I am trying to wrap up the last day of 2007 (good riddance!) by preparing like crazy for the first few days of 2008. I begin work on Friday and the kids come galloping in the following Monday. I am completely freaked out. Completely.
I know that I will be teaching some genre of literature and that the kids should be ready to begin research on particular authors that their teacher-formerly known as super slack- should have already set up with each of them. Probably hasn't. I will have to. I am trying to read all of the short stories in my binder that I may, possibly, any chance in hell, teach to them so that I am one step ahead. I feel that is how I will shuffle through these first few months...one step ahead of every kid.
As far as the newspaper class goes, I had a brief tutorial with an old friend on InDesign and Photoshop. Um, so, we'll see.
I have definitely been that annoying first year teacher who is coming in mid-year and emailing all of my future colleagues with questions and planning ideas (which we decided we would do before the break) and have only heard from my darling, across the hall, neighbor who I love. She is in her second year and remembers the fear that floods the hearts of new teachers. She is also, um, 23, just like me. Well, I will be 23 on Wednesday. THEN all of the ridiculous holiday parties can stop and I can get back to watching TVD's and reading books all by my lonesome.
I think that 2008 will be good because I want it to be. I am going to start getting my travel on which is what makes my heart flutter the most. First trip is to NY in January (bad timing, I know...irresponsible, maybe) and I am excited to fly on an airplane all alone for the first time in my whole, tiny little life. Teeny little steps to get me started on a grand adventure! I will not rely on luck or fate or any of those other invisibles that I don't believe in. No collard greens and black eyed peas will lead me to happiness this year; I will. All by myself and all growed up.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Merry Christmas $1.84
This one was inspired by a cryptic history.
--------------------------------------------------------
If only my mailbox could muster the courage to form the words you must’ve meant.
As if a little glitter is enough to patch up a hole in the wall that begs the bitter wind enter safely.
Or a check hidden in a fold could buy back skinned knees, honor roll certificates, pre-feminist playground games, post-pubescent heart troubles, the first rally, the first and second graduations?
All things spectacular, mediocre - a fall from Grace,
a journey to enlightenment - have rushed past without your knowing.
Hallmark certainly doesn’t erase snotty noses, smoking barrels, swallowed fearlumps, or sheets hiding tiny, tear-stained faces from a troubled memory.
The days of sugar and spice and everything nice are long gone and the evenings completed by mothball scented animal crackers have been tucked into the depths of forgetfulness.
The only thing worse than a Driftwood Dad is the older generation of bandits that acted as his accomplices.
And if you knew me at all you would know that I hate pink and don’t believe in angels.
--------------------------------------------------------
If only my mailbox could muster the courage to form the words you must’ve meant.
As if a little glitter is enough to patch up a hole in the wall that begs the bitter wind enter safely.
Or a check hidden in a fold could buy back skinned knees, honor roll certificates, pre-feminist playground games, post-pubescent heart troubles, the first rally, the first and second graduations?
All things spectacular, mediocre - a fall from Grace,
a journey to enlightenment - have rushed past without your knowing.
Hallmark certainly doesn’t erase snotty noses, smoking barrels, swallowed fearlumps, or sheets hiding tiny, tear-stained faces from a troubled memory.
The days of sugar and spice and everything nice are long gone and the evenings completed by mothball scented animal crackers have been tucked into the depths of forgetfulness.
The only thing worse than a Driftwood Dad is the older generation of bandits that acted as his accomplices.
And if you knew me at all you would know that I hate pink and don’t believe in angels.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
The end of an era
As I stumbled across the stage to receive proof that I am an educated lady today I didn't feel that overwhelming, stomach in your throat excitement that a college graduate, teary-eyed, mouth-watering with a sense of accomplishment should feel. I felt more of a nostalgia for the times I had in college, and the books I studied, the authors I became acquainted with, and the new methods for reasoning that I learned. I felt a genuine nostalgia for learning.
I worry that I will not write as much now that I have no cue card telling me what to focus my ideas around. I fear that I will become lazy in my life as a career girl, going and coming every day, just as the thousands around me do. Maybe because I have this fear I won't allow it to happen. It has only happened once before and rode into my life on the shoulders of contentment. A very close scholar friend of mine once told me of this quote friend he likes that states "the future belongs to the discontented." I never want to feel that sense of paralyzing contentment again. What a terrible sensation; that one's life has been lived.
Last night a cookie told me that the best times of my life have yet to be lived. I only hope that the God of the Cookies meant for me to retrieve that fortune. I only hope that is true.
New Plans include learning Spanish to help my chances of getting into a better grad school. Begin studying for the GRE as soon as possible so when I take it I will kick it's smarty-pants testing ass, and get into a great grad school.
It was strange to see my college friends and favorite professors for the last time. Very strange.
I move into my room tomorrow...not that I have much to move in. If you would like to send me a token of you to put in my classroom for decor (a porcelain elephant, your lucky stone, a picture of a rhinoceros eating spaghetti that you love, etc.) let me know and I will gladly put it on my desk and think of you every time I see it.
I worry that I will not write as much now that I have no cue card telling me what to focus my ideas around. I fear that I will become lazy in my life as a career girl, going and coming every day, just as the thousands around me do. Maybe because I have this fear I won't allow it to happen. It has only happened once before and rode into my life on the shoulders of contentment. A very close scholar friend of mine once told me of this quote friend he likes that states "the future belongs to the discontented." I never want to feel that sense of paralyzing contentment again. What a terrible sensation; that one's life has been lived.
Last night a cookie told me that the best times of my life have yet to be lived. I only hope that the God of the Cookies meant for me to retrieve that fortune. I only hope that is true.
New Plans include learning Spanish to help my chances of getting into a better grad school. Begin studying for the GRE as soon as possible so when I take it I will kick it's smarty-pants testing ass, and get into a great grad school.
It was strange to see my college friends and favorite professors for the last time. Very strange.
I move into my room tomorrow...not that I have much to move in. If you would like to send me a token of you to put in my classroom for decor (a porcelain elephant, your lucky stone, a picture of a rhinoceros eating spaghetti that you love, etc.) let me know and I will gladly put it on my desk and think of you every time I see it.
Monday, December 10, 2007
I wanna do right, but not right now
I was laying flat-backed in the park yesterday making shapes out of the clouds instead of planning. After I spotted an ogre and a little squirrel crouching on a paper airplane, I began reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being, instead of planning. This book was recommended to me by at least three of my closest friends and they all suggested that I "read it now, it'll be good for you." Conclusion: my friends think I am a crazy woman right now.
Since my job offer last week I've been thinking too much about what career life entails. Here I am, a 22 year-old kid signing up for life insurance when I barely have any life to insure! I have to choose a health plan, and think about a 401k or a 503b or something like that! It's nuts really, this transition to adulthood. Actually, I take that back, the work "transition" suggests a progression (digression) or a movement through stages..this is not. It is as if Adulthood and his pals car insurance, doctor bills, rent, phone bills, medical bills, and all the other Bills that they know just moved in unannounced to my tiny studio apartment. There are so many things you are supposed to know as an adult, like which boxes to check on the confusing tax forms, who to call when your car breaks down, how to politely deny the Jehovah Witnesses that show up at your door (as a kid you can just cut out the lights and lay on the floor until they leave), or what a flexible spending plan is (?). When do you learn these things? Is there a handbook?
Mostly though, I have been considering this notion of planning to achieve our goals. We plan, the plan is set, we reach the goal, then we are done.
It seems I have achieved this big goal and now I have to create a new list. That is what I will be replacing planning with today.
Still just sketching out ideas on the design for my life.
Since my job offer last week I've been thinking too much about what career life entails. Here I am, a 22 year-old kid signing up for life insurance when I barely have any life to insure! I have to choose a health plan, and think about a 401k or a 503b or something like that! It's nuts really, this transition to adulthood. Actually, I take that back, the work "transition" suggests a progression (digression) or a movement through stages..this is not. It is as if Adulthood and his pals car insurance, doctor bills, rent, phone bills, medical bills, and all the other Bills that they know just moved in unannounced to my tiny studio apartment. There are so many things you are supposed to know as an adult, like which boxes to check on the confusing tax forms, who to call when your car breaks down, how to politely deny the Jehovah Witnesses that show up at your door (as a kid you can just cut out the lights and lay on the floor until they leave), or what a flexible spending plan is (?). When do you learn these things? Is there a handbook?
Mostly though, I have been considering this notion of planning to achieve our goals. We plan, the plan is set, we reach the goal, then we are done.
It seems I have achieved this big goal and now I have to create a new list. That is what I will be replacing planning with today.
Still just sketching out ideas on the design for my life.
Friday, November 30, 2007
The Payoff
I am gonna be able to pay rent in January 2008 and my Christmas break is going to be a demon hell-ride.
Sshhh.
Now all I have to do is force myself to finish up this end of school madness.
Oh, oh, and Chicago is my new favorite city, Kentucky has beautiful colors, and Memphis has secrets in every single crack of every single brick in every aging house on her streets.
Sshhh.
Now all I have to do is force myself to finish up this end of school madness.
Oh, oh, and Chicago is my new favorite city, Kentucky has beautiful colors, and Memphis has secrets in every single crack of every single brick in every aging house on her streets.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Arundhati Roy
She writes beautifully. I am a true believer that the things you bring into your life should be right for that time. God of Small Things is right for me right now.
I want to share some of her words because they make sense and have an innocence about them; an innocence that carries wisdom on it's shoulders. William Blake would probably disagree.
"Smells, like music, hold memory. She breathed deep and bottled it up for posterity."
"Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones -- a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered."
"She hadn't learned to control her Hopes yet."
"Our dreams have been doctored. We belong nowhere. We sail unanchored on troubled seas. We may never be allowed ashore. Our sorrows will never be sad enough. Our joys never happy enough. Our dreams never big enough. Our lives never important enough. To matter." (Uncle talking to niece and nephew about being 'prisoners' of war)
"She wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes."
[my favorite]
"Perhaps it's true that things can change in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of burned house -- the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture -- must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for."
Ideas: A viable dying age. A Design for Life. Love Laws.
It's a really good book so far and I suggest it to anyone who is looking for a book (all six of you who read this). I guess it is hard to represent her skill with excerpts taken out of context, but really, trust me. It'll make you smile at memories you had forgotten about.
"And the things you can't remember tells the things you can't forget that history puts a saint in every dream." -Tom Waits
I want to share some of her words because they make sense and have an innocence about them; an innocence that carries wisdom on it's shoulders. William Blake would probably disagree.
"Smells, like music, hold memory. She breathed deep and bottled it up for posterity."
"Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones -- a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered."
"She hadn't learned to control her Hopes yet."
"Our dreams have been doctored. We belong nowhere. We sail unanchored on troubled seas. We may never be allowed ashore. Our sorrows will never be sad enough. Our joys never happy enough. Our dreams never big enough. Our lives never important enough. To matter." (Uncle talking to niece and nephew about being 'prisoners' of war)
"She wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes."
[my favorite]
"Perhaps it's true that things can change in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of burned house -- the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture -- must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for."
Ideas: A viable dying age. A Design for Life. Love Laws.
It's a really good book so far and I suggest it to anyone who is looking for a book (all six of you who read this). I guess it is hard to represent her skill with excerpts taken out of context, but really, trust me. It'll make you smile at memories you had forgotten about.
"And the things you can't remember tells the things you can't forget that history puts a saint in every dream." -Tom Waits
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Final Assignment
This is my last week of teaching.
My final assignment for the kids is one that is completely for my personal gain. I am asking them to write a letter to me. Before writing I want them to reflect on the time that we have spent together and think of things (whatever it may be) that they have learned from me. I hoping to get big picture lessons, not the steps of a heroes journey or how to write a character analysis. I am (secretly) hoping for them to have learned to ask questions, to think before they speak, to not be rude, to be respectful of all things and people, to live deliberately. I want to know if they have grown with me or if I have ignited any interests in their lives. I hope so. It's what I want to do. If not, I will take that too.
I am asking for their advice because they are the ones who matter. Not the supervisor who is watching me, not the teachers who compliment my growth, not even my extremely critical views of myself. Alright, I guess those opinions do matter, but I am still most interested in hearing what those kids have to say.
I will enjoy reading 130 letters while I am on the road over the holidays.
Yes! I have a plan, I am going to see things I have never seen, going to smell new smells, and touch new buildings! I am going to unscrew my head and let all the moths fly out of it with my best girl at my side. I will not be working on my Impact on Student Learning or my online portfolio (vomit) because my collapsing innards are most important now. I need to breath some fresh breaths and blink twice and pinch myself, so I am gonna do it. It doesn't make sense says my diminishing savings account, but life doesn't make much sense all the time either. Neither do the plans we have created or the goals that we have reached.
I don't wanna graduate college, I want to continue writing papers, and engaging in larger than life discussions with classmates and professors. But really, I gotta go figure out what I need because somehow, on my path to this "ultimate goal" of college graduation, I have forgotten what that is. Oh Lordy, I hope I can wrap my tired little hands around some type of idea - a design for my life.
I sure am gonna miss my mama's collard greens though and her sweet, familiar smell that always reminds me of home. That smell is my only home. She is quite a lady.
My final assignment for the kids is one that is completely for my personal gain. I am asking them to write a letter to me. Before writing I want them to reflect on the time that we have spent together and think of things (whatever it may be) that they have learned from me. I hoping to get big picture lessons, not the steps of a heroes journey or how to write a character analysis. I am (secretly) hoping for them to have learned to ask questions, to think before they speak, to not be rude, to be respectful of all things and people, to live deliberately. I want to know if they have grown with me or if I have ignited any interests in their lives. I hope so. It's what I want to do. If not, I will take that too.
I am asking for their advice because they are the ones who matter. Not the supervisor who is watching me, not the teachers who compliment my growth, not even my extremely critical views of myself. Alright, I guess those opinions do matter, but I am still most interested in hearing what those kids have to say.
I will enjoy reading 130 letters while I am on the road over the holidays.
Yes! I have a plan, I am going to see things I have never seen, going to smell new smells, and touch new buildings! I am going to unscrew my head and let all the moths fly out of it with my best girl at my side. I will not be working on my Impact on Student Learning or my online portfolio (vomit) because my collapsing innards are most important now. I need to breath some fresh breaths and blink twice and pinch myself, so I am gonna do it. It doesn't make sense says my diminishing savings account, but life doesn't make much sense all the time either. Neither do the plans we have created or the goals that we have reached.
I don't wanna graduate college, I want to continue writing papers, and engaging in larger than life discussions with classmates and professors. But really, I gotta go figure out what I need because somehow, on my path to this "ultimate goal" of college graduation, I have forgotten what that is. Oh Lordy, I hope I can wrap my tired little hands around some type of idea - a design for my life.
I sure am gonna miss my mama's collard greens though and her sweet, familiar smell that always reminds me of home. That smell is my only home. She is quite a lady.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Point Master
Today a student who isn't in any of my classes brought me and CT some candy bars that he bought just for us! Cool! Chocolate. I am not sure of the protocol for accepting candy from kids, but alls I know is I am not saying no to free candy.
Also we were doing this Craniumesque vocabulary review for their quiz tomorrow and my beloved third period (little demons incarnate)decided that one of their team names was gonna be "Mike Hawk." I wasn't actually teaching their class (because they are bad kids so I gave them back) but CT wrote it on the board and the kids sniggered from their Devil thrones. Get it Mike Hawk, my cock. Puerile wordplay.
At the end of class I told that team that I was subtracting one point from their final score for assuming that their teachers are too dumb to understand their baby jokes.
Hahaha!
Also we were doing this Craniumesque vocabulary review for their quiz tomorrow and my beloved third period (little demons incarnate)decided that one of their team names was gonna be "Mike Hawk." I wasn't actually teaching their class (because they are bad kids so I gave them back) but CT wrote it on the board and the kids sniggered from their Devil thrones. Get it Mike Hawk, my cock. Puerile wordplay.
At the end of class I told that team that I was subtracting one point from their final score for assuming that their teachers are too dumb to understand their baby jokes.
Hahaha!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
True Blue
Try to remember back to that time when your boss told you not to wait too long because the deadline was just around the corner or your professor assigned a paper three weeks in advance to give you ample time to complete the assignment, but in true student form you waited until the week, or in most cases, night before it was due. As I begin working on this final college assignment I am refreshed to know that my undergraduate tendencies are as alive as ever.
I have just started looking at my online portfolio and beginning to put together the materials that are necessary for the completion of my program. I do not think that this online portfolio will benefit me, I do not think that any principal will actually take the time to visit my online portfolio, and I do not think that I will enjoy doing it, but sometimes you just have to bite the bright side of things, or get going when the shit hits the fan, or I don't know, I am just going to do it.
I was supposed to have performed an analysis on my students learning. By studying closely a "pre-test," then teaching a skill, and then assigning some type of assessment I was to determine each students progress. The key tense of this last bit of information is past. Yes, yes! Past tense!
I was supposed to have done this while I was teaching. However, hindsight is 20/40 right? I am going to complete this assignment as a reflection. Of course I will have all of the data I need, but all stuck in my big brain. The University I attend is well-known (at least by students in the English Ed Dept.) for it's fondness for reflection, so this should be fine, right?
I am not too worried because one thing I am sure of is that college students have this strange ability to pull things from their unspeakable at the last minute, and college english students have this even weirder ability to make it sound good.
I have just started looking at my online portfolio and beginning to put together the materials that are necessary for the completion of my program. I do not think that this online portfolio will benefit me, I do not think that any principal will actually take the time to visit my online portfolio, and I do not think that I will enjoy doing it, but sometimes you just have to bite the bright side of things, or get going when the shit hits the fan, or I don't know, I am just going to do it.
I was supposed to have performed an analysis on my students learning. By studying closely a "pre-test," then teaching a skill, and then assigning some type of assessment I was to determine each students progress. The key tense of this last bit of information is past. Yes, yes! Past tense!
I was supposed to have done this while I was teaching. However, hindsight is 20/40 right? I am going to complete this assignment as a reflection. Of course I will have all of the data I need, but all stuck in my big brain. The University I attend is well-known (at least by students in the English Ed Dept.) for it's fondness for reflection, so this should be fine, right?
I am not too worried because one thing I am sure of is that college students have this strange ability to pull things from their unspeakable at the last minute, and college english students have this even weirder ability to make it sound good.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Soul Journey
Looks like life has gotten in the way of blogging once again. I think that is just fine though. Here are updates.
As of last Friday I started teaching the Seniors. This group of seniors is so disenchanted with life. They enter my room quietly, sit quietly, and leave quietly. Getting them to talk to me is equally as hard as getting my third period (worst period) to shut up. I have considered different types of ways to get them to be more active because simply asking them, and being real with them, is failing miserably. One idea I had was to make a deal that if they participated in class discussions (poetry analysis and Romanticism) then I would let them teach me something. Considering the things that they could teach me (Stoicism 101) led me to trash that idea. Back to drawing board.
The first day I taught them we had a "discussion" on poetry as a representation of culture. They brought in song lyrics and we discussed whether or not the song qualified as poetry. We attempted to identify unique traits of each students individual culture, which was insanely hard. When did the population of school age children become so homogeneous? Differences include race, socio-economic status, and, uh, I guess that is all they thought of. WHAT? Back to the story...
After my monologue spotted with "yeahs" and "I disagrees" from my audience I asked them to write a poem that accurately represented the culture from which they come. By the way, when they said "I disagree" I would really sink my teeth in and get them talking, but it didn't work. Generally, I give my kids a choice of whether or not they want to share, but not these guys, they had to share. Asia's turn to share came about and she stood up, marched to the front of the class (not required) and began to cry. She then shared with us a poem she wrote about her step-brother getting shot outside of a QuickMart three days prior. I had no idea.
That class is a true melting pot, with hot wings and caviar covering white, steamed rice. Some of those kids are bound for ivy league schools, and the only way that the others would see the halls of Yale is from behind a mop. Why mix kids on such drastic levels? It is beyond me. Quite a challenge.
My freshmen are cute. They stress more than I do. In the past four days two beautiful, bright little ladies have come to me crying because grades in other classes or because they had a test coming up. It is wrong for 14 year old children to be crying over an 89. CT is going to bring it up at her Dept. Chair meeting today. Basically Math and Geography are swallowing the kids whole and because of that I am afraid to give any homework, which is fine. However, I do not want to feel guilty for assigning some if it is necessary. Poor babies. So much pressure on them to succeed, when they don't even know what success is yet. Not for themselves.
Tonight is Halloween. I love Halloween.
Friday I was Karl Marx with a yellow party hat on. A member of the Communist party! Get it? It was bad. Nobody got it.
Teaching has really hindered my ability to be able to deal with my own life. Currently, I am working on a plan to find my head again and resurrect part of my heart. Wish me luck. This is what is most important of all.
As of last Friday I started teaching the Seniors. This group of seniors is so disenchanted with life. They enter my room quietly, sit quietly, and leave quietly. Getting them to talk to me is equally as hard as getting my third period (worst period) to shut up. I have considered different types of ways to get them to be more active because simply asking them, and being real with them, is failing miserably. One idea I had was to make a deal that if they participated in class discussions (poetry analysis and Romanticism) then I would let them teach me something. Considering the things that they could teach me (Stoicism 101) led me to trash that idea. Back to drawing board.
The first day I taught them we had a "discussion" on poetry as a representation of culture. They brought in song lyrics and we discussed whether or not the song qualified as poetry. We attempted to identify unique traits of each students individual culture, which was insanely hard. When did the population of school age children become so homogeneous? Differences include race, socio-economic status, and, uh, I guess that is all they thought of. WHAT? Back to the story...
After my monologue spotted with "yeahs" and "I disagrees" from my audience I asked them to write a poem that accurately represented the culture from which they come. By the way, when they said "I disagree" I would really sink my teeth in and get them talking, but it didn't work. Generally, I give my kids a choice of whether or not they want to share, but not these guys, they had to share. Asia's turn to share came about and she stood up, marched to the front of the class (not required) and began to cry. She then shared with us a poem she wrote about her step-brother getting shot outside of a QuickMart three days prior. I had no idea.
That class is a true melting pot, with hot wings and caviar covering white, steamed rice. Some of those kids are bound for ivy league schools, and the only way that the others would see the halls of Yale is from behind a mop. Why mix kids on such drastic levels? It is beyond me. Quite a challenge.
My freshmen are cute. They stress more than I do. In the past four days two beautiful, bright little ladies have come to me crying because grades in other classes or because they had a test coming up. It is wrong for 14 year old children to be crying over an 89. CT is going to bring it up at her Dept. Chair meeting today. Basically Math and Geography are swallowing the kids whole and because of that I am afraid to give any homework, which is fine. However, I do not want to feel guilty for assigning some if it is necessary. Poor babies. So much pressure on them to succeed, when they don't even know what success is yet. Not for themselves.
Tonight is Halloween. I love Halloween.
Friday I was Karl Marx with a yellow party hat on. A member of the Communist party! Get it? It was bad. Nobody got it.
Teaching has really hindered my ability to be able to deal with my own life. Currently, I am working on a plan to find my head again and resurrect part of my heart. Wish me luck. This is what is most important of all.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Throwing in the Towel
Today I submitted an application for Fulton County. Now this may seem like the normal progression of things to most, but in my heart I don't know if saying the "Pledge of Allegiance" every morning and being cut off by obnoxious bells is where I want to be. There was this time a few years ago in a 9th grade classroom when I got this feeling of overwhelming rightness. I don't know if that is proper use, but that is what it was. I knew, I mean I knew, that teaching was my calling. I was meant to stand before curious students and preach the good words of ancient and contemporary truths, to ask unanswerable questions, and to learn by teaching for a long, long time. Unfortunately my heart is no longer filled with that rightness. I find myself struggling to remember my passions regarding public education, I make lists of the things I wanted to do, the impact I hoped to make. I forget so easily and it is so very hard to jog my memory (which is probably as good as a newborn baby's to begin with) of why I wanted to be there in the first place.
The real world jitters or anxiousness of becoming a real life grown-up is common, from what I have been told, for most college graduates. I listen and nod and pretend like the advice, that I am not really even asking for, makes sense or helps guide me. Truth is, I don't know if this is only butterflies about becoming a big kid or if I have spent the past few years preparing for a life that is not going to be mine. All I am sure of is that whatever I do for my career will be something I am passionate about. I get to make that choice. I just have to remember my passions first.
I submitted my application today because I owe it to myself to try this on my own, for a little while. Hopefully I will get the job at my school now for the last semester. That way I don't have to sign in blood for an entire year. I can get my feet wet, have my own classroom, and make a better decision when I am hopefully at a more stable period in my life.
My certainties often cower in the face of my doubts. I am losing my knack for convincing myself of things. Wish me luck I guess.
The real world jitters or anxiousness of becoming a real life grown-up is common, from what I have been told, for most college graduates. I listen and nod and pretend like the advice, that I am not really even asking for, makes sense or helps guide me. Truth is, I don't know if this is only butterflies about becoming a big kid or if I have spent the past few years preparing for a life that is not going to be mine. All I am sure of is that whatever I do for my career will be something I am passionate about. I get to make that choice. I just have to remember my passions first.
I submitted my application today because I owe it to myself to try this on my own, for a little while. Hopefully I will get the job at my school now for the last semester. That way I don't have to sign in blood for an entire year. I can get my feet wet, have my own classroom, and make a better decision when I am hopefully at a more stable period in my life.
My certainties often cower in the face of my doubts. I am losing my knack for convincing myself of things. Wish me luck I guess.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Check your Crack at the Door
Gone are the days of Kriss Kross and their backwards Oshkosh, and apparently the days of civil rights are too.
The dreariness of my morning was enhanced when NPR informed my curious little noggin' that a small, rural community near my hometown (like 10 miles out) has officially "outlawed" baggy pants. I would like to take a minute and consider this as I have already dismissed such a rule, excuse me, law, from existing in my head. I imagine it deserves some thought. It is, after all, the stupidest thing I have heard of since this girl:
After the first mention of this conspiracy to oust baggy pants I joked with my room mate and told her as I passed kids in the hallway at school I would sometimes say (in my head of course) "you are under arrest, pull up your pants scoundrel!" Then laugh to myself as I promenaded down the hall taking notice of all the "Drug Free is the way to Be!" signs that are posted for Red Ribbon Week. Did I mention it is Red Ribbon Week and that kids do drugs...lots of drugs...lots of kids? But, yeah, OH, back to baggy pants - the real issue here. So it's done. Somewhere in the state of GA all of those booties will be carefully shielded from eyes of those poor sweet tea drinkin' Southerners. Oh boy, I don't know what to do with this law.
I am going to continue walking through the halls singing "Bad boys, Bad boys..." to myself not because I agree with this rule, but because I think it is absolutely ridiculous to worry about saggy pants (and insanely funny). Maybe next time I go home I will wear my britches extra low...just to try those suckers.
I was also working on analogies today trying to get my kids some extra practice. You guys try this one:
Umbrella : Clear Night :: Law :
a. Teen Drug Use
b. Teen Violence
c. Pants riding low
d. Gang Violence
Sometimes I think our society has progressed, then I turn on the radio.
The dreariness of my morning was enhanced when NPR informed my curious little noggin' that a small, rural community near my hometown (like 10 miles out) has officially "outlawed" baggy pants. I would like to take a minute and consider this as I have already dismissed such a rule, excuse me, law, from existing in my head. I imagine it deserves some thought. It is, after all, the stupidest thing I have heard of since this girl:
After the first mention of this conspiracy to oust baggy pants I joked with my room mate and told her as I passed kids in the hallway at school I would sometimes say (in my head of course) "you are under arrest, pull up your pants scoundrel!" Then laugh to myself as I promenaded down the hall taking notice of all the "Drug Free is the way to Be!" signs that are posted for Red Ribbon Week. Did I mention it is Red Ribbon Week and that kids do drugs...lots of drugs...lots of kids? But, yeah, OH, back to baggy pants - the real issue here. So it's done. Somewhere in the state of GA all of those booties will be carefully shielded from eyes of those poor sweet tea drinkin' Southerners. Oh boy, I don't know what to do with this law.
I am going to continue walking through the halls singing "Bad boys, Bad boys..." to myself not because I agree with this rule, but because I think it is absolutely ridiculous to worry about saggy pants (and insanely funny). Maybe next time I go home I will wear my britches extra low...just to try those suckers.
I was also working on analogies today trying to get my kids some extra practice. You guys try this one:
Umbrella : Clear Night :: Law :
a. Teen Drug Use
b. Teen Violence
c. Pants riding low
d. Gang Violence
Sometimes I think our society has progressed, then I turn on the radio.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Potable
[in the midst of a vocabulary review Ms. C learns a new joke]
Ms. C: "Potable is an adjective meaning fit to drink."
[repeat]
Ms. C: "Can anyone use potable in a sentence? Oh, okay Emily."
Emily: "People over 21 are potable."
Ms. C: "Ahhahahahahahah! Only some my friend, only some."
Ms. C: "Potable is an adjective meaning fit to drink."
[repeat]
Ms. C: "Can anyone use potable in a sentence? Oh, okay Emily."
Emily: "People over 21 are potable."
Ms. C: "Ahhahahahahahah! Only some my friend, only some."
Thursday, October 18, 2007
My Fickle Universe
My week has been crazier than seven witches cackling around a cauldron of stone soup!
Too many days have passed since I last posted. That in no way, however, represents the amount I have been thinking, reflecting, or crying about teaching. I had my first almost-quarter-life crisis last week. I started doing that thing that all college students do before embarking on a journey into the unknown land of business casual: questioning my path. While I do like teaching, I feel that the practice of disciplining, grading, and hollering have really covered my passions in a layer of foul-smelling kid germs. I want to love it. I know that I won't love it it every day, but I want to love it most days. Loving Literature and teaching children are far different worlds and while I am adjusting and the kids are enjoying me, most days I just want to love Literature. I don't like having to ask kids to stop talking every time I want to talk. I have only two rules: don't be rude and be respectful. The first falls under the latter really, but that is how I break it down for them. I tell them when they are being rude and it usually works for about five seconds. Not a bad deal, eh? I just want to read literature and talk about it! Let's write some good stuff too.
So Sunday there I was, all hugging my knees to my chest in my living room, wondering what the hell I would do with myself if I didn't go into teaching and thinking of all the different ailments that I could fake on Monday when it came to me that I no longer wanted to be a teacher! I decided to graduate and then figure it out. Monday I went into school and CT asked how I was doing, I told the truth, she basically offered me a job.
The universe toys with me.
I am, of course, going to give it a shot before writing it off. I just want to be a student forever. Write papers. Read books. Drink coffee. Sleep late. Think all the time about all the questions that I will never have answers for, all the while, simply loving the questions themselves. Alas, I must try what I have worked so hard for...then grad school. Seven years!
I am pulling myself out of this abysmal life confusion. Student teaching is a crazy, demon hell ride. My knuckles are white and I am doing my best to hang on.
I saw a sneak preview of Lions for Lambs, the new Robert Redford movie. Go see it. No joke. Go. As soon as it comes out.
Too many days have passed since I last posted. That in no way, however, represents the amount I have been thinking, reflecting, or crying about teaching. I had my first almost-quarter-life crisis last week. I started doing that thing that all college students do before embarking on a journey into the unknown land of business casual: questioning my path. While I do like teaching, I feel that the practice of disciplining, grading, and hollering have really covered my passions in a layer of foul-smelling kid germs. I want to love it. I know that I won't love it it every day, but I want to love it most days. Loving Literature and teaching children are far different worlds and while I am adjusting and the kids are enjoying me, most days I just want to love Literature. I don't like having to ask kids to stop talking every time I want to talk. I have only two rules: don't be rude and be respectful. The first falls under the latter really, but that is how I break it down for them. I tell them when they are being rude and it usually works for about five seconds. Not a bad deal, eh? I just want to read literature and talk about it! Let's write some good stuff too.
So Sunday there I was, all hugging my knees to my chest in my living room, wondering what the hell I would do with myself if I didn't go into teaching and thinking of all the different ailments that I could fake on Monday when it came to me that I no longer wanted to be a teacher! I decided to graduate and then figure it out. Monday I went into school and CT asked how I was doing, I told the truth, she basically offered me a job.
The universe toys with me.
I am, of course, going to give it a shot before writing it off. I just want to be a student forever. Write papers. Read books. Drink coffee. Sleep late. Think all the time about all the questions that I will never have answers for, all the while, simply loving the questions themselves. Alas, I must try what I have worked so hard for...then grad school. Seven years!
I am pulling myself out of this abysmal life confusion. Student teaching is a crazy, demon hell ride. My knuckles are white and I am doing my best to hang on.
I saw a sneak preview of Lions for Lambs, the new Robert Redford movie. Go see it. No joke. Go. As soon as it comes out.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Asian Wisdom and Mariachi Madness
Tuesday night my sleep was interrupted by a nightmare I had where my ex-boyfriend and one of my Seniors were dating. When I woke up I was hyperventilating and crying.
Only two thoughts were in my head after I suddenly awoke: 1. I wish both of those jerks would keep outta my head and 2. I need a freaking break!
This week has been rather chaotic. Monday my students were wearing sombreros, playing with marionettes, bouncing eyeballs, magic wands, wigs, and a Webster's dictionary. It was our final (very informal) assessment to wrap up this characterization stuff and we decided that this assignment was silly as hell then asked ourselves, "Why do it?" Our response was simply, "Why not?"
The assignment was to get one of the totally random props that we had provided for them and then to partner up. They were to each perform an interview using questions that I had developed plus some of their own all focused primarily on the prop and their partners relationship with/to it. They had to basically develop turn their partner into a character based on the prop. Next they had to create a Word Portrait, which was just like the Word Photos (below) except a portrait of their partner/character and his/her prop. Finally, this was the totally random part, they had to pose their character/partner in a pose that was relevant to his/her attitude as a new character and fingerpaint a portrait of them...in two minutes. I am evil.
It was fun, but wow was it hectic. Wednesday was especially strange. Not sure why...my mind has been really running away from me lately and just feel frazzled. So after the longest day ever on Wednesday I decided to open one of the props, a fortune cookie, just to read the fortune. As if I didn't already know that my day had been bad enough with the sub who doesn't complete anything - including a simple thought, and kids who can't stop talking for fear that the attention will be directed towards me, the teacher, my fortune was exactly what I needed to quit my day.
It read: Today your mouth will be moving, but no one will be listening.
It was then that I calmly closed my grade book, put the pathetic excuses for essays that I am currently grading into my bag and marched out of that hell hole. After, of course, I taped my fortune to the desk.
Only two thoughts were in my head after I suddenly awoke: 1. I wish both of those jerks would keep outta my head and 2. I need a freaking break!
This week has been rather chaotic. Monday my students were wearing sombreros, playing with marionettes, bouncing eyeballs, magic wands, wigs, and a Webster's dictionary. It was our final (very informal) assessment to wrap up this characterization stuff and we decided that this assignment was silly as hell then asked ourselves, "Why do it?" Our response was simply, "Why not?"
The assignment was to get one of the totally random props that we had provided for them and then to partner up. They were to each perform an interview using questions that I had developed plus some of their own all focused primarily on the prop and their partners relationship with/to it. They had to basically develop turn their partner into a character based on the prop. Next they had to create a Word Portrait, which was just like the Word Photos (below) except a portrait of their partner/character and his/her prop. Finally, this was the totally random part, they had to pose their character/partner in a pose that was relevant to his/her attitude as a new character and fingerpaint a portrait of them...in two minutes. I am evil.
It was fun, but wow was it hectic. Wednesday was especially strange. Not sure why...my mind has been really running away from me lately and just feel frazzled. So after the longest day ever on Wednesday I decided to open one of the props, a fortune cookie, just to read the fortune. As if I didn't already know that my day had been bad enough with the sub who doesn't complete anything - including a simple thought, and kids who can't stop talking for fear that the attention will be directed towards me, the teacher, my fortune was exactly what I needed to quit my day.
It read: Today your mouth will be moving, but no one will be listening.
It was then that I calmly closed my grade book, put the pathetic excuses for essays that I am currently grading into my bag and marched out of that hell hole. After, of course, I taped my fortune to the desk.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Week In Review
My life is a mini-wreck right now, the state of health I am in is adding a few worry wrinkles to my forehead, and my kitten has learned to play rough. However tomorrow I depart for the North GA mountains and set up camp for the weekend. I am brining One Hundred Years of Solitude with me. Gonna read that first. Then I will read God of Small Things. If you all want to suggest and reading to me then please do. I promise to consider it. I am going to share some touching word photos that bring my thoughts from yesterday, the ones about trauma being hard and thus sticking around, to light a bit. Here they are. Of course, names have been changed.
Word Photo #1
His father took his sister and him to the hospice for one last moment ot see their mother. She was lying on her bed peacefully, beneath a soft white sheet and a blue cotton blanket. The room was solely lit up by the light from out the glass doors to the garden. Her face was finally showing signs of tranquility, instead of suffering and pain. There were no breathing tubes, no water bags, just her gentle face. He walked up beside her and hugged her as gently as he could, as not ot disturb her as if she were only sleeping. He wept upon her shoulder for a long time as he remembered all of the moments that she was there to help him. As he was walking to the door, he took one last look at her peaceful body and wondered why it had to be this way.
Word Photo #2
The doors slamming all throughout the house. Frightened and worreid, Emily ran to her older sister's room for comfort. These were the only times the two got along. They huddled together in the room too big for a twelve year old, watching the blue walls as if they held the secrets to the fights, waiting for any clue of what to do. The sound of angry footsteps echoed the hall, and they prayed that it was over. Emily squeezed through the door to see the opening to the rest of the house. Little green pebbles sliced the soles of her feet as she crept to where it had all started. It was broken glass, a memory of the war. She saw her mother, cradled on the floor and sobbing, and she knew that hte beloved high school sweethearts had finally given up.
One thing that I have been told numerous times is that "we all have a story to tell." It is so true. Each one of these kids have stories. Difficult stories of charmed lives gone sour, stories of becoming men and women through religious confirmations, stories of leaving and being left of loving and denying, and of trying to make sense of a world which moves around them too fast to fully understand. The kids, people, who wrote these memories for me to read are such good people. Smart people with good hearts. I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a "good man" or a "good woman." My father used to describe some people in his life (an elite few) as "good men/women" and as a child I never understood. I now do. I now strive to be a good woman/person. It isn't something you have to try to do...you just do it. You are good to people you love to people you don't to people you will never have the opportunity to know and, of course, to yourself. These kids are still kids, but they are good people. They have sincerity in their hearts and a humbling kindness that they have acquired somehow, somewhere on thier short journey. Thier stories break my heart, thier lives inspire me. I am a lucky girl.
Word Photo #1
His father took his sister and him to the hospice for one last moment ot see their mother. She was lying on her bed peacefully, beneath a soft white sheet and a blue cotton blanket. The room was solely lit up by the light from out the glass doors to the garden. Her face was finally showing signs of tranquility, instead of suffering and pain. There were no breathing tubes, no water bags, just her gentle face. He walked up beside her and hugged her as gently as he could, as not ot disturb her as if she were only sleeping. He wept upon her shoulder for a long time as he remembered all of the moments that she was there to help him. As he was walking to the door, he took one last look at her peaceful body and wondered why it had to be this way.
Word Photo #2
The doors slamming all throughout the house. Frightened and worreid, Emily ran to her older sister's room for comfort. These were the only times the two got along. They huddled together in the room too big for a twelve year old, watching the blue walls as if they held the secrets to the fights, waiting for any clue of what to do. The sound of angry footsteps echoed the hall, and they prayed that it was over. Emily squeezed through the door to see the opening to the rest of the house. Little green pebbles sliced the soles of her feet as she crept to where it had all started. It was broken glass, a memory of the war. She saw her mother, cradled on the floor and sobbing, and she knew that hte beloved high school sweethearts had finally given up.
One thing that I have been told numerous times is that "we all have a story to tell." It is so true. Each one of these kids have stories. Difficult stories of charmed lives gone sour, stories of becoming men and women through religious confirmations, stories of leaving and being left of loving and denying, and of trying to make sense of a world which moves around them too fast to fully understand. The kids, people, who wrote these memories for me to read are such good people. Smart people with good hearts. I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a "good man" or a "good woman." My father used to describe some people in his life (an elite few) as "good men/women" and as a child I never understood. I now do. I now strive to be a good woman/person. It isn't something you have to try to do...you just do it. You are good to people you love to people you don't to people you will never have the opportunity to know and, of course, to yourself. These kids are still kids, but they are good people. They have sincerity in their hearts and a humbling kindness that they have acquired somehow, somewhere on thier short journey. Thier stories break my heart, thier lives inspire me. I am a lucky girl.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Mama Said
I finished reading Dorian Gray this week. Wilde is very quotable. Generally, after I finish a book I will go back through it and type up all of the quotes that I have highlighted or underlined onto my computer so that I may return to them whenever I need to. I typed up a total of three pages from Dorian Gray and here are a few of my favorite:
"The value of an idea has nothing to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it."
"The harmony of soul and body – how much that is! We in our madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism that is vulgar, an ideality that is void."
"The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly- that is what each "of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves nowadays."
"Nothing can cure the soul but the sense, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."
"Behind every exquisite thing that existed there was something tragic."
"Humanity takes itself too seriously. It’s the world’s original sin. If the caveman had known how to laugh, History would have been different. "
"No life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested."
"There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves we feel that no one else has the right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution."
"Actual life was chaos, but there was something terribly logical in the imagination."
That was me being picky. I have tons more. I have revisited them all a number of times...thought about them, not through them, and simply appreciated the words. Words are so powerful. Filled with charge. Is there anything more powerful than words?
I have decided to, in my free time, lose myself in other's words. Today I created a list of what I will be reading. These books are not books that my students are reading, they are just books I want to read. I am doing it for me.
I assigned word photos to my kids. An example of a word photo is this:
LAX
She stood in a waiting room amidst white collars and sleeveless shirts, pleated skirts, and baby bottles. Dirty fingernails fidgeting the top of her suitcase, like a tourist who had no sense of direction. Sneakers suffocating her sock-less feet; as her right toes cowardly hid under the left, she stared at the departure times desperate for a solution. She was battling her darkened eyelids, pleading with them to stay open, while simultaneously struggling to keep her emotions in control. Tears made tiny wade pools in her lower lid, she clenched her jaw, lit her last Parliament and took a seat right there in the corner. Wishing to be invisible.
That is about a time when I went to LA and didn't tell my mom. I missed my flight and didn't have a credit card or a telephone and thought I was pretty screwed. The idea is to freeze time and recreate it with images and senses. Showing, not telling, what the event was that took place. Most of them didn't really get the idea and turned in a narrative. However, a lot of the kids wrote about a very traumatic time: fights their parents had, the fight that we products of divorce know well which acts as a gust of wind that most broken homes cannot withstand, deaths of animals, parents, or friends, or losing their sense of home. CT and I discusses briefly why it is so much easier to remember those tragedies in life. I want to remember a Sunday morning eating my half of the grapefruit, or splitting an Oatmeal Creme Pie into fourths, or something good. My timeline is mostly filled with memories from that painful refuge in my heart that only opens it's door when I need words to write. My biological father, who has been deemed "Driftwood Dad" in many of my writings has butted his way on the page. Why? I never think of that life or him. Why is it that the happy memories slip away into the goings on of life, but these bad memories, the hard ones, wade at the seabed of our minds? I think maybe it is because they are hard and we have to work at them. Bolo in hand we have to find our way out of whatever jungle of madness we have been put into. My mom always said that something is more meaningful if you work for it. Maybe it's the journey that makes them resilient.
"The value of an idea has nothing to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it."
"The harmony of soul and body – how much that is! We in our madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism that is vulgar, an ideality that is void."
"The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly- that is what each "of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves nowadays."
"Nothing can cure the soul but the sense, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."
"Behind every exquisite thing that existed there was something tragic."
"Humanity takes itself too seriously. It’s the world’s original sin. If the caveman had known how to laugh, History would have been different. "
"No life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested."
"There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves we feel that no one else has the right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution."
"Actual life was chaos, but there was something terribly logical in the imagination."
That was me being picky. I have tons more. I have revisited them all a number of times...thought about them, not through them, and simply appreciated the words. Words are so powerful. Filled with charge. Is there anything more powerful than words?
I have decided to, in my free time, lose myself in other's words. Today I created a list of what I will be reading. These books are not books that my students are reading, they are just books I want to read. I am doing it for me.
I assigned word photos to my kids. An example of a word photo is this:
LAX
She stood in a waiting room amidst white collars and sleeveless shirts, pleated skirts, and baby bottles. Dirty fingernails fidgeting the top of her suitcase, like a tourist who had no sense of direction. Sneakers suffocating her sock-less feet; as her right toes cowardly hid under the left, she stared at the departure times desperate for a solution. She was battling her darkened eyelids, pleading with them to stay open, while simultaneously struggling to keep her emotions in control. Tears made tiny wade pools in her lower lid, she clenched her jaw, lit her last Parliament and took a seat right there in the corner. Wishing to be invisible.
That is about a time when I went to LA and didn't tell my mom. I missed my flight and didn't have a credit card or a telephone and thought I was pretty screwed. The idea is to freeze time and recreate it with images and senses. Showing, not telling, what the event was that took place. Most of them didn't really get the idea and turned in a narrative. However, a lot of the kids wrote about a very traumatic time: fights their parents had, the fight that we products of divorce know well which acts as a gust of wind that most broken homes cannot withstand, deaths of animals, parents, or friends, or losing their sense of home. CT and I discusses briefly why it is so much easier to remember those tragedies in life. I want to remember a Sunday morning eating my half of the grapefruit, or splitting an Oatmeal Creme Pie into fourths, or something good. My timeline is mostly filled with memories from that painful refuge in my heart that only opens it's door when I need words to write. My biological father, who has been deemed "Driftwood Dad" in many of my writings has butted his way on the page. Why? I never think of that life or him. Why is it that the happy memories slip away into the goings on of life, but these bad memories, the hard ones, wade at the seabed of our minds? I think maybe it is because they are hard and we have to work at them. Bolo in hand we have to find our way out of whatever jungle of madness we have been put into. My mom always said that something is more meaningful if you work for it. Maybe it's the journey that makes them resilient.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Do you hear what I hear?
Megaphones in the hallways, kids in pajamas with artificial freckles painted on their faces, pigtail propellers coming close to sideswiping my face off. Can you guess what this week is?
Homecoming.
I have never realized the wretched powerhouse that is a 16-year-olds vocal cords until 3:40 today. It is my new least favorite thing.
My brain has been a desert lately. I mean, I have been reading, and I have most certainly been thinking, but not too much about questions of the universe that I can apply to my classroom.
I am just trying to figure out my life right now. Forgive me for weak posts...maybe something will knock my brain off balance soon enough and I will have to ponder it. I am always on the lookout for tip-top bumper stickers. I want to start writing again, I just can't find the words I need.
Class is going fine. The kids are being great. I hate grading. We start Flannery O'Connor tomorrow...that makes me happy.
Homecoming.
I have never realized the wretched powerhouse that is a 16-year-olds vocal cords until 3:40 today. It is my new least favorite thing.
My brain has been a desert lately. I mean, I have been reading, and I have most certainly been thinking, but not too much about questions of the universe that I can apply to my classroom.
I am just trying to figure out my life right now. Forgive me for weak posts...maybe something will knock my brain off balance soon enough and I will have to ponder it. I am always on the lookout for tip-top bumper stickers. I want to start writing again, I just can't find the words I need.
Class is going fine. The kids are being great. I hate grading. We start Flannery O'Connor tomorrow...that makes me happy.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Stand-In
Yesterday my sickness and my jammies held me captive and, apparently, that is just what I needed. Read on.
Old man Fronzoni was my partner in crime today. By "partner in crime" I am referring to the shadow of a man in the corner. This fragile substitute shambled aside and got out of my hair. It was pleasant. It was refreshing to teach and not have Big Brother hovering over me with those yellow squinting eyes peering. No! Today my classroom was not the Valley of Ashes, it was my classroom! Perhaps, I haven't realized that I feel I am being watched. I never felt restricted or nervous teaching in front of my CT, but in her absence this pleasant sensation, which is the complete opposite of every other sensation I have had this week (being sick and all), sprang suddenly up from the germy depths and I was "on point" as my students would say! I was being silly and making bad jokes (Ex. A poisonous pickle is inimical) to help them learn vocabulary words, and I may have even whistled a ditty. I guess having your own space makes a difference. I am looking forward to tomorrow, but I should probably begin working on something to share with my darlings.
Old man Fronzoni was my partner in crime today. By "partner in crime" I am referring to the shadow of a man in the corner. This fragile substitute shambled aside and got out of my hair. It was pleasant. It was refreshing to teach and not have Big Brother hovering over me with those yellow squinting eyes peering. No! Today my classroom was not the Valley of Ashes, it was my classroom! Perhaps, I haven't realized that I feel I am being watched. I never felt restricted or nervous teaching in front of my CT, but in her absence this pleasant sensation, which is the complete opposite of every other sensation I have had this week (being sick and all), sprang suddenly up from the germy depths and I was "on point" as my students would say! I was being silly and making bad jokes (Ex. A poisonous pickle is inimical) to help them learn vocabulary words, and I may have even whistled a ditty. I guess having your own space makes a difference. I am looking forward to tomorrow, but I should probably begin working on something to share with my darlings.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Sick Week
What is difficult to understand is that kids don't really care if you are sick. I am. Very.
My kids don't care. I don't know if we are allowed sick days so I have been teaching four classes and suffering from an ailment that I have never had before this week. I started my antibiotics yesterday so hopefully I will not end every day with my head pounding and body aching.
Nothing this week has been too terribly exciting. We are still working on characterization with hopes of having students write an essay on "Everything that Rises Must Converge" next week focusing on one character and the type of characterization used, which means that next weekend I will be grading essays.
Tonight I am attending a presentation of Flannery O'Connor's letters that were recently released at Emory, although I feel like I should be watching reruns in bed with my cat.
CT's husband also works in the school and today he came over to our classroom at the end of the day and saw my Bell Hooks book which sent him on a rant. He doesn't like her (for her feminist writing, not her writing on education), but I was humored and he and I joked about the differences. I like when that happens: two people disagree, but listen to one another and agree to disagree.
No more blogging today. Thursday and Friday my CT is gone and it is just me with a sub.
Maybe I will have interesting stories to share!
My kids don't care. I don't know if we are allowed sick days so I have been teaching four classes and suffering from an ailment that I have never had before this week. I started my antibiotics yesterday so hopefully I will not end every day with my head pounding and body aching.
Nothing this week has been too terribly exciting. We are still working on characterization with hopes of having students write an essay on "Everything that Rises Must Converge" next week focusing on one character and the type of characterization used, which means that next weekend I will be grading essays.
Tonight I am attending a presentation of Flannery O'Connor's letters that were recently released at Emory, although I feel like I should be watching reruns in bed with my cat.
CT's husband also works in the school and today he came over to our classroom at the end of the day and saw my Bell Hooks book which sent him on a rant. He doesn't like her (for her feminist writing, not her writing on education), but I was humored and he and I joked about the differences. I like when that happens: two people disagree, but listen to one another and agree to disagree.
No more blogging today. Thursday and Friday my CT is gone and it is just me with a sub.
Maybe I will have interesting stories to share!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Screen Porches and Nice-Nasty
Today was the second Feather Circle day. It was great. They are still warming up, but "oh joy, joy, jubilee!"
I have chosen lines from many of the student's writing to put up on the wall in the classroom.
After nervously reading my writing that was composed at 8:15 this morning my students told me that I should be an author. It made me feel less crappy for waiting until the last second. This was my second time participating in this assignment. My favorite memory was one of my mother forcing a Morning Glory to open before the sun had risen so I could see how beautiful the flower was. Writing helps you not forget. I got a good mama.
On to my babies...read them all. It is worth it. Promise.
“I am from the honey inside the Honey Suckle plant which I ate day after day.”
“I grew up in a green house with scraggly walls that accounted for many of my childhood cuts.”
“I am an urban child.”
“I love the smallness. I love the closeness. It’s that Southern hospitality that makes me.”
“I am from a British woman who married a Texas man.”
“I am from a huge Jewish family that eats too much and is way too loud.”
“A diversity of religions
Quakers and their oats
Jews and their bagels
Christians and their chocolate Easter rabbits.”
“I’m from the pasture with the little yellow tin-roofed shed.”
“I am the Georgia peach, in a house full of New York apples.”
“When I leave, the city lights beckon me home.”
“Ancient shell-pink bricks are bathed with a breath of salty sea wind. Gnarled live oaks, cascading with curling Spanish moss. Sandy bicycles bumping over cobblestones in the twilight…my first memories of home.”
“I am Charles Gresham, fighting the Battle of the Bulge as a sergeant and a tank commander in the US Army during WWII. I witnessed my own men being torn apart by machine gun fire and murdered by Nazi spies in the dead of night.”
“From the food I eat: Legume, Lambi, Griot, Sauce Pois, Diri et poist, to the language I speak. I am a Haitian Sensation.”
“I have cayenne pepper in my blood and the Mississippi River running through my veins.”
“I am a peapple. A wonderful mix between a New York apple and a Georgia peach.”
“I come from the alarm is a rooster at 7 o’clock in the morning…I come from the dust. I come from Trejo Barranco.”
“You see a place full of fine Southern tradition,
Mixed with Modern ideas
And luxurious details of life.
A house raised by humanism,
Based on human rights and equality.
Based on doing what is right."
“I am split between biscuits and gravy and Pepsi.
Between the civil rights movement
And coalmine cave-ins –
A melting pot of hope and change.”
“My family crests are embedded in Irish history.”
“I’m from an intersection of two culture, traditions, beliefs, and ways of life.”
“Comfy slippers and an old stuffed rabbit named Tuscan.”
“A young mind being molded.”
“Butter yellow house of 14th Avenue. Warm and Inviting. Smells like cinnamon.”
“A book lays open on this cover, it’s pages turning themselves from the gust of the ceiling fan. The cicadas and grasshoppers chirp outside. The faint smell of bleach comes from the sheets, freshly cleaned.”
“I am from sourdough bread and crescent rolls at Thanksgiving.”
“I’m from a place that’s found in a book full of magic carpet rides or wizard’s duels. I’m from a place where anything is possible.”
“Where I’m from there are traffic locked streets, peaches and fairs. I’m from Atlanta; the Dirty South.”
“I am from the sun that shines bright. The one everyone sees every morning and at night it gives hope to the hopeless, and dreams to the sleepless, and keeps a smile on every face.”
“I am from the land of chicken biscuits, waffles, and coke. Surrounded by peanuts and peaches. Where great athletes have come and competed. Where the term “rush hour” is an understatement.”
“I am from the old dirt roads of South Africa where walking was not an obstacle, but a way of life."
“I am from a place where salt water lingers in the air and where you can feel wind tangle your hair as you step outside.”
“I am from the Chanel No. 5 that my mother always wears.”
“It’s bright outside, but not from the sunlight. The city lights are shining on the sheets of the bed. Atlanta, GA, and it’s everything that I thought.”
“Where you are from is what you picture in your mind when someone says “home.”
I have chosen lines from many of the student's writing to put up on the wall in the classroom.
After nervously reading my writing that was composed at 8:15 this morning my students told me that I should be an author. It made me feel less crappy for waiting until the last second. This was my second time participating in this assignment. My favorite memory was one of my mother forcing a Morning Glory to open before the sun had risen so I could see how beautiful the flower was. Writing helps you not forget. I got a good mama.
On to my babies...read them all. It is worth it. Promise.
“I am from the honey inside the Honey Suckle plant which I ate day after day.”
“I grew up in a green house with scraggly walls that accounted for many of my childhood cuts.”
“I am an urban child.”
“I love the smallness. I love the closeness. It’s that Southern hospitality that makes me.”
“I am from a British woman who married a Texas man.”
“I am from a huge Jewish family that eats too much and is way too loud.”
“A diversity of religions
Quakers and their oats
Jews and their bagels
Christians and their chocolate Easter rabbits.”
“I’m from the pasture with the little yellow tin-roofed shed.”
“I am the Georgia peach, in a house full of New York apples.”
“When I leave, the city lights beckon me home.”
“Ancient shell-pink bricks are bathed with a breath of salty sea wind. Gnarled live oaks, cascading with curling Spanish moss. Sandy bicycles bumping over cobblestones in the twilight…my first memories of home.”
“I am Charles Gresham, fighting the Battle of the Bulge as a sergeant and a tank commander in the US Army during WWII. I witnessed my own men being torn apart by machine gun fire and murdered by Nazi spies in the dead of night.”
“From the food I eat: Legume, Lambi, Griot, Sauce Pois, Diri et poist, to the language I speak. I am a Haitian Sensation.”
“I have cayenne pepper in my blood and the Mississippi River running through my veins.”
“I am a peapple. A wonderful mix between a New York apple and a Georgia peach.”
“I come from the alarm is a rooster at 7 o’clock in the morning…I come from the dust. I come from Trejo Barranco.”
“You see a place full of fine Southern tradition,
Mixed with Modern ideas
And luxurious details of life.
A house raised by humanism,
Based on human rights and equality.
Based on doing what is right."
“I am split between biscuits and gravy and Pepsi.
Between the civil rights movement
And coalmine cave-ins –
A melting pot of hope and change.”
“My family crests are embedded in Irish history.”
“I’m from an intersection of two culture, traditions, beliefs, and ways of life.”
“Comfy slippers and an old stuffed rabbit named Tuscan.”
“A young mind being molded.”
“Butter yellow house of 14th Avenue. Warm and Inviting. Smells like cinnamon.”
“A book lays open on this cover, it’s pages turning themselves from the gust of the ceiling fan. The cicadas and grasshoppers chirp outside. The faint smell of bleach comes from the sheets, freshly cleaned.”
“I am from sourdough bread and crescent rolls at Thanksgiving.”
“I’m from a place that’s found in a book full of magic carpet rides or wizard’s duels. I’m from a place where anything is possible.”
“Where I’m from there are traffic locked streets, peaches and fairs. I’m from Atlanta; the Dirty South.”
“I am from the sun that shines bright. The one everyone sees every morning and at night it gives hope to the hopeless, and dreams to the sleepless, and keeps a smile on every face.”
“I am from the land of chicken biscuits, waffles, and coke. Surrounded by peanuts and peaches. Where great athletes have come and competed. Where the term “rush hour” is an understatement.”
“I am from the old dirt roads of South Africa where walking was not an obstacle, but a way of life."
“I am from a place where salt water lingers in the air and where you can feel wind tangle your hair as you step outside.”
“I am from the Chanel No. 5 that my mother always wears.”
“It’s bright outside, but not from the sunlight. The city lights are shining on the sheets of the bed. Atlanta, GA, and it’s everything that I thought.”
“Where you are from is what you picture in your mind when someone says “home.”
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Support our Troops
At 8:45 this morning I watched a video called Invisible Children with my students. The video shared some information about the children who are victims of the 17 year long civil war in Sudan. It tells their story of abduction, rape, and a life of innocence taken from them. Most of the children are orphans. All of the children fear the LRA (Lords Resistance Army) and what will become of them once they are taken from the destitute lives they live under in the basements of flooded hospitals or in the high brush of the forest. These children's games of hide-and-seek have a lot more at stake than any game I have ever played. They aspire to be doctors, lawyers, and teachers. They know they never will be. They fear being murderers; slashing innocent people with machetes for a thrill that they are brainwashed into thriving off of.
It wasn't the most uplifting way to start a morning, but it was a very effective tool to educate those of us who needed to know more (which, in my opinion, is all of us).
Then we moved to two silly seminars and I read The Picture of Dorian Gray while my students yawned through lectures.
The day ended with a welcome home for a teacher who was in the Army Reserves and just returned from Iraq. Picture a high school gym full of students singing Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American." Wacky! I do not support this war. No part of me, not one little fiber in my bleeding heart supports this President's agenda which has taken so many innocent lives. However, I do support our troops. I know that is hard for many right-wings to believe: that one could support living people fighting for an unknown cause, while still completely 100% disagreeing with the purpose. It was hard for me. I am also against recruitment within schools. These children who are told that the Armed Forces are their only hope at a "successful" life don't even know what an IED is. Well, that is, until one of their legs is blown off by one. It is trickery at it's best. Government funded deception. I will most definitely inform my students about the Conscientious Objector status. Anyway, it was a very strange experience to see 300 children welcoming home a teacher, who some of them didn't even know, and singing praises of our country in unison. The war was not glorified or misrepresented. The children were not mislead into believing that this particular teacher's path was the right path or the only path. I respect that.
It was an experience that I needed. I needed to make the division between our troops and Mr. Bush's war. I needed to put that into practice internally.
I did my very favorite thing in the world today: learned.
It wasn't the most uplifting way to start a morning, but it was a very effective tool to educate those of us who needed to know more (which, in my opinion, is all of us).
Then we moved to two silly seminars and I read The Picture of Dorian Gray while my students yawned through lectures.
The day ended with a welcome home for a teacher who was in the Army Reserves and just returned from Iraq. Picture a high school gym full of students singing Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American." Wacky! I do not support this war. No part of me, not one little fiber in my bleeding heart supports this President's agenda which has taken so many innocent lives. However, I do support our troops. I know that is hard for many right-wings to believe: that one could support living people fighting for an unknown cause, while still completely 100% disagreeing with the purpose. It was hard for me. I am also against recruitment within schools. These children who are told that the Armed Forces are their only hope at a "successful" life don't even know what an IED is. Well, that is, until one of their legs is blown off by one. It is trickery at it's best. Government funded deception. I will most definitely inform my students about the Conscientious Objector status. Anyway, it was a very strange experience to see 300 children welcoming home a teacher, who some of them didn't even know, and singing praises of our country in unison. The war was not glorified or misrepresented. The children were not mislead into believing that this particular teacher's path was the right path or the only path. I respect that.
It was an experience that I needed. I needed to make the division between our troops and Mr. Bush's war. I needed to put that into practice internally.
I did my very favorite thing in the world today: learned.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Elephant in the Corner
Wearing earrings, ironing pants, and pinning a mess of hair up can do wonders for a girl trying to look like a professional adult. I thought maybe if I dressed the part then it would be easier to pretend that I knew how to act the part for my first formal observation today.
Being the preplanner that I am I had already created all that I needed for my lesson and used my third period class as a pre-performance warm-up. That word, "perform," was thrown around in my follow-up meeting. I thought it strange how what we teachers do is considered a performance. I have thought of it as that before, sure, but to have another tell me that it was a "remarkable performance" may have rubbed me the wrong way. I am still thinking on that. My "remarkable performance" included opened with me asking my darlings to write in their journals and answer the questions:
Is any one human life more valuable than another?
After that we discussed their answers briefly. Then we did an exercise where we imagine that there is a burning building and on top of this building are people such as a pregnant woman, a child, a doctor, a businessman, a woman of color, a teacher, a construction worker, a professional athlete, etc. The students were told that only one person could get out at a time and it was up to them, individually, to decide what order these people could escape. Blowin' their minds, right? Right! It's what I am here for.
They had real trouble with this, which makes me figure that their strange little bodies house some pretty decent hearts. After most of the class had finished we discussed some answers. For the most part the pregnant woman was first, the child, and the woman of color. I then questioned why, in our society, we have end up feeling this way: women and children first...manly men marching out of the fiery rubble last. I don't even know. We were just talking.
Next I provided them with some more descriptions: pregnant woman is on probation for drug abuse, the child is an orphan, the doctor is Dr. Kevorkian (whom they do not know!), the businessman raises tons of money for all types of charities (vague, vague, vague!), the woman of color was Oprah, the athlete, Michael Vick, the teacher was their favorite (me), and the construction worker was a single mother of two. This really got them. We discussed our preconceived notions about careers, we discussed how we truly do place a value on life based on different factors, and we discussed how it made them feel that I was screwing with them so much. I loved it. They were thinking.
My observer was pleased.
The kids are learning stuff. I think?
My CT was pleased.
I am real tired.
My cat's name is Sully. A wise woman asked that I name it that and I fear if I choose not to accept this suggestion my life will be less rich and I may be cursed for forever...however long that is.
That and she said it was a "gweat" name!
Being the preplanner that I am I had already created all that I needed for my lesson and used my third period class as a pre-performance warm-up. That word, "perform," was thrown around in my follow-up meeting. I thought it strange how what we teachers do is considered a performance. I have thought of it as that before, sure, but to have another tell me that it was a "remarkable performance" may have rubbed me the wrong way. I am still thinking on that. My "remarkable performance" included opened with me asking my darlings to write in their journals and answer the questions:
Is any one human life more valuable than another?
After that we discussed their answers briefly. Then we did an exercise where we imagine that there is a burning building and on top of this building are people such as a pregnant woman, a child, a doctor, a businessman, a woman of color, a teacher, a construction worker, a professional athlete, etc. The students were told that only one person could get out at a time and it was up to them, individually, to decide what order these people could escape. Blowin' their minds, right? Right! It's what I am here for.
They had real trouble with this, which makes me figure that their strange little bodies house some pretty decent hearts. After most of the class had finished we discussed some answers. For the most part the pregnant woman was first, the child, and the woman of color. I then questioned why, in our society, we have end up feeling this way: women and children first...manly men marching out of the fiery rubble last. I don't even know. We were just talking.
Next I provided them with some more descriptions: pregnant woman is on probation for drug abuse, the child is an orphan, the doctor is Dr. Kevorkian (whom they do not know!), the businessman raises tons of money for all types of charities (vague, vague, vague!), the woman of color was Oprah, the athlete, Michael Vick, the teacher was their favorite (me), and the construction worker was a single mother of two. This really got them. We discussed our preconceived notions about careers, we discussed how we truly do place a value on life based on different factors, and we discussed how it made them feel that I was screwing with them so much. I loved it. They were thinking.
My observer was pleased.
The kids are learning stuff. I think?
My CT was pleased.
I am real tired.
My cat's name is Sully. A wise woman asked that I name it that and I fear if I choose not to accept this suggestion my life will be less rich and I may be cursed for forever...however long that is.
That and she said it was a "gweat" name!
Monday, September 17, 2007
Long Monday
Today was a strange one.
I assigned a new Feather Circle topic. I looked into a sea of twisted faces...once again. They are just missing the connection between journaling and public writing. I know why too...because I really haven't taught that! I am having to really squish what I can into my 48 minute class periods and I didn't know how much class time my CT would be willing to spare for a writing program. Now I have decided that next week I will be discussing the writing process with them. Yay mini-lessons! Today I made a large image of the writing process schematic and put it in the front of the room. Tomorrow I will put the Five Commandments of writing in the front of the room. That way it is there for them to see and understand (hopefully) without us having to spend a ton of class time on it.
Tomorrow I will also be formally observed for the first time. I am sort of nervous, but I told my kids that we would have a guest and they needed to make me look real good. I did. No shame.
Journals were pretty interesting. Some of those kids really have thoughts bumping around the inner-workings of their 14 year old black hole's. By thoughts I mean questions; one's that are not dealing with boys and kissing. I got some good stuff and I let them know it was good. Some kids really remind me of me when I was their age. I can tell that those students have a bright future! Haha.
Best part of today by far: one of my "colleagues" in the English Dept. may be moving in or around December. He will know more by mid-October. Maybe I won't be completely broke, standing frostbitten on the corner of Edgewood and Boulevard rapping for my dinner!
I assigned a new Feather Circle topic. I looked into a sea of twisted faces...once again. They are just missing the connection between journaling and public writing. I know why too...because I really haven't taught that! I am having to really squish what I can into my 48 minute class periods and I didn't know how much class time my CT would be willing to spare for a writing program. Now I have decided that next week I will be discussing the writing process with them. Yay mini-lessons! Today I made a large image of the writing process schematic and put it in the front of the room. Tomorrow I will put the Five Commandments of writing in the front of the room. That way it is there for them to see and understand (hopefully) without us having to spend a ton of class time on it.
Tomorrow I will also be formally observed for the first time. I am sort of nervous, but I told my kids that we would have a guest and they needed to make me look real good. I did. No shame.
Journals were pretty interesting. Some of those kids really have thoughts bumping around the inner-workings of their 14 year old black hole's. By thoughts I mean questions; one's that are not dealing with boys and kissing. I got some good stuff and I let them know it was good. Some kids really remind me of me when I was their age. I can tell that those students have a bright future! Haha.
Best part of today by far: one of my "colleagues" in the English Dept. may be moving in or around December. He will know more by mid-October. Maybe I won't be completely broke, standing frostbitten on the corner of Edgewood and Boulevard rapping for my dinner!
Friday, September 14, 2007
Feather Circle Numero Uno
Today was the first Feather Circle. Feather circle reading is a time when we share something that we have written with one another. We sit in a circle. We pass a stick with a feather on it to signify who should be speaking (yes, I made a stick). Most of the writings will be creative, thoughtful, and polished. Focusing on answering a very specific question like “where do you come from” in an abstract way. However, today was a time for the kids to warm up to the idea of the circle, following the rules of the circle (respect!), and getting comfortable sharing with one another. They were to fill out and decorate a sheet listing the following:
Three writings that influenced your life.
Some people outside of your family who influenced you.
Epigraph (which some confused with epitaph)
Things that make you hopeful.
Things that make you lose hope.
Turning points in your life.
Three gifts you bring to this class.
The students did a fantastic job in the circle. We sat on the floor in front of the desks and I think this created a really good vibe. Sitting on the floor kind of showed them that these writings are, and should be, separate from the monotony of everyday schoolwork. They have a hard time just doing. They need to be told, how long an assignment has to be, in what format they have to answer in, and other specifics that you and I would probably never think to ask. It has been challenging trying to get them to just do. I am going to list some of the things that surprised me. My favorite class (4th period) really solidified their position as my class o’ teacher’s pets when they were telling me that the things that made them hopeful and those that made them lose hope. Read on…
Things that made some of my students lose hope:
“The fading in someone’s voice…like when they trail off at the end of their sentences. It shows a lack of confidence in one’s thoughts. That is sad.”
“Global Warming” (Yeah 4th!)
“War” (Yeah 4th!)
“Anxiety”
Things that make my students hopeful:
“Bio-fuel”
“YALE”
“rain”
“The prospect of world peace”
“change”
Epitaphs
“You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes, you can steer yourself in any direction you choose.”
-Dr. Seuss
“To be successful you have to be dumb enough to think you can change the world and smart enough to know how.”
“I live simply so that others may simply live.”
I have saved this for last because it was what struck they most.
Influential People:
Frank Lloyd Wright, All people who have adopted children (especially from Africa), Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Albert Einstein, Abraham Lincoln, Ghandi, Mother Theresa, JFK, and Ms. Furbee, and Ms. Fish, and Ms. Fields.
Those teachers are on lists with world changers, do-gooders, and renowned thinkers. I wanna be one of those teachers.
I have 130 journals in my car right now. It is gonna be a long weekend, BUT these kids are writing!
Three writings that influenced your life.
Some people outside of your family who influenced you.
Epigraph (which some confused with epitaph)
Things that make you hopeful.
Things that make you lose hope.
Turning points in your life.
Three gifts you bring to this class.
The students did a fantastic job in the circle. We sat on the floor in front of the desks and I think this created a really good vibe. Sitting on the floor kind of showed them that these writings are, and should be, separate from the monotony of everyday schoolwork. They have a hard time just doing. They need to be told, how long an assignment has to be, in what format they have to answer in, and other specifics that you and I would probably never think to ask. It has been challenging trying to get them to just do. I am going to list some of the things that surprised me. My favorite class (4th period) really solidified their position as my class o’ teacher’s pets when they were telling me that the things that made them hopeful and those that made them lose hope. Read on…
Things that made some of my students lose hope:
“The fading in someone’s voice…like when they trail off at the end of their sentences. It shows a lack of confidence in one’s thoughts. That is sad.”
“Global Warming” (Yeah 4th!)
“War” (Yeah 4th!)
“Anxiety”
Things that make my students hopeful:
“Bio-fuel”
“YALE”
“rain”
“The prospect of world peace”
“change”
Epitaphs
“You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes, you can steer yourself in any direction you choose.”
-Dr. Seuss
“To be successful you have to be dumb enough to think you can change the world and smart enough to know how.”
“I live simply so that others may simply live.”
I have saved this for last because it was what struck they most.
Influential People:
Frank Lloyd Wright, All people who have adopted children (especially from Africa), Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Albert Einstein, Abraham Lincoln, Ghandi, Mother Theresa, JFK, and Ms. Furbee, and Ms. Fish, and Ms. Fields.
Those teachers are on lists with world changers, do-gooders, and renowned thinkers. I wanna be one of those teachers.
I have 130 journals in my car right now. It is gonna be a long weekend, BUT these kids are writing!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Everyone's got a soft side, right?
My lessons are going great. Yesterday we read "A Respectable Woman" by Kate Chopin and used a silly little graphic organizer with a potato on it. We discussed the importance of character development and picking up on the subtleties that the author offers the reader. It was fun. Easy.
Today we finished up. Assigned literature circle roles and reviewed common mistakes on their summer reading essays (this is a new essay that I spent my weekend grading, not the one that I used for the contest). I designed a suggestion box so my kids could help me name my cat. This is the hardest thing EVER! I am leaning towards Ezra. However, I want a long, dignified name. Ezra is short. Ezra Pound influenced the likes of T.S. Eliot and Yeats. Any really great characters you can think of? I also like Basil and Eliot. The kids told me I should name him Gouvernail or Gaston because of the story we just read. I told them I would consider it. Maybe that could be part of his name. It has to be perfect.
This past weekend, with tears in my eyes, I turned the very last page of The Kite Runner. I really enjoyed the book I have begun The Picture of Dorian Gray and I am going to attempt to read this with my students. Whew! I feel like I am really pushing myself.
Having the week planned in advance has made everything easy. I go in every morning, make copies, order my coffee to be delivered to my room (!!!) and set up. My CT is still unorganized (because she can be and still be a really great teacher), but I have a nice little file drawer where I put all of my materials in particular folders, in a specific order. It works.
Yesterday I observed another teacher's room during one of my planning periods. The 9th grade “regulars” were presenting their life stories. It was a real experience for me. Many students have immigrated to the US from Mexico and their stories were touching. This 200lb. teddy-bear of a boy stood up in front of the class to tell us about the most thrilling points of his life: coming here. He apologized because his board looked “like a girl decorated it” and then, in his heavily accented English he said, “but, you know, everybody’s got a soft side, right?” It was real cute.
So many stories.
Today we finished up. Assigned literature circle roles and reviewed common mistakes on their summer reading essays (this is a new essay that I spent my weekend grading, not the one that I used for the contest). I designed a suggestion box so my kids could help me name my cat. This is the hardest thing EVER! I am leaning towards Ezra. However, I want a long, dignified name. Ezra is short. Ezra Pound influenced the likes of T.S. Eliot and Yeats. Any really great characters you can think of? I also like Basil and Eliot. The kids told me I should name him Gouvernail or Gaston because of the story we just read. I told them I would consider it. Maybe that could be part of his name. It has to be perfect.
This past weekend, with tears in my eyes, I turned the very last page of The Kite Runner. I really enjoyed the book I have begun The Picture of Dorian Gray and I am going to attempt to read this with my students. Whew! I feel like I am really pushing myself.
Having the week planned in advance has made everything easy. I go in every morning, make copies, order my coffee to be delivered to my room (!!!) and set up. My CT is still unorganized (because she can be and still be a really great teacher), but I have a nice little file drawer where I put all of my materials in particular folders, in a specific order. It works.
Yesterday I observed another teacher's room during one of my planning periods. The 9th grade “regulars” were presenting their life stories. It was a real experience for me. Many students have immigrated to the US from Mexico and their stories were touching. This 200lb. teddy-bear of a boy stood up in front of the class to tell us about the most thrilling points of his life: coming here. He apologized because his board looked “like a girl decorated it” and then, in his heavily accented English he said, “but, you know, everybody’s got a soft side, right?” It was real cute.
So many stories.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Rinse and Repeat
I am going to spare you all the details of how amazing my debut performance was in the role of one and only teacher lady and provide you with an overview of my day.
I was prepared.
Each desk had a journal on it.
I had my copies of "Theme for English B" and the Feather Circle rules at the front table.
The kids came in, we worked on identifying prepositional phrases and the verbs/nouns/adverbs they modify and then BLASTOFF!
I asked the students to open the journals on their desks and answer one simple question: "Who are you?" Of course, each period asked a few questions about how length requirements, specifics, and other assignment type stuff that they always expect. Fortunately though they began writing. I sat at the front of the room and wrote along with them. This is what I wrote:
I am a student who is at the end of her journey. Or is this the beginning? As of yesterday I am the proud companion to a 2 month old kitten (name tentative...maybe Digby, Basil, Sprout, or something else). My teacher shoes are growing a bit more comfortable, however, I still have sore spot on my left foot. I am the leader. I am the follower. I am the student I am the teacher. My teacher's are 14 years old. I am learning every day. I am the product of a stubborn Southern man and a tough-as-nails mama from the North. I prefer pedaling over pushing the pedal to the metal. I don't eat anything that had a mother or a face. I find comfort in knowing that books help us outgrow our madness. Help us unlock certain secrets to the world. Within our own souls. Early to bed. Early to rise. That's who I am theses days.
After I read it they clapped...so kind. Three brave students per class read their entries too. Then we had a discussion about the common ways we identify ourselves.
I transitioned into this poem:
Theme for English B
It really sparked great conversation. We discussed who you becomes after "you" is no longer the instructor. I had written "But I guess I'm what I feel and see and hear" on the board and I asked the kids if this was accurate. If we really only those things. I asked if race defines us. I asked if the music we listen to defines us. I asked if I define them and they define me. I discussed the relationship that we were destined to have and how whether any of us like it or not, we are all a part of one another now. We are part of one another's journey. Hughes is a part of our journey too. We are "you."
The kids clapped after the poem was read aloud.
Um, what else? I explained the feather circles.
I gotta find a stick before Friday!
About three of the kids have done Feather Circles before. Apparently, those three had the wife of a writing professor from my university as their 8th grade teacher. Coincidence.
They should be well versed in the ways of the circle.
By fifth period I was flying through, comfortable with everything, and I didn't miss a beat. I really hope the feather circles are successful. We'll see.
Discussion rules. Poetry rules. My cat rules. I need to name the little darling.
The first movie we watched together was Dead Poet's Society. "Oh Captain, my Captain!"
I was prepared.
Each desk had a journal on it.
I had my copies of "Theme for English B" and the Feather Circle rules at the front table.
The kids came in, we worked on identifying prepositional phrases and the verbs/nouns/adverbs they modify and then BLASTOFF!
I asked the students to open the journals on their desks and answer one simple question: "Who are you?" Of course, each period asked a few questions about how length requirements, specifics, and other assignment type stuff that they always expect. Fortunately though they began writing. I sat at the front of the room and wrote along with them. This is what I wrote:
I am a student who is at the end of her journey. Or is this the beginning? As of yesterday I am the proud companion to a 2 month old kitten (name tentative...maybe Digby, Basil, Sprout, or something else). My teacher shoes are growing a bit more comfortable, however, I still have sore spot on my left foot. I am the leader. I am the follower. I am the student I am the teacher. My teacher's are 14 years old. I am learning every day. I am the product of a stubborn Southern man and a tough-as-nails mama from the North. I prefer pedaling over pushing the pedal to the metal. I don't eat anything that had a mother or a face. I find comfort in knowing that books help us outgrow our madness. Help us unlock certain secrets to the world. Within our own souls. Early to bed. Early to rise. That's who I am theses days.
After I read it they clapped...so kind. Three brave students per class read their entries too. Then we had a discussion about the common ways we identify ourselves.
I transitioned into this poem:
Theme for English B
It really sparked great conversation. We discussed who you becomes after "you" is no longer the instructor. I had written "But I guess I'm what I feel and see and hear" on the board and I asked the kids if this was accurate. If we really only those things. I asked if race defines us. I asked if the music we listen to defines us. I asked if I define them and they define me. I discussed the relationship that we were destined to have and how whether any of us like it or not, we are all a part of one another now. We are part of one another's journey. Hughes is a part of our journey too. We are "you."
The kids clapped after the poem was read aloud.
Um, what else? I explained the feather circles.
I gotta find a stick before Friday!
About three of the kids have done Feather Circles before. Apparently, those three had the wife of a writing professor from my university as their 8th grade teacher. Coincidence.
They should be well versed in the ways of the circle.
By fifth period I was flying through, comfortable with everything, and I didn't miss a beat. I really hope the feather circles are successful. We'll see.
Discussion rules. Poetry rules. My cat rules. I need to name the little darling.
The first movie we watched together was Dead Poet's Society. "Oh Captain, my Captain!"
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
She's Got a Pulse!
I am alive.
This week has been pretty slow, but next week will be very interesting as I am creating a unit right now and will be implementing it starting Monday. What I am teaching will be a surprise for you all. You will just have to read next week to find out! Here are some hints: I am an easily distracted Southern feminist who disapproves of racism and other forms of discrimination alike. I value expression of all forms and I like poetry. Stay tuned...
My students have been presenting their ABRs ("alternative book reports" for those of you not down with the eduspeak). What a success! I grade them with ease, simply filling out the rubrics as the students sing songs, act out skits, play movie trailors, or pull symbolic objects out of a brown bag. I have had a variety of presentations: sock puppets, radioesque recordings, paintings, fake tattoos full of symbolism, video representations, song and dance...the list goes on.
Our first Spectrum meeting was this morning. Spectrum is a Gay Straight Alliance at our school that acts as a support group and raises awareness. From my understanding it is less political - more social. Students and teachers alike participate in the Day of Silence, and this is a club that works towards acceptance and tolerance. I am glad to be at a school that hosts this club and these principles.
My thoughts keep drifting back to the idea of going to another country for six months or a year in January and teaching English. It is prime time for me to take my life by the balls (pardon the language) and, besides, I got some soul searching/internal excavatin' to do. It will probably just spark my flame and fill me with the wanderlust though. I may never return.
-OR-
If you know my folks talk them into sending me to Chile for a month or so after graduation!!! You know, Moms, for research!
Some friends of mine had a healthy baby boy today! That kid has an amazing adventure ahead of him!
This week has been pretty slow, but next week will be very interesting as I am creating a unit right now and will be implementing it starting Monday. What I am teaching will be a surprise for you all. You will just have to read next week to find out! Here are some hints: I am an easily distracted Southern feminist who disapproves of racism and other forms of discrimination alike. I value expression of all forms and I like poetry. Stay tuned...
My students have been presenting their ABRs ("alternative book reports" for those of you not down with the eduspeak). What a success! I grade them with ease, simply filling out the rubrics as the students sing songs, act out skits, play movie trailors, or pull symbolic objects out of a brown bag. I have had a variety of presentations: sock puppets, radioesque recordings, paintings, fake tattoos full of symbolism, video representations, song and dance...the list goes on.
Our first Spectrum meeting was this morning. Spectrum is a Gay Straight Alliance at our school that acts as a support group and raises awareness. From my understanding it is less political - more social. Students and teachers alike participate in the Day of Silence, and this is a club that works towards acceptance and tolerance. I am glad to be at a school that hosts this club and these principles.
My thoughts keep drifting back to the idea of going to another country for six months or a year in January and teaching English. It is prime time for me to take my life by the balls (pardon the language) and, besides, I got some soul searching/internal excavatin' to do. It will probably just spark my flame and fill me with the wanderlust though. I may never return.
-OR-
If you know my folks talk them into sending me to Chile for a month or so after graduation!!! You know, Moms, for research!
Some friends of mine had a healthy baby boy today! That kid has an amazing adventure ahead of him!
Friday, August 31, 2007
Fill Me Up
Oliver was a humble 8 year old. He and I would meet at the pond behind my house; we called it a lake because, to us, it was as if this "lake" stretched into the sky. Truth be told, we were runts for our age, and this is probably why it seemed so vast. He was only two inches taller than me at 4 ft. or so, and my voice was a complete octave lower than his. Oliver would pack his overall pockets with bubblegum and taffy, and I would bring fruit drinks to our secret meeting spot. We would share the minutiae of our school days and our home life; listening intently, Oliver was quite a friend...we were quite a pair. The afternoon before our last day of school Oliver was a bit late arriving to our secret hideaway, which was out of character for him. When his freckled face finally appeared through the thicket he was hunched over recovering from a long run, stealing breaths from the sterile South GA air...but man was Oliver beaming! He reached into his sock and pulled out the smallest Swiss Army knife I have ever seen. This was the day that Oliver and I paid tribute to our puerile love, or at least, what we understood it to be then. On the strongest tree rooted in the bank of that pond, we carved our initials as proof that Oliver and C would be friends forever. Sadly, when you're 8 forever is fleeting, and Oliver moved to Minnesota with his family the following year. I thought of Oliver today while listening to a radio interview with a professor who was in the building that was attacked during the VA Tech "massacre." He was discussing his feelings about building a memorial for those who were lost and said that he preferred not to have the memorial under the building where the shooting took place and this was his explanation, or as best as I can remember it:
He said every day he walks into that building and remembers his colleagues and the students who were lost. He also remembers that he has a mission, just as they did. He said that he does not need a tangible symbol to remember these lost friends, because their legacy lives within him and within the permanently damaged walls of that building. So, he wanted to leave this building intact because it alone serves as a memorial for those lost. There was a memorial put up on VA Tech campus, but not under that particular building.
As I was passing the private school on the way to work after hearing that story I started thinking about what that professor said regarding people's desire to have tangible symbols. I noticed the Jaguar in my rear view mirror and the Hummer pulling out of the private school. My eyes settled on my right ring finger and saw the heirloom that is now mine. I thought of Oliver and our tree.
Why isn't the legacy enough? What is so inaccessible about a memory? We know what love is. We can remember what love was. We remember sharing juice boxes.
Then I thought about my classroom. Why, if people have an ample amount of money, must they drive that Escalade and carry the Dolce and Gabbana handbag? Why not take a trip, experience another culture, live a day in another's shoes. No, you can't put your memories safely into the silk pocket and clasp the diamond fastener. No one can look at you or your stuff and know that you have experienced the world, but isn't a South American sunrise better than a souvenir from a gift shop or an $800 pair of shoes? Just knowing, remembering, and experiencing that growth; why can't those things fill us up? Why do we fill up our space with things?
I remember Oliver and his freckles, and his sincerity...we didn't need that old pine.
My lesson on symbolism has just expanded. Let's study it in the context of everyday life.
He said every day he walks into that building and remembers his colleagues and the students who were lost. He also remembers that he has a mission, just as they did. He said that he does not need a tangible symbol to remember these lost friends, because their legacy lives within him and within the permanently damaged walls of that building. So, he wanted to leave this building intact because it alone serves as a memorial for those lost. There was a memorial put up on VA Tech campus, but not under that particular building.
As I was passing the private school on the way to work after hearing that story I started thinking about what that professor said regarding people's desire to have tangible symbols. I noticed the Jaguar in my rear view mirror and the Hummer pulling out of the private school. My eyes settled on my right ring finger and saw the heirloom that is now mine. I thought of Oliver and our tree.
Why isn't the legacy enough? What is so inaccessible about a memory? We know what love is. We can remember what love was. We remember sharing juice boxes.
Then I thought about my classroom. Why, if people have an ample amount of money, must they drive that Escalade and carry the Dolce and Gabbana handbag? Why not take a trip, experience another culture, live a day in another's shoes. No, you can't put your memories safely into the silk pocket and clasp the diamond fastener. No one can look at you or your stuff and know that you have experienced the world, but isn't a South American sunrise better than a souvenir from a gift shop or an $800 pair of shoes? Just knowing, remembering, and experiencing that growth; why can't those things fill us up? Why do we fill up our space with things?
I remember Oliver and his freckles, and his sincerity...we didn't need that old pine.
My lesson on symbolism has just expanded. Let's study it in the context of everyday life.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Suggestion Box
It's settled! I begin planning for my lessons A.S.A.P.
Today, CT and I voiced our displeasure with Things Fall Apart and, while I was a little nervous about doing so, there was no reason to be afraid. Our comments conjured up an agreeable sparkle in our colleague's blue eyes accompanied by a half-smirk that revealed her similar sentiments. So, the plan as of now is to teach whatever I would like to. [deep breath]
While this new assignment made me grin like the 9th grade girls who just landed a position on the JV Pep Squad, it also made my head spin. Making a decision to teach whatever I want is as hard of a decision as picking my favorite sugar cereal, or my favorite Will Oldham song...
I know that I have to cover some African literature, which I plan to tackle with short stories and poetry. I will need to spend no more than two weeks on that. Following those last two weeks of African Literature, the kids will begin a research project that I do not have any say in. It is being planned by the Social Studies Department. It will be my job, not to aid in picking a topic of research, but to help students write their papers. I am thinking that the paper will be a social action research paper, or at least hoping so, and I want to spend my weeks of teaching focusing on social issues/social injustices, which is probably not a surprise to those of you who know me well.
I am at a bit of a crossroads now though. On one side, I want to write! I want those kids to think of themselves as writers, to feel comfortable with their words, and to own their creativity. Then, I have about four weeks to teach whatever I want. ? Flannery O'Connor, yes. Maya Angleou, yes. Feminist Literature, yes. How can I, in 45 minutes have students do all of the things that I want for them to do?
I have not thought of an all-encompassing "title" for this unit that CT and I are currently working on piecing together. I have another week and plenty of material saved up, but this is REAL. I have created hypothetical units and lessons, but this is REAL. Suggestions people?
I am almost finished with The Kite Runner. I may even finish tonight. For this to be Hosseini's first novel, it is really impressive. I recommend it and I don't even know the ending yet.
Tomorrow, and the next 12 Fridays, my students will be working with their Talented and Gifted teacher. Tomorrow, comfort, in the form of jeans. will be carrying me through the day and ending my second full week of being a "teacher."
Today, CT and I voiced our displeasure with Things Fall Apart and, while I was a little nervous about doing so, there was no reason to be afraid. Our comments conjured up an agreeable sparkle in our colleague's blue eyes accompanied by a half-smirk that revealed her similar sentiments. So, the plan as of now is to teach whatever I would like to. [deep breath]
While this new assignment made me grin like the 9th grade girls who just landed a position on the JV Pep Squad, it also made my head spin. Making a decision to teach whatever I want is as hard of a decision as picking my favorite sugar cereal, or my favorite Will Oldham song...
I know that I have to cover some African literature, which I plan to tackle with short stories and poetry. I will need to spend no more than two weeks on that. Following those last two weeks of African Literature, the kids will begin a research project that I do not have any say in. It is being planned by the Social Studies Department. It will be my job, not to aid in picking a topic of research, but to help students write their papers. I am thinking that the paper will be a social action research paper, or at least hoping so, and I want to spend my weeks of teaching focusing on social issues/social injustices, which is probably not a surprise to those of you who know me well.
I am at a bit of a crossroads now though. On one side, I want to write! I want those kids to think of themselves as writers, to feel comfortable with their words, and to own their creativity. Then, I have about four weeks to teach whatever I want. ? Flannery O'Connor, yes. Maya Angleou, yes. Feminist Literature, yes. How can I, in 45 minutes have students do all of the things that I want for them to do?
I have not thought of an all-encompassing "title" for this unit that CT and I are currently working on piecing together. I have another week and plenty of material saved up, but this is REAL. I have created hypothetical units and lessons, but this is REAL. Suggestions people?
I am almost finished with The Kite Runner. I may even finish tonight. For this to be Hosseini's first novel, it is really impressive. I recommend it and I don't even know the ending yet.
Tomorrow, and the next 12 Fridays, my students will be working with their Talented and Gifted teacher. Tomorrow, comfort, in the form of jeans. will be carrying me through the day and ending my second full week of being a "teacher."
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Zuccini of Indignation?
Over the summer I read Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe to prepare for the semester. This book is not a page-turner, in fact, it is the opposite of a page-turner. Like a coaster or a door stop. It isn't that bad, but it definitely isn't good. The plan was to introduce an interdisciplinary/cross-curriculum unit so that the students could learn about Africa in Social Studies while we learn about African culture in English. I really like the idea of interdisciplinary units, however, I do not like feeling like the English class I am teaching is simply supplementary to Social Studies, and on top of that nasty feeling, the students all read Things Fall Apart over the summer! Instead of fretting on how this could really throw our planning off track, I suggested that we just teach something else! Simple solutions! First, we discuss TFA for a day because it was boring and the kids have already told us (numerous) times that they loathe the very paper it is printed on. Then I find a great narrative, some poetry, some artwork from Rwanda and discuss the genocide in Africa. Then we tie in current events, meaning the genocide in Darfur, and have a discussion! Glorious discussion! My CT didn't say no, and even emailed the rest of the department about the possibility of not teaching Things Fall Apart.
Keep your fingers crossed.
Fun actually filled my day today in that nerdy English teacher way!
We assigned a book list for Literature Circles which should probably, if all goes well, begin next week. This is no ordinary 9th grade book list. This book list is rad! Here are some titles:
Great Expectations
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
The Secret Life of Bees
The Grapes of Wrath
Fahrenheit 451
Catch 22
Slaughterhouse 5
To Kill a Mockingbird
The Kite Runner
That isn't even all of them. There are more! The kids really seemed to be interested in the classics, which blew me away and made me skip from alien child to alien child asking what type of books they were interested in. Some of the girls are reading Jane Austen and the boys are getting to know Mr. Oscar Wilde. Wow-wow-wow! I am going to finish The Kite Runner by Friday so I can join one of their Literature circles with a brand new book!
One of the kids even thought this was hilarious!
[Steinbeck - stuck on the title page.]
My sweet little nerds!
Lastly, while there were a lot of finalists for the "funniest error" category in the essays that I was grading, my favorite was the student who has ambitions to attend an "IV League School."
Keep your fingers crossed.
Fun actually filled my day today in that nerdy English teacher way!
We assigned a book list for Literature Circles which should probably, if all goes well, begin next week. This is no ordinary 9th grade book list. This book list is rad! Here are some titles:
Great Expectations
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
The Secret Life of Bees
The Grapes of Wrath
Fahrenheit 451
Catch 22
Slaughterhouse 5
To Kill a Mockingbird
The Kite Runner
That isn't even all of them. There are more! The kids really seemed to be interested in the classics, which blew me away and made me skip from alien child to alien child asking what type of books they were interested in. Some of the girls are reading Jane Austen and the boys are getting to know Mr. Oscar Wilde. Wow-wow-wow! I am going to finish The Kite Runner by Friday so I can join one of their Literature circles with a brand new book!
One of the kids even thought this was hilarious!
[Steinbeck - stuck on the title page.]My sweet little nerds!
Lastly, while there were a lot of finalists for the "funniest error" category in the essays that I was grading, my favorite was the student who has ambitions to attend an "IV League School."
Monday, August 27, 2007
Repairing the Damage of the Day
Oh how I wish to be sitting in my Power Wheel retracing my path through the cul-de-sac or drinking toxic green Hi-C and eating Oatmeal Creme Pies under the shade of a Sycamore! Times they are a-changin,' whether I am ready or not. If any of you know exercises that bearded wise men used to strengthen their souls in times of trouble then please, tell me. My times are troubled and I need to toughen up, because I am not ready.
This weekend I spent four hours too many in a coffee shop, with a red pen in hand, vacantly staring at papers full of disconnected thoughts wondering, "how can I fix this?" I realized that I didn't feel very confident marking these kid's grammar errors. I studied Literature in college. I read novels, searched poems for secret truths, wrote papers, and participated in discussion. I was pretty good at all of that. During my time in school I took one grammar class. One. I made an A, I think.
I don't remember much from that class because it seems that every grammar rule has an exception at the right time and place. I just look for writing worth reading. Writing that is engaging. I want to hear my student's voices coming through their words. Maybe they will use fragments, but I want them to know how to use them effectively! Give me real writing, small writing, writing that is from the heart, and I will give you a break.
I picked up The Kite Runner Saturday morning and was sucked in for a few hours. I do not consider myself to be a fast reader, but I read 1/3 of the book in one quick sitting! It is an emotionally challenging book, one that I am probably not equipped to read right now, but maybe it'll make me stronger. I am also picking up Virginia Woolf as often as possible so I can take my lead from her...her pen painted masterpieces! She was an unforgiving, firebrick of a woman who makes me stronger each time I study her eloquent finger-pointing techniques.
Tomorrow should be fun. Today was interesting. Each day is new, that's for sure.
I leave you with something good,
"Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known only to him by his heart, and his friends can only read the title."
-V. Woolf
This weekend I spent four hours too many in a coffee shop, with a red pen in hand, vacantly staring at papers full of disconnected thoughts wondering, "how can I fix this?" I realized that I didn't feel very confident marking these kid's grammar errors. I studied Literature in college. I read novels, searched poems for secret truths, wrote papers, and participated in discussion. I was pretty good at all of that. During my time in school I took one grammar class. One. I made an A, I think.
I don't remember much from that class because it seems that every grammar rule has an exception at the right time and place. I just look for writing worth reading. Writing that is engaging. I want to hear my student's voices coming through their words. Maybe they will use fragments, but I want them to know how to use them effectively! Give me real writing, small writing, writing that is from the heart, and I will give you a break.
I picked up The Kite Runner Saturday morning and was sucked in for a few hours. I do not consider myself to be a fast reader, but I read 1/3 of the book in one quick sitting! It is an emotionally challenging book, one that I am probably not equipped to read right now, but maybe it'll make me stronger. I am also picking up Virginia Woolf as often as possible so I can take my lead from her...her pen painted masterpieces! She was an unforgiving, firebrick of a woman who makes me stronger each time I study her eloquent finger-pointing techniques.
Tomorrow should be fun. Today was interesting. Each day is new, that's for sure.
I leave you with something good,
"Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known only to him by his heart, and his friends can only read the title."
-V. Woolf
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Man v. Self
I've done it! I completed my first real week as a "teacher." I am starting to feel a sense of belonging in the classroom, but not quite in the front of it. It is strange entering a new environment and being thrown on stage and asked to perform. My CT is actually allowing me to ease into leading the class in whatever way I feel comfortable doing so which alleviates my anxiety. So far I have been an active part of class discussions, answering questions for the students, and helping with group work. I just get nervous when I am in the front of the room...all alone...crickets chirping. No, I do alright, but am unsure of myself and the kids can probably smell it on me.
Today I took some time to sit and reflect on the way I am feeling. I have discovered that my uneasiness rests on trying to find a balance. When I told my CT she said she was still in search of one (she has been teaching for 9 years!). My internal conflict is based on the desire, or need, to be myself in the classroom while still being the "authoritarian." I don't like that word. I just want my kids to come into my classroom and act like people, read a book, discuss it, question the universe, and leave to write some type of existential journal entry under a Willow tree. When you are finished laughing consider how strange it is to transition from teacher to student while simultaneously transitioning from college kid to working lady and trying to figure it all out before 130 miniature people eat you alive. It's weird, but I feel 68% confident after my first week, so by the middle of next week maybe I will be blowin' those kid's minds!
I brought home a lot of papers to read and grade this weekend. The students are studying elements of poetry and fiction so they had to write a story of their lives in accordance with the plot sequence of a story (exposition, initial incident, rising action...). They could begin making the story fictional after the rising action, as CT and I hope they have not reached the climax of their lives at age 14. It should be very interesting...I am sure that I will have much to write about after reading them all.
On a end note, I have changed my mind. Casual Friday rules.
Today I took some time to sit and reflect on the way I am feeling. I have discovered that my uneasiness rests on trying to find a balance. When I told my CT she said she was still in search of one (she has been teaching for 9 years!). My internal conflict is based on the desire, or need, to be myself in the classroom while still being the "authoritarian." I don't like that word. I just want my kids to come into my classroom and act like people, read a book, discuss it, question the universe, and leave to write some type of existential journal entry under a Willow tree. When you are finished laughing consider how strange it is to transition from teacher to student while simultaneously transitioning from college kid to working lady and trying to figure it all out before 130 miniature people eat you alive. It's weird, but I feel 68% confident after my first week, so by the middle of next week maybe I will be blowin' those kid's minds!
I brought home a lot of papers to read and grade this weekend. The students are studying elements of poetry and fiction so they had to write a story of their lives in accordance with the plot sequence of a story (exposition, initial incident, rising action...). They could begin making the story fictional after the rising action, as CT and I hope they have not reached the climax of their lives at age 14. It should be very interesting...I am sure that I will have much to write about after reading them all.
On a end note, I have changed my mind. Casual Friday rules.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Caste and Color
Today I experienced Mr. Stalinsworth's* 10th grade Magnet class which is actually just a regular-level 10th grade class. The lesson had already begun when I entered so I snuck over to a comfy green chair in the corner. In attempt to open up discussion on Antigone, which they had just finished reading, he asked his class to identify the tragic hero. The blank and twisted looks on their faces did not keep their difficulty in discerning between which character better fit the bill, Creon or Antigone, a secret. Mr. S then began to discuss characteristics of a tragic hero. You know, the ability to provoke both pity and terror, a hero who is not thoroughly good or evil, but a good mix of both, and, of course, the fatal flaw that wipes out any chance of greatness and dooms our heroes to fall.
As the students were determining who fell harder, Antigone or Creon I noticed that all but one of the students in this 10th grade “Magnet” classroom were either black or Hispanic with one white child sitting suspiciously close the to the teacher’s desk. This got me thinking about the structure of class levels within the school and the requirements to be in a class that is on a certain level. So being the curious student teacher-lady that I am, I began asking a few questions…which resulted in interesting answers.
The students need not pass any tests to be a part of the honors or AP classes, their parents must simply sign a waiver stating that their son or daughter is far too brilliant to be in a regular level class. I suppose the school began calling all regular level classes Magnet because the school is a Magnet school…or because even the lowest caste needs a title? To my dismay I realized that the class levels are just another type of systematic segregation. To be perfectly clear, today I learned that just because Mrs. McDiamond may not want her little Winfred Stratham II participating in the same lesson as Marquis and Diego, Jr. gets to move on up in our hierarchy of learning. This blows my mind coming from a school that celebrates diversity. Students are in my classroom from all over the world! I have Romanian students, South African students, students from Brazil and Canada! You know what? I don’t mind, and actually would prefer, also mixing in a few from the 4th ward or Mexico…give me some flavor, some insight, let’s see what they have to bring to the table. I suppose you have to please the community in which you serve. After all, we teachers and teachers-to-be are public servants.
Eventually, Mr. S’s class decided that Creon was the tragic hero in Antigone because he learned the quintessential lesson that Greek tragedies offer and had an identifiable fatal flaw. Observing his 5th period led me develop a new found respect for these heroes and got me thinking about humanities flaws. I have begun to wonder if our fatal flaw will be the inability to stop measuring the worth of people based on frivolous (vocab word today) features. Really, what does the color of a child’s skin tell us about his/her ability or willingness and desire to learn? I don't want to be doomed to failure. Thoughts on progress...
*The names used in this blog are and will always be fictional.
As the students were determining who fell harder, Antigone or Creon I noticed that all but one of the students in this 10th grade “Magnet” classroom were either black or Hispanic with one white child sitting suspiciously close the to the teacher’s desk. This got me thinking about the structure of class levels within the school and the requirements to be in a class that is on a certain level. So being the curious student teacher-lady that I am, I began asking a few questions…which resulted in interesting answers.
The students need not pass any tests to be a part of the honors or AP classes, their parents must simply sign a waiver stating that their son or daughter is far too brilliant to be in a regular level class. I suppose the school began calling all regular level classes Magnet because the school is a Magnet school…or because even the lowest caste needs a title? To my dismay I realized that the class levels are just another type of systematic segregation. To be perfectly clear, today I learned that just because Mrs. McDiamond may not want her little Winfred Stratham II participating in the same lesson as Marquis and Diego, Jr. gets to move on up in our hierarchy of learning. This blows my mind coming from a school that celebrates diversity. Students are in my classroom from all over the world! I have Romanian students, South African students, students from Brazil and Canada! You know what? I don’t mind, and actually would prefer, also mixing in a few from the 4th ward or Mexico…give me some flavor, some insight, let’s see what they have to bring to the table. I suppose you have to please the community in which you serve. After all, we teachers and teachers-to-be are public servants.
Eventually, Mr. S’s class decided that Creon was the tragic hero in Antigone because he learned the quintessential lesson that Greek tragedies offer and had an identifiable fatal flaw. Observing his 5th period led me develop a new found respect for these heroes and got me thinking about humanities flaws. I have begun to wonder if our fatal flaw will be the inability to stop measuring the worth of people based on frivolous (vocab word today) features. Really, what does the color of a child’s skin tell us about his/her ability or willingness and desire to learn? I don't want to be doomed to failure. Thoughts on progress...
*The names used in this blog are and will always be fictional.
Monday, August 20, 2007
First Day Jitters, Teacher Costumes, and Germs
Regardless of your age or how many times you enter the dimly-lit halls of high school I have learned that the anxiety never lessens. My first day I intentionally drove past the school while trying to gain my composure then immediately went into the faculty restroom where I stared myself in the face for a quick pep-talk. I have been in the classroom only three days, and tried on at least forty different outfits. Dressing like a teacher has proven to be the most difficult part of the job so far. I am fearful of Casual Fridays...don't want to be too casual and get mistaken for a student for a SECOND time. That’s right.
Ms. K's classroom has no inspirational posters, no special gold star bulletin board, and no hiding spot (believe me, I have looked). I appreciate the simplicity of it, but wish there were more windows. The 130 puberty-splattered faces that enter daily are 9th grade honor's students who, for the most part, have a minute interest in learning. I look forward to my second period class of "regular-level" seniors who forget their books often, but never their attitudes. They are pretty sassy...bring a little more diversity to the table. Those of you who know me know that I appreciate a good challenge.
The material is rather...easy? Maybe I expected to walk into my classroom with a copy of “Dover Beach” in my back pocket, sit Indian-style on a desk, and be amazed at the brilliance that pours from my mouth and theirs as we discuss Arnold’s newfound hopelessness in humanity. As some of you guys have probably realized, that isn't exactly what 9th graders are ready for. The material will become more difficult, I will actually begin teaching instead of observing and things will more than likely pick up. As of now, I have been approached for advice on Classroom Management (which was awfully flattering), I have offered a suggestion for a summer reading assessment that was widely accepted in my department, and learned almost all of 4th period's names (my greatest accomplishment thus far). I am a very lucky lady and have been placed with a very laid-back mentor teacher at a school where two of my colleagues (strange to say that) are friends.
Today I observed our I.B. (International Baccalaureate) teacher's senior class. Some would consider these kids the best and brightest in the school. He is a very unique teacher with a full mustache and a real passion for traveling, movies, and literature. His walls are littered with movie posters and pictures from his annual trips to Europe. The class was reading Heart of Darkness and the students really knew their stuff, as did the teacher. He supplemented the story with T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men" which made my nerdy little modernist heart flutter. Performing it more than reading it, he really filled the room with energy. He has mastered his style and I am a huge fan of it. Maybe one day I will find the confidence to be zany with my kids. For now I am going to focus on dressing like a big girl, breathing regularly, and knowing my material well enough to not stutter over it from the front of the room...the style will (hopefully) come later.
Ms. K's classroom has no inspirational posters, no special gold star bulletin board, and no hiding spot (believe me, I have looked). I appreciate the simplicity of it, but wish there were more windows. The 130 puberty-splattered faces that enter daily are 9th grade honor's students who, for the most part, have a minute interest in learning. I look forward to my second period class of "regular-level" seniors who forget their books often, but never their attitudes. They are pretty sassy...bring a little more diversity to the table. Those of you who know me know that I appreciate a good challenge.
The material is rather...easy? Maybe I expected to walk into my classroom with a copy of “Dover Beach” in my back pocket, sit Indian-style on a desk, and be amazed at the brilliance that pours from my mouth and theirs as we discuss Arnold’s newfound hopelessness in humanity. As some of you guys have probably realized, that isn't exactly what 9th graders are ready for. The material will become more difficult, I will actually begin teaching instead of observing and things will more than likely pick up. As of now, I have been approached for advice on Classroom Management (which was awfully flattering), I have offered a suggestion for a summer reading assessment that was widely accepted in my department, and learned almost all of 4th period's names (my greatest accomplishment thus far). I am a very lucky lady and have been placed with a very laid-back mentor teacher at a school where two of my colleagues (strange to say that) are friends.
Today I observed our I.B. (International Baccalaureate) teacher's senior class. Some would consider these kids the best and brightest in the school. He is a very unique teacher with a full mustache and a real passion for traveling, movies, and literature. His walls are littered with movie posters and pictures from his annual trips to Europe. The class was reading Heart of Darkness and the students really knew their stuff, as did the teacher. He supplemented the story with T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men" which made my nerdy little modernist heart flutter. Performing it more than reading it, he really filled the room with energy. He has mastered his style and I am a huge fan of it. Maybe one day I will find the confidence to be zany with my kids. For now I am going to focus on dressing like a big girl, breathing regularly, and knowing my material well enough to not stutter over it from the front of the room...the style will (hopefully) come later.
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