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.

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."

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."

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

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.

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.

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.