reenacting the commercial as it might go if it happened here in the Deep South. I kind of like this version better.
Scene opens: Freaky guy is a dot on the horizon.
Guy appears. Looks out window. Stretches and turns away momentarily.
Freaky Burger King Thing is suddenly filling up the whole window. Regular guy turns.
Sound of shell being chambered in a shotgun. Boom. End of Freaky Burger King Thing menace.
Another friend of mine observed that part of what makes the thing so scary is that he has normal human hands. I think that may well be part of it. For me, it's the stop motion movement and that big old smiling shiny plastic head. It reminds me of the freaky rabbit in Donnie Darko, which if you haven't seen, you should really check out. I also think that next Halloween's best selling costume could well be the Burger King if they'll put it into production.
Probably, the worst part of it is the same thing I (and probably lots of other people) dislike about clowns. There is no movement in the face. It is impossible to get any readings or any of those subtle body language cues we rely on for communication. I believe this is the reasons clowns rank so high on phobia lists (there's a term for fear of clowns... coulrophobia) and on lists of things people just generally find disturbing. When the face is hidden, so too are the motivations and the clues we need to figure out whether something is amusing or a threat.
For me, creepy Burger dude is a mix. I suppose as long as he stays on his side of the TV, everything is okay. God help him if I ever look out my windows and see that huge plastic head outside offering me any form of BK breakfast though.
I guess Ronald McDonald would be considered the ultimate refutation of this....
Is anyone else afraid of the clownish thing Burger King is using in their ads now? If you haven't seen it, you can see a pic and a short clip here. The King is beyond wacky. He's the kind of thing that shows up in nightmares. He moves far too fast and with a stealth that's not conducive to calm affection. Only nasty things scurry like that...cockroaches, rats, psychopaths in movies...
I particulary hate the one where the guy looks out his window and sees a far away speck. He turns to say something to his wife or look at something, and when he turns back, that big old freaky plastic head is filling up his window offering him a heart attack for breakfast. They both laugh and the sun shines blissfully on a "happy morning."
I can tell you right now that I wouldn't be laughing if that thing showed up outside my window. I'd be grabbing either my kendo shinai or a baseball bat. One of my friends (who will probably read this eventually) was reenacting the commercial as it might go if it happened here in the Deep South. I kind of like this version better.
Scene opens: Freaky guy is a dot on the horizon.
Guy appears. Looks out window. Stretches and turns away momentarily.
Freaky Burger King Thing is suddenly filling up the whole window. Regular guy turns.
Sound of shell being chambered in a shotgun. Boom. End of Freaky Burger King Thing menace.
Another friend of mine observed that part of what makes the thing so scary is that he has normal human hands. I think that may well be part of it. For me, it's the stop motion movement and that big old smiling shiny plastic head. It reminds me of the freaky rabbit in Donnie Darko, which if you haven't seen, you should really check out. I also think that next Halloween's best selling costume could well be the Burger King if they'll put it into production.
Probably, the worst part of it is the same thing I (and probably lots of other people) dislike about clowns. There is no movement in the face. It is impossible to get any readings or any of those subtle body language cues we rely on for communication. I believe this is the reasons clowns rank so high on phobia lists (there's a term for fear of clowns... coulrophobia) and on lists of things people just generally find disturbing. When the face is hidden, so too are the motivations and the clues we need to figure out whether something is amusing or a threat.
For me, creepy Burger dude is a mix. I suppose as long as he stays on his side of the TV, everything is okay. God help him if I ever look out my windows and see that huge plastic head outside offering me any form of BK breakfast though.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
update
Short tonight, and no quote. Things are rocking along pretty well. Good Mockingbird discussion..more about it tomorrow. I'm, as a colleague says, "beat to my knees."
Friday, April 01, 2005
Why tea kettles Whistle
"Patience: A minor form of despair disguised as a virtue." -- Ambrose Bierce
Actually, I value patience very highly. It's a very important part of my job. I pray for more all the time. Patience and wisdom are hard-won, though. Today and yesterday have been trying my patience in the extreme. I've figured out that it's not the heat under the kettle that causes the scream. It's the inability to vent in any other way.
Not the kids, first of all. They've not been worse than is normal. It's been a week of administrative mandates that have completely wrecked my lesson plans. We had to give a practice test for the big state test coming up later in the month. It's the 3rd time around on this, and even the slowest of my kids were saying, "We are doing this AGAIN?!?!" I explained that its purpose is to show how they've grown over the year and to point out any particular skills for practice before the real thing, but none of us could scrape up much enthusiasm for it.
We got word that the change had to be made on Wednesday. No kidding. Less than 24 hrs. notice. My Type-A personality took the change with all the grace of a freight train suddenly derailed. I HATE it when somebody changes set plans at the last minute. If it's a casual thing, it doesn't matter, but when I put as much work into planning and pacing my lesson plans, it's a big slap in the face to have them so carelessly swept aside.
So, teakettle-like, I've sat in my room, mostly at my desk, for the past two days. I have filed piles of papers, graded and recorded others, set up my computerized gradebook and started working on entering grades for it, and even hung some posters that had fallen long ago and been shoved into a corner. Things are spic-and-span (where did that phrase come from, anyway?) and ready for parent-teacher day on Monday. I hated it. Every minute of it. I felt useless. I wasn't helping them learn. All I was doing was babysitting and cleaning. I could feel the steam building, and by 7th period today, I wanted to shriek with it.
This isn't what we're supposed to be doing. We're supposed to be talking about To Kill a Mockingbird. They're supposed to be discovering how wonderful it is on their own. Instead, we killed two days. I can't remember the quote, but it says something like, "As if we could kill time without injuring eternity." Today, I think we gave it a nasty bruise, at the very least.
One of the things I'm going to have to learn is more flexibility, especially with the stupid trivialities that are so much a part of public education. I will just have to find a way to let it roll off my back. One of my friends was having a problem of patience and tolerance with a family member, and she developed the habit of saying, "Quack, quack" to remind herself to do that. I think I'm going to print that off the computer and put it somewhere on my desk. I need to be more duck and less teakettle.
Actually, I value patience very highly. It's a very important part of my job. I pray for more all the time. Patience and wisdom are hard-won, though. Today and yesterday have been trying my patience in the extreme. I've figured out that it's not the heat under the kettle that causes the scream. It's the inability to vent in any other way.
Not the kids, first of all. They've not been worse than is normal. It's been a week of administrative mandates that have completely wrecked my lesson plans. We had to give a practice test for the big state test coming up later in the month. It's the 3rd time around on this, and even the slowest of my kids were saying, "We are doing this AGAIN?!?!" I explained that its purpose is to show how they've grown over the year and to point out any particular skills for practice before the real thing, but none of us could scrape up much enthusiasm for it.
We got word that the change had to be made on Wednesday. No kidding. Less than 24 hrs. notice. My Type-A personality took the change with all the grace of a freight train suddenly derailed. I HATE it when somebody changes set plans at the last minute. If it's a casual thing, it doesn't matter, but when I put as much work into planning and pacing my lesson plans, it's a big slap in the face to have them so carelessly swept aside.
So, teakettle-like, I've sat in my room, mostly at my desk, for the past two days. I have filed piles of papers, graded and recorded others, set up my computerized gradebook and started working on entering grades for it, and even hung some posters that had fallen long ago and been shoved into a corner. Things are spic-and-span (where did that phrase come from, anyway?) and ready for parent-teacher day on Monday. I hated it. Every minute of it. I felt useless. I wasn't helping them learn. All I was doing was babysitting and cleaning. I could feel the steam building, and by 7th period today, I wanted to shriek with it.
This isn't what we're supposed to be doing. We're supposed to be talking about To Kill a Mockingbird. They're supposed to be discovering how wonderful it is on their own. Instead, we killed two days. I can't remember the quote, but it says something like, "As if we could kill time without injuring eternity." Today, I think we gave it a nasty bruise, at the very least.
One of the things I'm going to have to learn is more flexibility, especially with the stupid trivialities that are so much a part of public education. I will just have to find a way to let it roll off my back. One of my friends was having a problem of patience and tolerance with a family member, and she developed the habit of saying, "Quack, quack" to remind herself to do that. I think I'm going to print that off the computer and put it somewhere on my desk. I need to be more duck and less teakettle.
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