Balancing the Madness

I have been trying to read for pleasure in an attempt to balance the madness that is right now.  

I am keeping to essays and poetry, both of which, like TVDs as opposed to movies, are much less of a time commitment, as time is a commodity right now.

From The Algebra of Infinite Justice by Arundhati Roy

          excerpt taken from "The End of Imagination"

"To love.  To be loved.  To never forget your own insignificance.  To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you.  To seek joy in the saddest of places.  To pursue beauty to its lair.  To never simplify what is complicated and never complicate what is simple.  To respect strength, never power.  Above all, to watch.  To try and understand.  To never look away.  And never, never, to forget." 

[on living while you are alive]

From Beautiful Losers by Leonard Cohen

"What is a saint?"

"What is a saint?  A saint is someone who has achieved a remote human possibility.  It is impossible to say what that possibility is.  I think it has something to do with the energy of love.  Contact with this energy results in the exercise of a kind of balance in the chaos of existence.  A saint does not dissolve the chaos; if he did the world would have changed long ago.  I do not think that a saint dissolves the chaos even for himself, for there is something arrogant and warlike in the notion of a man setting the universe in order.  It is a kind of balance that is his glory.  He rides the drifts like an escaped ski.  His course is a caress of the hill.  His track is a drawing of the snow in a moment of its particular arrangement with wind and rock. Something in him so loves the world that he gives himself to the laws of gravity and chance.  Far from flying with the angels, he traces with the fidelity of a seismograph needle the state of the solid body landscape.  His house is dangerous and finite, but he is at home in the world.  He can love the shapes of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart.  It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love."

These thoughts help me to realize that my driving passion is love.  Those who do not understand my pursuits in life, who write me off as a hippy wanting to study trivial matters, who think it strange that I want to better understand human beings and the effects of history on us and the ways in which we will affect the history that has yet to come, are not guided by the same passions.  I will try to love and understand those people as well, as they are human beings just as I am.

Here's to Feeling Good, Here's to Feeling Bad

Einstein said that one should "try not to become a man of success but rather try to become a man of value."

He was smart guy, but still not smart enough to use gender neutral language.   This idea of success and how to define it is always pressing on my heart.  How do I know that I have been successful?  When will I know?

I question what Einstein would have classified as "value."  Does value amount to goodness?  Is being good doing the right thing?  What is the right thing?  Life never stops punching me in the face with questions. 

My life has become a terribly stressful attempt to prove myself.  I have spent three months on a paper that is still incomplete and that, with deadlines fast approaching, I am turning my nose up at.  It isn't good enough.  I am not good enough.  

22 pages, three months, 400 cups of coffee, and 40 books later, I am still not satisfied.  

I do not feel that I have been 'successful' at accurately representing my skills.  

When is good enough good enough?  How will I measure my success?

What if I don't get accepted to any of these schools?  

After all of this work?

I will sit tomorrow with this paper and try to wrap it up.  It will then only be the first of many drafts.  I have never set out on a task quite as daunting as this.  It makes me question my discipline, my drive.    

The GRE studying is a totally different.  If success is measured by discipline then I am a failure.  I have learned new words, but I love words so that isn't hard.  I can't do math.  My brain, my heart, my spirit - none of which are interested in the Pythagorean theorem.  

I have felt, more than anything, like an underachiever lately.  I find that my frustration sprouts from my ability to be so easily distracted with feelings and thoughts.  My little journal is always begging me to reflect on the day.  I feel that discipline helps drive success.  How am I supposed to be successful and balance all these emotions that are in me?  Hypnotists?  

I feel successful as an activist for the first time in my life.

I sponsor my school's Gay/Straight Alliance (GSA) and I have been pretty successful at exciting my students.

I have been successful at ensuring that my students are protected and feel safe to be themselves...whatever that means.

I have come up against slight conflict within my rather conservative school, but surprisingly, have stood strong.  I have never been one to back down, but on the same token, have never been one to get myself into conflict that I must stand strong.  I don't mind this kind of conflict though - conflict I believe in, conflict that protects my 1st Amendment rights, my student's safety, and awakens the activist in all of my students.  It is exciting.  I have been successful at this.  

Tomorrow I will be attending a candlelight vigil to oppose Proposition 8.  

My closest friend at work is a lesbian and has been with her partner for 8 years.  They are in love.  

More in love than many I have met.  Their relationship works better than many straight couples I have known.  

Damn sure works better than the relationships that I have been a part of.  It is a terrible tragedy to me that this 

phenomenal lady can't ceremoniously join in union with the love of her life, simply because the love of her life is also a her.

It is inspiring to me that my students are willing to stand for the fights they believe in and be so selfless at such a young age.

I wish I had been as successful at being a good person at such a young age.  It took me a lot longer to realize that the world is much, much larger than me.  

Life really is about balance:  with understanding the realities of love, with one's self, with ones thoughts, being sure to live deliberately but also indulge in impulse at times, balance of waking and sleeping, work and sanity, reality and daydreaming, doing and being.  It is difficult in remembering to give the difficulty of finding balance when looking upon yourself with a critical eye.  I do try.

Oh, oh, I am also very good at making Hot Toddy's.  That, for sure, is one of my successes.  

December 1 = GRE

December 15 = Deadlines for NYU and UT Austin

Obama-Rham-a!

I am still reeling and I am so hopeful and I care. I really just cannot believe it.

November 5, 2008...

a New York Times was impossible to find (if any of you have an extra...please send it to me).
my students saw my hope as I became emotional talking about what this means for the future of our country and for them
I experienced something that I never imagined I would - good history
I was, for the first time in my life, truly, proud to be an American.

I was the best kind of tired I have ever been on Wednesday as I could not sleep Tuesday night. I lay awake not believing what happened...giggling to myself and thinking that maybe, just maybe, our country has finally wisened up. I lay awake in confusion because I have never had this much hope in one leader, I have never been so moved by choices this nation has made, and I have never felt that my voice was heard. Time for never to be put to rest.

Wednesday I sat looking at my students knowing that the days of doubting oneself due to societal representations are numbered. Thinking that these kids and their kid's kids will grow to truly believe that they can be anything they want to be. I don't remember ever feeling so happy. My african american boys have an idol other than a rapper or an NBA star now...they have the President of the United States of America. It fuels my desire to go back to school even more, study history, witness our nation's history morph and change, and teach tolerance.

I didn't know much about Biden when Obama picked him, but I do know a lot about ole' Rahm Emmanuel. I know he's a badass. I know that he is a good person (well, as far as politicians go) and I know that he will do a great job! Finally we have people in the White House who care about people! Not people who care about money and put on this facade of caring about the lives of the soldiers they are sending to die.

More things that make me happy right now:

This article drawing parallels to the West Wing and our made for t.v country.

and the end of an era, thanks Edward Gorey:

Mid-Election Day Reflection

From this morning as I was waiting to vote:

Ms. Pearl just arrived to vote for the man who, according to Michael Eric Dyson will "integrate economic Viagra" into our nations troubled economy.  Ms. Pearl is fragile, she walks with the assistance of a cane and is accompanied by her grandchildren who also bear the wrinkles of laughter and age around their eyes and mouths.  Ms. Pearl is African-American.  I imagine that at some point in the development of her wisdom Ms. Pearl wasn't allowed to punch the ballot.  I imagine that at some point in her life she was told that her opinions were insignificant which inherently suggests that she was too.  It is our opinions, our beliefs, our hope, that carry us through this unbelievable time.  Our hopes, not fears, that inspire us to wait in line for three hours, but allow people like Ms. Pearl to do the honors without waiting.  She has been waiting long enough.  We all have.  I am so proud to experience, in my life, this day where an African-American can stand equally among men, can believe in a nation that has not believed in him for centuries, and can find support from community members across the world.  I am hopeful.  I want Ms. Pearl to experience this equality; to witness this highly qualified man being sworn in as President of the United States of America - for American to finally, truly become united again as a people; not a party, not a color, but people.

Today makes my heart too full.  I am crossing my fingers.  I am so, so, so hopeful.  

Either way, whatever happens, today I am proud to be an American.  

Gangs and Gays

The past few weeks have been a demon hell ride:
writing sample research and development, GRE study and practice, grading papers about the role of violence in a establishment or dissolution of a civilization, trying to be a human being and remember that I have friends other than my cat, etc.

I have been guilty of getting sucked into that lack of time, that lack of thinking space that I usually allot myself. Well, yesterday and today are worth being mentioned.

Yesterday was the PSAT (oh I feel your pain lil' babies!) and then the kids left at 12:40. As me and my friends ate our FREE (that's right, the only time we get any perks is on half days...free tacos!) meal some hunky, hunky cops came into the meeting area. These cops: Officers Biff and Buff began to set up their aesthetically disappointing poster boards decorated with a variety of belts and bandannas as well as doodling (very familiar doodles) by kids that are of the middle and high school persuasion.

Biff apologized for some bogus news story that featured my high school as one riddled with gang members and Buff plugged he and his partner's fervid need to rid the streets of hoodlums and caricaturists. It was bizarre to think that my little dudes and ladies were being bossed by an older gang man and that 12-year olds had guns and there is basically nothing we can do about it if they are already involved. Our options as per Biff and Buff are 'turn them in' or 'turn them in.'
Heavy business.

There is the gang segment; the downer. Moving on; the inspiration.

I am the sponsor for my schools gay/straight alliance. It is called Spectrum, like the rainbow, and I am really proud that my school allows it. I think our students need the support and need to know that they can be gay, who cares!?! They are still capable and wonderful little babes.
Today these two great people came in to speak during lunches who represent the Atlanta chapter of PFLAG (Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays). This group works to educate families, assist families, and support people who have recently "come out of the closet." The man and wife duo have two gay sons and one straight daughter and shared their story with the kids who chose to attend the meeting. They also discuss the need for our school to be a safe environment for these kids. Because my attitude about being gay or whatever you are is "So what? You are still a human being" I never considered the need to 'fight' for the rights of gays in my school. However, I whole-heartedly see the need to support them and make them feel safe. That was until I was reminded today that groups and organization exist in the world that work to convince these children that they are wrong or damaged and their 'illness' can be cured. I realized that my counselors in the office don't have any resources to support our GLBT community at school or to educate their families on support groups that can help the family stay together and try to understand. I have placed brochures in my principals boxes as well as my counselors. I wanna fight to make our school a safe place...a real safe place where people can be respected and honored for whatever they are. Kids 'come out' often, last semester I had two boys begin to question their sexual preferences. One, an African-American young man, had a really hard time with it. He spent most his time with the school psychologist. It was a very hard time for him.

In terms of today, I realized that being pro-active isn't always synonymous with putting up a 'fight' and that doing things like this, which seem small, really can make a huge difference. [cue sentimental melody] The couple who came to speak with us wants to do a PR video for PFLAG and they want our group to be in it.

Let's get that education going!

Past, Present, and the Road of Forgetting

I had to leave work today early.  I was sick because I haven't been tending to myself enough.  I have this problem where I get myself into too much and overdo it, especially when I need to reduce the amount of down time I have so that risky thoughts do not move furtively to the forefront of my imagination.  I have burnt out and need a weekend of recovery.  Unfortunately this weekend is going to serve as a reminder of my very recent past and it's troublesome relationship with my present.

I have always considered that understanding and appreciating one's past, analyzing one's past, and reflecting upon one's past is a means to an end where growth and knowledge of oneself and one's purpose flourish.  I have attempted to excavate the terrain of my past, which at times has been very rocky, seeking out my individualism, my purposeful division from other's in order to reevaluate me, my identity.  Basically, I am pro-past. 

However, I am pro-past as a means of understanding oneself more wholly and purely on an individual basis.  I am not a pro-paster who would recommend maintaining an open connection to what was.  The process of losing, moving on, or being done is one that has an end-point.  Classes in school, books, seminars, lunch dates, relationships; these all have an end and become the past.  In my opinion, there is a shelf-life for reflecting: as soon as possible.  These times vary depending upon the situation, of course.  I say all of this to say that I am pro-past with an understanding that the past must only actively exist for as long as it takes to get what you need out of it, then must be tucked away into a cubbyhole in our brains or hearts so that we may continue with the present.  

Tonight I picked up Edward Said's Culture and Imperialism which is some pretty awesome stuff.  Heavy thoughts, heavy reading, but phenomenal ideas and explanations.  My reading in that book led me an essay by T. S. Eliot entitled "Tradition and the Individual Talent" which discusses the connection between the present and the past regarding poets (it also discusses how all poets are crazy as a steel toed sandal and less emotionally aware than your average Sully cat...on which I totally agree).

Eliot argues that the poet is always affected by the past through the "old, dead poets" and the influences they have had upon him, which is similar to Harold Bloom's ideas in The Anxiety of Influence (except Bloom saw this as a catalyst for anxiety).  Eliot argues that "the difference between present and the past is that the conscious present is an awareness of the past in a way and to an extent which the past's awareness of itself cannot show."  Okay, so shelf life?  To be knowledgeable of what a past encapsulates, but to move forcefully into the present as if the past is history...because it is.

Currently in my life I am struggling with ideas of past becoming too involved with my present and the ways in which that past seems to haunt me, to not let me go.  In the application of Eliot's ideas to my own personal problem I think he is supporting my pro-past decision (shelf life, cubby hole)...I think.  Or is it better to deny our past the credit it deserves with the universal knowledge that the experiences we have become a part of who we are?  I think it is indeed anxiety-inducing to understand that there is a solid, complex connection between the past and the present,  and if gone without being attended may seep into our subconscious and twist the tales of history (see slavery in the United States) because often the past is meant to be forgotten, we are meant to 'write another chapter,' and prodding into the depths of what should be forgetfulness can really be gut-wrenching (on both an individual and national level).  When though, if we continue to live solely in the present without acknowledging it's friendliness to the past, do we learn?  If we aren't learning from our uncomfortable pasts we maintain a static notion of identity, but where do we find the strength to continue to poke the rotting animal within to find answers when this animal suffered a painful death, one that we do not wish to revisit often?

Paper Progress and Archiving Oldies

Proving myself to graduate schools may be the death of me.

I set aside today for the latter half of my introduction to this paper.  My to do list said this:

Establish idea of community, establish idea of classroom community in my classroom, identify which characteristics are transcendent, then establish the two communities I will be analyzing.

I basically spent all day thinking of community.  To define community is...not possible.  What is community?

I am not well versed in scholars of sociology or anthropology so spent my day looking for those people.

I then lost my focus and my brain shut down.  

Man.

Tomorrow I get back to it.  When I know I need someone to support my idea in this intro part, which won't be research heavy, I am just going to enter brackets.  Maybe that will keep me focused.

Speaking of not being focused on one topic...

Someone once told me that I was not a writer.  This someone also determined that I was inadequate in other aspects of my life, according to this person, which means very little to my sense of self or worth in my life.  The thought that I, someone who writes for various purposes every day, discusses writing every day, teaching writing every day, and reads books (that were written) every day, is not a writer has recently caused me to ponder what qualifies one as a writer.  I think I am a writer, whether I publish in paper back journals or win awards for what I compose.  What is a writer?  What is community?  Unanswerable questions may be the death of me actually.

So many questions.

I have written more with my students...they are writers, right?

"The 'Art' of Forgetting"

Dedicated to a man and woman who wore their heads on their necks upside down and backwards and to the things that they wished out of their lives and the things they maybe wanted back one day.

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-fem 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 pockets of forgetting.
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.

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Thinking more on writing and writers I thought that maybe what makes a writer a writer, aside form skill and public acceptance, is one's courage or ability to share what s/he writes.  I have books of secrets, archives of baby thoughts dating back to 1996, but never had courage to publish or share.  I was published when I was in kindergarten though.  That is a fact.  A story I wrote in elementary school was published in a journal and I was in the newspaper along with a friend of mine for this achievement.  Does this qualify me and my abilities?  Great!

Here is this piece, and here's to sticking it to those who think they have all the answers, but are truly grasping for straws.

"Tiresius Bound"

Knee deep in the entrails of then – of nevermore
The son of the Shepard seeks truths in the sewage of yesterday’s massacre.
Veils of ignorance, of falsehood, slurp in excrement scraping along behind the staff that clanks the rusted and forgotten pipes.
Seeking ablution for becoming lost in this wasteland.
Following only the sounds of filth flowing into an
unknown abyss the blind prophet seeks his grail of contentment.

Party Mix and Politics

I liken the teaching staff at a school to a bag of GORP:  chunks of very different snacks, all of which affect your body in different ways (proteins and wheat and chocolate goodness) and, separately, have flavor explosions in your mouth that are delightful.  They never mix and become one, sometimes the combinations can be satisfying, but still the peanut and the raisin are alone in their journey to the pit of your belly.  

I am not sure what influenced this particular metaphor, it is rather ridiculous, as am I right now.  I have just been reflecting on the differences between me and some of my colleagues.

Today I took part in a conversation, rather was on the receiving end of one, where a friend and colleague was discussing his feelings of going on to a PhD program.  He wants to start a writing program for underprivileged children who wish to work hard modeled after a rather successful author's writing workshop and centers in other cities.  This idea, these types of ideas, are amazing and promising when put into action.  My frustrations came from the realization that his ideas are rarely acted upon.  He allows the "system" and the "administration" become excuses for why he should not dream or do.  

He reminds me of a friend who is a Libertarian, which I personally think is crap (it's my blog, I can say it).

To me the idea of being a part of a party that is anti-big government in a country that is run by big government is synonymous with giving up.  

It as if I, as a public school teacher, were to say, "the system is far too flawed, I can't do anything" rather than doing what I am doing:  making changes, in one of the countries most flawed systems, from the inside.  To surrender to the powers that be, the powers that know nothing of classroom life, would bear no fruit, would win no small victories.  I choose the small ones, politically and in my daily life.  We have to work in the systems that exist, because they aren't changing...only shifting...very slowly.

Back to my colleague.  This colleague says daily, "I don't feel like teaching today."  This colleague thinks highly of only his advanced placement students and these thoughts are represented daily in the language he uses regarding his regular level kids.  This colleague cannot make a change because he will not allow for one in his life.  

He, quite frankly, has given up.

In this conversation, when I could get a word in, I would say things like, "Well, you shouldn't allow the way the administration feels to determine your classroom activities or your personal philosophies...look at "A" and me.  We are doing whatever the hell we want in our classrooms and it is working and it is, well, very different, but no one (knock on wood) has given us grief about it. We are pushing brand new ways of thinking and blowing kids minds with HUGE questions every day.  Do you think the administration has any clue what we are talking about in here? Do you think that stops us?  No."  These statements were met with, "Yeah, but..."  

Don't gimme that cynicism! I am fighting my own demons every day!  I frown at the state that the world is in, but I smile and cry too because good things are happening and I am making some of them happen.  The world is a pretty place littered with a little bit of ugly and bad, not the other way around.  

A very dear person to me told me recently that a person has to make her own happiness.  It's true in all that we do.  Everything.  

No matter how much we love something, it can be hard.  I think you just have to be a fighter.  

Tonight my heart has a lot of sadness in it and sometimes I want to cross to the other side where things are half empty and people are never good, but I can't.  No one has ever changed the world by saying, "No we can't."  

  

I have written something and it's my blog and I put things I write on here.  It follows this posting.

Cheers to a life worth living!

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Réquiem ætérnam:
Réquiem ætérnam dona ei Dómine; et lux perpétua lúceat ei. Requiéscat in pace. Amen.
                                                                                                         -Eternal Rest

"Vigil for the Departed"

Let us attend to the soul of the lost:

An altar littered with mementos of a sunbeam gone too soon:
Poems that speak of truth in a heartnest,
Banjos that once tweetled tin can tunes,
Trifles, like confetti dreams, that fell from planes,
A handmade honeypot, drained of it's sweetness.

The tenor bell tolls:

Hyssop in mason jars bow as St. Martha sings of hope.
Cor mundum crea in me…
Forgive me father for rainy days and dreamcharms.
Forgive me father for uniting passion and reason.
Blot out my iniquity and make me pure.

Rest is given to the souls of the faithful:

As perpetual light radiates St. Joseph's
hope of a pilgrimage is laid to rest,
lamp lighting and Sweetgrass fantasies drift heavenward.
Thou preparest a table for me,
I shall break bread in the solitude of my healing.

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive…
Forever and ever.

Amen.

The Morning After: Open House

Dante may believe that there are only 9 circles of hell, but after my first open house experience, I would argue this theory.

I started my day yesterday at 7:45 in a meeting regarding a very intelligent student's progress.  His progress:  he's doing great!

I didn't leave work yesterday until 8:45 p.m. and didn't get home until 9:30.  

During the day I did my normal teacher routine:  Teach kids great things, let them write a lot and read a lot, attempt to grade some essays, stress that I don't have the daytime to work on my own essay, stare at a stack of books and feel guilt shoot up through my side; a guilt that sings, "Na-na-na, boo-boo. You won't go to grad school!"  

After accepting my fate as the girl behind the desk, I begrudgingly began grading papers.  

In no time, or two and a half hours later, my student's parents filtered into my room, sat in the desks, and listened to me ramble for about 7 minutes...6 times.  I am a fast talker, but in order to give the parents what they wanted (to hear their kids are being challenged, in what ways, being prepared for life and, unfortunately, tests, and maintaining an excitement in the classroom) I had to hurry it up.  I performed all day for children and then again for parents.

Today was picture day and pictures are taken in English class.

I had to escort six classes to the gym and deal with club fair and my club's table today as well.

I can't remember the last time I was this exhausted, but still the thought that I haven't looked at my research in two days is hanging over my head like a bucket of slime...just as the 120 essays that have yet to be graded are.

How to find a balance?

How, how, how?

Yes We Can? I sure as heck hope so!

Week in review:

Been going nuts reading new books, towering stacks of books, walking to the copy machine reading books, books under my pillows at night, books while I am driving down 75S...kidding. There is SO much to know before I begin writing my research paper.

It's coming together though...finally. So is a list of schools. So is a list of programs. One thing that most definitely is not coming together though is my bank account! I am nervous about the debt that school has the potential of creating, but when I start daydreaming about going back to school and being in that environment I can imagine myself nowhere else.

On another note, my job rules right now and my kids are hard workers. They are thinking and writing and working independently and it is blowing me away. It is as if I am running a miniature college classroom right here where I am. I will post some of their personal narratives, or at least pieces from them, soon to show you guys what they are pumping out in here.

Things I have decided:
A teacher in my hall is boring and I wouldn't want her as a teacher if I were a kid:
"As I stated, you need to watch the movie and answer the questions. Blah, blah, robot voice, blah, monotone, Stop Talking, sit still, you're late, blah."
Where is the livelihood? These kids kinda hate school, it works better if you don't seem so bummed on it yourself.

Certain kids have a crush on me and it is working to my advantage in that they say "Thank you, Ms. C" when I assign them homework. I'll take it. It is pretty hilarious actually.

My journalism class is really surprising me with what they are doing. They piss me off and make me laugh real hard, but this paper is going to be a different world this year.
One of my kids sat at the end of the lunch line and collected student's spare change as they retreated with their rectangle pizzas all day and filled an entire can with money for the paper!
Little entrepreneurs I tell you!

I have a severe intolerance for people who don't listen. Who cut you off in the midst of a sentence and are only holding their breath until it is their turn to talk again. Students do not do this...teachers do this and it makes me want to puke on them.

Teaching writing and research has made me significantly better at both.

Finally, Obama is a good man, a politician, but damn does he make me want to believe him.
I am proud to be an American today when he can stand without fear for his life and claim the nomination for the people.

[cue Lee Greenwood!]

High Hopes

My life is now full of skepticism riding on the shoulders of determination.  

After working towards determining what my next step should be:  Master's degree in African American studies or a Phd. in American Studies, I have decided that both should be pretty great.  This year I will be putting a great amount of money aside, the first little chunk will go towards applying to at least 6 grad schools (mostly in the Boston and NY areas); both MA and PhD programs with the hopes of getting accepted to ALL of them and getting to pick!  Weeee!  Reality:  probably not, but I am going to bust my ass, sorry Mom, trying to get ready.

I am dedicating the next two weeks to writing a research paper, because the ones I drafted in undergrad don't seem to be quite right for grad school applications.  I am very interested in the following things:

 

Race relations; primarily between black and white Americans

the way history influences self-perception and identity regarding race and gender

affects of segregation/integration in public school setting on race identity

presentations of african americans in literature at the turn of the century

There are more, but I am trying to stay focused right now.  It is real hard to come up with a specific topic for research when I am so conditioned into getting the assignment.  It seems that I am suffering from exactly what I complain that my students are suffering from.  The difference is I have too many exciting ideas and they have an overwhelming apathy towards all forms of research and study.  

Someone help me find a focus!!!  Until then I am going to read and read until my mind explodes with more and more possible ideas.  

Here are ideas in my head:

Integration:  The "us" and "thems" in public education

Racial mistrust

Idea of color blindness:  

For blacks and whites to live comfortably with one another in the US do we have to avoid and forget that we are black and white? If we do this then what are the personal and social implications for our identity as human beings and our individual cultures?

Is color blindness synonymous with the erasing history when without understanding this history we are all lost children.  

"Acting White:" Self-fulfilled prophecies in African American youth; the ways in which society, culture, and a tradition of community support the idea that doing well in school is somehow synonymous with acting white.

Zero Drafts and Mass Confusion

I have come to know certain truths: children are so lost in the 'way to do' things that they cannot do for themselves without the restriction of rules and lengths.  Bummer.

Yesterday students began writing and reflecting on thier names.
I showed five exerpts from different memoirs that in some way dealt with an individuals name. They were all very, very different. One was an excerpt from a book that is the gospel according to a kid named Levi who goes by Biff. Yes, that's right: the gospel according to Biff. The other was rather sentimental, from Rick Bragg remembering his southern roots. As the students brainstormed I projected my computer screen on the wall so that they may see what it looks like when I brainstorm. It was very scary for me as this is an emotional time and thinking on my names usually pulls out some raw emotion anyway. I began anyway thinking that they would learn from me, see how I was just allowing thoughts to explode in no particular order on my paper, but nah. They didn't. They think so literally. So objectively...how horribly boring!!!

Today they requested that I share my drafts. I wrote two zero drafts. The idea behind calling them zero drafts is that they really don't matter at all. They really, truly are the first attempts at creating something with your brand new thoughts. After today I will file these away and not return to them for a week and half. Then I may choose to spend time working more with it or simply keep it filed in the "nice try" folder. My zero drafts, what I was using as examples for my kids, are below. I hope they break themselves of thinking in terms of length and empty words. You will notice the similarities in these pieces, but also how very different they ended up being. Involving many family names and nicknames that are emotionally charged. I didn't simply tell the story of where my name came from. Any suggestions on how to teach kids to write this way? How to show not tell?

Zero Draft One

When Boston meets Dothan and Cochran falls apart the baby dreams in a child’s eye of rusty trampolines and dogs named “Rocky” dissipate as quickly as ‘daddy’ can just become a man, a stranger.

Cook forced me to grow up. Real fast, too fast. Fast like I rode on the green Huffy I got at my first split Christmas. My only split Christmas. Fast like he left, fast like she rushed home, fast like worlds flip-flopped and the log cabin became a brick mansion. A dwelling that upheld a name, not a family; aesthetically appealing, but coming “home” felt more like a punch in the gut.

Courtney means nothing really, comes from nowhere…I once heard it means “short nose,” but I think that is just a lie. A sweet lie, but nonetheless a lie. I try not to favor one lie over the other. That’s the Doyle in me. The honesty - residual Catholic guilt. The Doyle is overweight pea coats, crying during books, my passions that my mother cannot understand today even though it came from her. I think we are all guilty of forgetting where we come from.

She came from a Saint, like Saint Dominique but more determined, more willing: Great Grampy Doyle.

Harbor winters didn’t keep him away from his love. The hands of history had gripped his heart too tightly; daily he would pray and he would weep in that graveyard, on that hill, where perpetual care resides. Sister Dorothy eventually invited him in for prayer and an offering of friendship.


I am not sure what good man actually means, it is something I am troubled with often. What does it mean to be good?

The Doyle in me is good, the half that I get to keep is worth keeping.

Zero Draft Two

It seems the freshest memories, the ones that still burn, always provide us with more. It was years ago, years before I existed that Boston met Dothan, that those careless young lovers raised a ruckus together. Not many years after I existed, after the villain and the princess wrote a new-age love story and made me: the little girl, the baby girl, the runt of the litter; that Cook disappeared. Hallmark cards arrived in the mail; the insides told stories of love; little limericks that sung sweet songs of growing pains and embarrassing stories. I must have missed these years. We didn’t have those stories to share.

When I reached the stage for my name to disappear from the class list and reappear on a name tag I thought I knew me. I was half lady, half mystery.
Dothan, Alabama. That is what I get. That’s all: Dothan and Hallmark define that mysterious half.

So I learned Massachusetts. I learned of Catholic loves, lost loves, love stories, graveside weeping, and the Doyles of the past and an ideal of perpetual care. I learned that even when love is good, it ends, and life continues. I learned what Irish Catholic meant and became more acquainted with Catholic guilt. I tried anyway. I tried hard.

The train came and went, winter passed, and Nuthatch boarded the plane. That little bird that lived in us both. That idea that sometimes life allows for ideas greater than ourselves to survive and reason and passion can thrive together? That’s unreasonable.

The new leaver, the new taker:

Sailboats in the harbor and cannoli in the snow.
Lilies in a mason jar from the cheese factory; history supporting the present.
99 Union Street, the history again, rising up to meet us. Greeting us as we walked through the yard where Grampy Doyle kicked a can, or whatever kids did back then.
Little trifles floating, like confetti wishes, from the plane window. When thoughts of me were thriving.
Dream charms chasing away the madness of sleep with a grasshopper on a cycle.

Again it seems history has risen to the occasion. To show me and us that it doesn’t work. Cook left, Doyle left, and most of them usually take.

I wonder if Margaret, as a child, knew that Edward would weep daily for her, knew that the nuns would love him in her absence. I wonder which she, great grandmother, believed in: reason or divinity, in both spirituality and love.

The Transcendance of Truth

In history, it seems, or history textbooks rather, that writers and publishers are afraid of placing blame. It is as if the Civil War just happened, slavery just happened...out of nowhere the black man became a possession; a piece of flare for the white man. There is something about merely presenting facts that makes it almost impossible for people to see emotions behind the movements and events in our history. I do not think that kids, when they have been conditioned into a life of memorization and objectivism, can infer that Abe Lincoln had a serious moral conflict by learning that he once owned slaves, but at some point freed his slaves. For some reason I don't think that it is important to those printers or publishers. Is discussing Thomas Jefferson's feelings going to get them more money, sell more books? Probably not. Oh well...skip it. It is as if facts can eliminate the human found within and terrible things simply happen just because they do. The understood villians such as Hitler get what's coming, but he must be a well-known villian to accept such blame.

This week has been yet another doozy. Life has hit me pretty hard, which is usually what happens when work seems pretty great. I was thinking yesterday on this idea that no one is to blame and no one wants to accept responsibility for anything that has failed or was not done well.
I was thinking in terms of splitting up with a partner: There are these different ways to express what happened, "split up," "left," "broken up."
Each of which carrying a totally different charge.
Split is equal, a mutual decision come to pass through a lot of deliberation.
Broken up, that seems adolescent. I hear my kids use this term often.
Left, I think this is when one person makes the choice to go. To take with them what was built and disappear.

The only one of the three that carries any weight, or blame, is left. Why, if one person chooses to go, should we say split.
When we are all responsible for writing our own history why should we be afraid to place blame? If we don't will we carry the burden of not remembering? Of allowing memory to mix with imagination and forgetting what was done and who was responsible? Of blaming ourselves for something we are not responsible for.

Sometimes the lessons that we are unaware we are learning as school children, such as the lesson of miraculous failures, transcends our youth to corrupt our adulthood. We are left with not knowing and a history that is tainted by imagination.

Lies My Teacher Told Me, James W. Loewen

Today in my class I recieved what is probably one of the biggest rewards that I could recieve. Class started and I asked for responses on the reading and got a variety of "it's too long" or "he kept repeating the same things." I then realized what I was up against and asked my students to challenge themselves to think of what good came out of the reading, what new things they learned.
Most of my students were blown away by how little they are actually taught in history class. Some were very angry and felt that they had been tricked, others didn't quite understand why things were hidden, some exlaimed "it's all about the white man!" If you have read this book, or studied history then you will understand why I saw humor in that statement.

There was one girl in particular though. Now, please keep in mind that this is the sixth day of school and only the fifth day of lessons. She was assigned the chapter "Gone with the Wind": The Invisibility of Racism in American History Textbooks (which was immediately followed by a chapter on the invisibility of antiracism in textbooks). She didn't seem all that moved by the chapter when she first got to class. The chapter highlights the history of racial oppression in our country and addresses how not teaching what is uncomfortable or difficult will get us nowhere. It addresses, like all other chapters, how certain people are chosen to be heroes and others hanged, certain people are crazy for supporting human beings, others celebrated. After class discussion, which was pretty heavy, the kids got into groups based on the chapters they read. I looked over at a this chapter's group: One white boy, two white girls, three black girls. All discussing race relations as a historical matter and what the implications are for the present and future. The girl, a young white girl, began crying while discussing the issues.
In a high school class...she cried.

Now, I am not celebrating making a child cry, that is not what I intend to do.
I do intend, however, to teach things of emotional value. To allow children to learn facts and make choices. She was affected in the same way that I was affected in a college class after learning a lot of information that I had never been privy to. It is a serious emotional experience. I can't believe that on the sixth day of school and after a weekend reading assignment she was moved that much.

Week in Review: Week One

Are high school students capable of breaking down the ideological constructs of right and wrong that they have all be trained to seek? Are high school students able to seek answers that don't have a right and a wrong? When will I never hear, "Ms. C, how long does this need to be?" or "What do you want us to write about?"

I hope so, yes. I think that with enough teaching and constant 'unlearning' of objective thought, then yes they may. It has been a struggle, but not one without rewards.

My students started the week trying to answer the question "What is History?"
Throughout the week I proceeded to burst their very literal ideas of what history and started by simply asking questions. Some responded to that question by saying, "History is a record of past events." The ones who had just come from their AP World History class were very excited to know the 'answer.' I simply said, "Oh, great. Who records it?" Throughout the week I then explained bias in news reporting (which aligned nicely with my journalism class), the process of hero-making, how sometimes imagination fills in the blanks when history must be recorded, and how sometimes the truth just doesn't align with what is understood as 'important' content to learn, so writers of history leave it out. We thought about what this means for us as learners and citizens, as people with a natural curiosity about life and students of society. I have, in some cases been blown away by responses that bring together the many different ideas we have discussed when prompted with a new question. These kids are using learned knowledge to gain perspective on a new idea. Those are the Truth seekers. Those are the independent learners who will succeed in my class. I have been a bit disappointed by those who are concerned with being "right" and realize that this is a habit I must help them unlearn while in my class. I have also experienced the tragedy that is socio-economic division in my school. Certain students are in my class, an upper level Honors class, because their parents feel that they are smart enough, some parents simply don't want their children in a classroom as diverse as (somehow) our regular level classes tend to be; by diverse I mean primarily black and Hispanic. I am now torn with students who are not at all equipped to be in my class (i.e. a student who said, "Ms. C, what is bias?" and another who mispronounced the word "politic" and didn't understand it) with the students who are rising to the occasion. I had a very concerned student see me after school to inform me that his schedule was going to be changed and he feared that he would not be able to take my class...he told me that "he didn't want to lose this class."

My Dilemma: lowering the lessons and reading material to a level so that the kids who don't belong in my class can understand would mean doing the children who can thrive and grow in a setting such as my class a disservice. Because my class is one that students make a choice to be in, this is not an option for me. So I am left with the knowledge that those kids will not be able to grasp (not because they are stupid, simply because their brains are not yet ready for the material we are covering) the very important concepts and questions I am asking them all to consider, thereby, doing a disservice to them as well.

I suppose a lesson will be learned by both parent and student. It is a shame that a student who could succeed in a regular-level education class must suffer because his/her parents refuse to believe that s/he should not be in a regular class for, as I see it, a variety of unjustifiable reasons. You see, at my school, kids can be waivered into upper level classed by parents, no test needed. My school is funded by the wealthy community members and must appease parents by allowing behavior such as this.

I have spent my weekend reading a book that my students are reading chapters from for homework called Lies My Teacher Told Me. This book offers many hot thinking points by making truths out of the misconceptions found in most high school history texts. I have learned a lot by reading the chapters and I hope my students firstly, did their homework and secondly, will be able to discuss these chapters through the eyes of mature readers and thinkers. I am asking a lot out of them. Hopefully they will continue to surprise me.

Ch-ch-ch-Changes

Sounds of summer have faded and been replaced with the familiar ringing of bells and the giggles generated by girl/boy glances. I am tired, my ankles and feet have swollen, and by the end of the day I desire yoga pants and silence. It is very, very difficult to get back into the swing of things yet at the same time it is very stimulating. I have felt refreshed being able to discuss ideas again and hear the kids get excited about what I am offering up to them.

This year I am teaching five sections of 10th Grade Honors and my darling little Journalism class. Journalism has been a thorn in my side as I try to figure out different ways to teach a class that I have never taken. So far so good. I know the kids well, the staff is dynamite, and they all have the ability to learn...they just have to get ready to learn. I will be teaching many different aspects of journalism (um, like every little aspect: news writing, writing leads, how to be a journalist, where to find news, what is news, layout, InDesign, Photoshop, advertising, business managing, mass media, role as a journalist, etc. etc. etc.) in one month. Students generally take a year long class before becoming a member of the staff. It is stressful and I have big expectations for this year. The kids, even the ones who have been here a long time know very little. When asked what AP Style was (answer: Associated Press) one of my kids from last year said, "authoritative princess! YOU, Ms. Cook!" Very cute, but very wrong. I then expelled the air from my lungs and collapsed on my desk pretending to be killed by their lack of knowledge. Ho, hum...we have a long road to ho.

My 10th grade classes are in for a lot of fun. I am not teaching in a traditional manner this year. We will be using memoir as a framework for teaching/learning writing, students will be working on creating portfolios rather than writing single papers, and I will be running my classroom in a way that is similar to that of a studio (think painter or architect studio). I am using many ideas from Kirby and Kirby's new book New Directions in Teaching Memoir: A studio workshop approach. Great stuff in there. It is actually working so far too. I am pretty excited. The ideas we will be covering (What is history? What is civilization? What is culture? What is government?) are big and great. I am having fun coming up with different ways to present the ideas that are simultaneously being taught to my students by their AP World History classes as very literal, simple ideas. I am blowing their minds so far talking about bias in history and the connection between history and memory. I want them to be Truth seekers and skeptics...not jerks who say, "I don't believe you!!!" but I want them to ask questions. It is working...it is fun. They will be writing a memoir this semester and keeping writing notebooks in class. We are currently tying information regarding the creation of History (World, American, etc.) to personal history (i.e. their individual memoirs).

I am sponsoring my school's gay/straight alliance as well. I am a bit overwhelmed, but I feel like I am really making a difference already and it is only the third day. I feel like I am being the type of teacher that I want to be. I am teaching material that matters and is relevant. I am teaching life skills (being reflective, thoughtful, curious, human beings who know how to seek out information independently an represent themselves accurately through writing) that matter. I feel good. I feel tired, but I feel good.

Answers to my lingering questions have unleashed themselves upon my life as well. Grad school it is! I need to make time to study for GRE and research some schools. I am seeking a MA first and then I have lofty goals in place for getting a PhD and changing the world. It feels good to do it. To do something that matters. I like where I am in my life. I like what I am doing.
I had the thought yesterday that I should use this blog to collect data from my classes. I hope to be studying American Studies and looking deeper into the nuances of race relations in our country. I think looking at my classroom as a reflection of the surrounding community would be a good place to start. Inequalities anyone?

I have a new house and my cat is home and I have renter's insurance...just in case another twister takes me down.

This year I predict a lot of growth for me and my students. I want it to be great. I really, really do.

Reaping what I sow

Honor Code Violations at my school are the worst possible offence that a good, dedicated student could get. As you probably inferred, an HCV is given to those who cheat. This HCV will be recorded on said person's college transcript and it is up to the teacher whether offender is able to resubmit the assignment. I was a virgin to the HCV until a month ago when a sweet little girl in my honors class plagiarised on her biggest assignment of the year: the research paper that we had been working on for three months. She plead ignorance, I claimed that I had taught her the skills needed in order to avoid being ignorant; a small difference of opinion. Either way, I won, she cried, her mother's forehead became wrinkled with "This will ruin her future" thoughts and I ended up letting her resubmit. Don't let my constant jesting tone lessen the intensity of this situation...it is, for justifiable reasons, very serious. It was difficult for me to do (especially when a 16 year old kid is boo-hooing all in my face) and I was very unsure of myself.

All that is to say that sometimes when teaching gets really hard (because it will...often) and you think you are really meant to be hiking through the Swiss Alps or picketing your way through the Southeast, a certain thing will happen that reminds you that teaching doesn't suck. Sometimes, and very rarely, it makes you cry happy tears (if you are the crying type of course) and helps you realize that you did something here, today, and you aren't still standing around waiting for life to happen. This little girl's mother did that for me. The following email was sent from her mom in response to an email where I expressed happiness that her daughter decided to turn this misfortune into a learning opportunity.

Hello C,

Thank you so very much for the kind note. I want to thank you also for your courage in this situation as I know that it could not have been easy for you. I truly do believe that you did the right thing by bringing up an issue that could have potentially lead to greater failures for Eve* in the future. This issue really extends beyond just the paper, but encompasses Eve's need to take responsibility for her success, as a student and individual. Life's lessons come in many different packages and it was a good one that came at the right time.
You have taught me something as well this year. First, although as parents we always want to "fix things" for our children--they actually are capable of dealing with some things and the consequences themselves. Had Eve not dealt with this situation, I do believe she would not have learned the valuable lessons as a result. Second, perhaps, our expectations (as parents) need to be calibrated so that we truly understand the plight of our children. For the first time, in many years, Eve shared with me the amount of pressure she has been under to "achieve" and that she has felt lost and under-prepared for longer than I (or anyone else for that matter ) knew.
So you see, some things happen for a reason. It's been a tough year for Eve (and us!) but I think she is stronger and better for it. Know that you have contributed to the development of a better and stronger person who will , hopefully, move forward in the direction we all wish.
I hope you enjoyed your first year as a high school teacher and hope to see you in the fall.
Have a fantastic summer!

Kindly and all the best,

Evelyn*

Wow, huh?
Teachers don't become teachers for a pat on the back, we don't do it for a stress free lifestyle, and we damn sure don't keep coming back because the county sees to it we all have lofty bank accounts. I guess teachers, the ones who suck it up and stick it out for a long time, are really just suckers for the reality that weaves our lives and the lives of others into our work. The golden thread of humanity, people, and their stories ties us to our commitments when we feel like fleeing the most.

Work as an educator isn't just work or a job with the summers off, it's life that never stops and a reality that is hard to face, that at times, can fill me up with tight-chested thoughts and leave me spinning towards the days end with thoughts of my student's home lives, hardships, and the injustices that they unknowingly face. Now that it is all said and done, I think I have learned to appreciate the realness of this work environment and the way it leaves us all vulnerable to one another. No veneers of "professionalism" from the students or the parents...they are sad so they cry, they are happy so they do a silly dance, and when they are pissed off I hear them loud and clear. I have never functioned in a place like this before. The idea that I am doing something for other people and deserve a letter of thanks like that still seems a bit foreign to me, but I dig it and it makes me feel like I have at least done one thing this semester that didn't screw somebody up.

Basically, I guess the wonderful things about teaching (which are few and far between) keep us here...for at least another year.

*Student and mother's names have been changed to protect privacy.

"Dulce Et Decorum Est"

As I move forcefully into the finality of my first year as a teacher I am trying to find time for reflection. There are moments that my gaze will catch a particular grease stain on my bulletin board and I begin fantasizing of my summer yet to come, the half-finished books that I will conquer, the yoga that I will master, and, most importantly, the kids that I will not be responsible for.

This year has most definitely been filled with the most unpleasant of events. My advice to any new teacher is to make sure you try your damnedest to have your life looking as nice as the most meticulously manicured lawn.

The urban twister took me by surprise, losing my most significant kitty companion has left me lonely, being in one living situation after the next has made me feel even less grounded than usual, and the occasional bandits that somehow weaseled their ways into my life made out with years of soiled memories and pieces of me left me heart-broken and disenchanted with the goodness my daddy so often told me about. I bid them farewell and my foundations farewell with the all the grace I could muster, I cried on the way to work listening to political pipe dreams on NPR, and somehow...somehow...dried my tears, mustered my courage, and faced those hooligans, their unforgiving and impossible to satisfy parents, and my administrators who were all too busy to observe my teaching, but never to busy for the occasional, "Why, shouldn't you be wearing a nicer pair of slacks?"

No contest: the most difficult thing about teaching is getting yourself in order.

Even the most organized of professionals can't find enough hanging files and color coded stickers to keep the mess out of his/her life. I guess you just have to fight it and keep going. What else would you do? Give up.

I felt enough like a Baptist preacher telling kids that each test was important and that research skills would get all of them far in life, knowing damn well that most would only need to research the nearest pizza delivery spot. There's no way I could have begged them not to give up and quit myself.

As much as they weighed my heart my down, at times, they were the only thing that kept me going. God, or whoever wants people to make life easier on the rest of us, bless their stinky little hearts.

High School Daze

Summer break starts in two weeks and I have had a revelation:

Teachers Deserve a Summer Break!

There are many people in the world who, sitting behind their cherry oak desks, sipping on their grande non-fat latte's, gripe about how easy teacher's have it because we get the summer's off. I invite these people into my classroom for a day...if they could take it. My students would eat your up and barf you out, then throw you at thier friends and laugh. So, instead of going nuts on anyone in a 10 foot radius because I am forced to teach 12 months out of the year, I am going to visit my best friend in Austin, TX. One way ticket! Maybe I'll fall in love with the town, listen to some banjos, see bats in their natural habitat, road trip, swim in spring-fed pools, jump off rocks, and get back to my mother. I need a break from snot, saggy pants, kid's dumb senses of humor, people saying my name on repeat, peole needing me so much, being disappointed, wanting more money, waking up insanely early, wishing for more effort, raising my voice, grading papers, faculty meetings, awkward work events, "dressing up," talking to parents, making sacrifices to stubborn copy machines, counseling colleagues, dealing with the politics, and basically just working harder than I ever have in my entire life. I deserve it damn it.

My brain has been working in spurts (ahhhh, sprinklers! Summer! Bliss!) so I will share recent events in a like manner.

This week is Teacher Appreciation Week which means nothing except we get cupcakes after school and corny poems that the PTA comes up with. It's real cute.
I must be a badass teacher lady though because this week I got two $50 tickets to a Braves game from a student, homemade brownies sans laxative, a really kind thank you card, and a plant for my room. Pretty cool. I also only worked three days, one of which being casual Fridays which aren't real work days. If I could wear jeans every day I would never feel like I was really working! Ha.

Yesterday I had an interview with a Peace Corps recruiter. While the Peace Corps is an option I am always reminded that there are more. I probably won't be able to travel to South America with the Peace Corps, which is what I would like to to first. I did catch wind of a job/volunteer opportunity for next year in Honduras and a huge part of me wants to do it. There is also a summer camp. I think that the best option for me is to stay here one year and make money, save it all, then begin my voyage be it with Peace Corps or at an International School.
At the Peace Corps office there was a picture of George W. on the wall, it gave me the creeps and I wanted to leave. I know that if/when I do Peace Corps it'll be Obama or Hillz on the wall, which will make my uneasiness slip away.

Oh oh, oh! I got my first rumor today! Apparently I am the first pregnant lesbian teacher at my high school. Not saying a pregnant lesbian is impossible (I am no moron), but I would like to point out that high schoolers are even sloppy with their rumors.

Five full days to go then vamos!

National Day of Silence

The National Day of Silence is a movement protesting the silence faced by lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered people and their allies, with a focus on those people who are students in secondary schools.

"I have written on the board that my deliberate silence echoes that silence, which is caused by harassment, prejudice, and discrimination. I believe that ending the silence is the first step toward fighting these injustices."

Let's see how it goes...I am a bit nervous.

My 1st period is taking well to it. They are all just so needy. I am writing notes on post-its.
Pretty damn good though.

2nd was fine; self-starters, did work, turned it in.

3rd, my smarty-pants honors kids. I basically taught the first few stanzas of 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' to my class in complete silence. I appointed one girl, via post-it note, to lead the class in what I like to call an "exploration." For those of you who are familiar with this poem, it can be pretty annoying and pretty repetitive and pretty hard for a bunch of high schoolers. It ruled! They would get on a kick with a line like:

"The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window pane-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys..."

I would hear them say some good stuff then frantically write things like "Prufrock v. Haze" on the board or "animal?" Then, if someone was on a healthy track of exploration, I would point and smile while doing something that resembled the "roll 'em up" movement of "Patty Cake." They really enjoyed it. In fact, they enjoyed depending on one anther so much, most of them asked if I would be silent on Monday and let them work through the rest of the poem. Maybe I will. It was awesome to leave them to one another's brilliance and only minimally guide them.

5th Period, which is the class I have given up to my team teacher because they have become so completely despondent, had a really hard time getting started. They apparently cannot read.
Instructions are on the board and such. I silently sent one kid to another silent teacher's room because he was being disrespectful to me by talking. I had to threaten with write-ups.
My team teacher just sat silently at my desk the entire time...maybe that would have been a better plan.

6th Period is my favorite and they were beautiful. They let me know how painful it was for them to have to remain quiet and actually do an assignment alone, without me, but they were great. Respect.

8th Period is currently blowing my mind. This class, at the beginning of the semester, was full of all the delinquents. They have been removed from the counties educational system. This group of kids is one that is exhausting; probably the absolute worst group to have at the end of the day. The want to push my buttons, they want to talk, they want to make me talk until my voice disappears into germ-infested thin air. Then, they have these days where they blow me away. I had a talk yesterday with this class to prepare them for the responsibility that I was putting on their shoulders today: respect. All I want them to do is understand that this is important to me, this day is not about me, but it is important to me and it is important to me because I care about them. I got Mama Courtney on them yesterday. I didn't think they would get it. I took many preemptive measures: writing a huge note on the door telling them to sit down and be quiet and get to work, writing 'So & so needs a place to sit, may he come into your room?' on post-its in order to be able to deal with the situation efficiently and quickly, as well as moving some kids to different areas in the classroom (identified, of course, with post-its).

It seems that I was wrong to judge and they have really shown me that they can be quite the opposite of the hateful worm-eaters that they were when I first met them. Not only are they being quiet, but they are really doing the work! I look at them and see brains working inside their heads. I am so proud!

Reflections:
While all the students in the school recognized that certain people were not speaking and greeted us with "oh yeah, you can't talk today" I feel like the point was muddled a bit. Just as the kids look at my choice not to speak as a matter of can or cannot; in their minds everything, even passions, are dictated by rules, guidelines, or boundaries. I had the whole Day of Silence statement on my board, I wonder how many really read it? I have a fact sheet on my board printed on hot pink paper that gives statistics and key findings on the amount/types and under what conditions LGBT students are oppressed or harassed. It also lists ways to work together and create a safe environment for everyone. I counted three kids who read it; I teach 130. Maybe it's because of small details such as this, or the reality that is high school, but I find myself questioning whether or not a movement can take place on this level. This doesn't seem like much when I think of the Little Rock 9 and James Meredith. Not that I want fires and violence, but the peaceful side...the hearts in the movement. Maybe it is here and shame on me for selling this one short. This quest for satisfaction seems rather impossible though. I want to make a difference and I want to affect lives,help people ya know?
I always thought that high school is a great place to start because these guys and girls are just on the cusp of becoming grown, they will have passions soon, but they don't yet; they will work hard soon, but they lament the idea of working now. I guess the fact that I am teaching pre-cusp is frustrating at times. One of my kids is currently trimming the extra pieces of paper (the annoying tiny pieces when ripped from a spiral notebook) off with scissors because I don't like paper fringe...that's dedication. Today, overall, has filled me up quite a bit. Now, bunches of kids in black are filling the room across the hall for a meeting to reflect on the day. Wait, they are blowing up balloons...I guess they are gonna pop them in order to break the silence or something. Ha!

We shall overcome some day

Today is the 40th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination. This is one of my favorite speeches that Robert Kennedy gave. He was standing in the back of a pickup and didn't look at the piece of paper in his hands, not even once.
It made me cry on the way to work this morning...what am I gonna do with all this passion?

"My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He once wrote, 'Even in our sleep, pain which we cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grade of God.' What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the Unites States in not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence or lawlessness, but is love and wisdom, and compassion towards one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer in our country, whether they be white or whether they be black...Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world."

I wrote it on my white board to remind my kids not to forget.

Shake the dust off of your wings

My absence on this edublog is not due to lack of reflection, lack of motivation, or lack of material. I am, of course, responsible for what I make of my time throughout the day, but this time I am going to pass the buck to a tornado, being homeless, and another heart-breaking, unfortunate occurrence. Many folk's have taken a stab at why the tornado zipped through my place of residence, my favorite being: God hates gentrification. Either way, that spinster really left his mark. I have been without home and without my personal belongings since March 15th. If you Google "Atlanta tornado" I am sure you will find some tornado memorabilia or maybe a description of how "it sounded like a freight train," you may also take a gander at my loft building and what remains. I was in Boston crying because my home was on the television and my little cat man was stuck on the 4th floor all alone. I saved my cat four days later...he's a survivor.

Life has been full of inspiration and desperation and I have been writing, but not on this Internet thing...it's all been a little too personal. Teacher life is difficult while trying to balance human being life. Life and teaching and tornadoes and personal disasters make me daydream of Spring Break and airplanes. I have had to leave work early because my emotions overtook me, wear dirty jeans to work on a Monday (there is no such thing as a casual Monday!), call FEMA during my planning period, and attempt to grade 130 essays although there are many other things that I would rather be doing.

Meanwhile, my students have been providing me with plenty of exciting material: getting arrested, searched, suspended for using Xanex, passing out in class, and, the most exciting thing in a student's life...PROM! However, the most exciting school-related event in my life and the event that deserves to be posted got me a day off of work! A week ago my VP approached and said to me, "You've been served!" As he quickly flashed an approving, "I've always wanted to say that" smirk, I studied the very first subpoena that I had ever seen. Funnily enough, the subpoena had my name on it. I had truly, been served. I was to "drop all other responsibilities and appear as a witness" for a moron of a student that wrote "F*ck Lov3" on a quiz. Let's call him Wally. Wally was 19 years old and in my 10th grade World Lit class, his average was a 3, he once told me that he was a 'supremacist' but did not specify what group he advocated for, was involved in gang rape earlier in the year, and witnessed a suicide two years ago. It's like Dangerous Minds up in my world, ya'll! Knowing these things I still tried to believe Wally was a good kid who wanted to learn, but even more I wanted to show him that I cared. I am the one in the crowd with rose-colored glasses and smelling of patchouli; that new teacher that things all kids want to learn, the system has overlooked them, their parents don't care, and all they need is love. Well, I hate to break this to you John and Paul, but Wally needed a lot more than love. Wally is now banned from ever enrolling in a school in my county again and, in fact, has a restraining order against him. That is not what I became a teacher to do. Not at all. Lesson learned...some kids are just here because they truly have nothing better to do and do, in fact, have trash bag personalities.

I have somehow, with a lot of help, made it through these past few weeks and Spring Break will be upon me after I drudge through tomorrow. After Spring Break I plan on getting back on track with this blog thing...it'll come in handy one day and I need to regain my focus, get my life back from Mother Nature.

Good things are happening with my Journalism class...it will be an exciting time to reflect upon that.

Superman that Shawty?

Ah finally! I have reached my breaking point. I have come to realize that while all those that come before me have more knowledge and experience, those that come before me simply are not me. I have been following very large footsteps, that my feet kind of slosh around in and slip side to side because of all the extra space, since the beginning of the semester. I have been teaching lessons that bore me to ensure I teach the standards and cover all the material. After a brief hiatus in the mountains of North Carolina followed by a walk with cows and chiggins in the fields of South Carolina I have come to realize that the only way I will enjoy my job is if I grab my job by the balls and do things my own way.

Welcome to a Russian Literature unit! I know next to nothing about Russian history and had to figure out a way to get around a crash course on a history that could have possibly taken the entire length of the unit. So we are doing a study of the culture through the literature! Ta Da!
Today was great too! I asked students on Friday to journal about what they identified with, what culture(s) they come from, what are specific characteristics of that (those) culture(s) and then for class today each student came equipped with a printout of song lyrics. After a lengthy and rather enlightening discussion about my student's very unique cultures we came to the song lyrics. Now, we are doing a study of culture through literature, and song lyrics are, by definition a type of poetry, right? So, how does one feel if his/her culture is being represented by people singing about "Superman(ing) that ho!" or "shaking that laffy taffy?" My students were as baffled as you may be. They found it hard to connect or feel like they were being accurately represented by this writing that degraded women and, frankly, made no sense. They did, however, find it rather hilarious to hear their wise old teacher say "Superman that ho" and "Shawty."

Tomorrow they write lyrics that are true representations of where they come from and who they are. I am excited to have them writing again. I am glad to be back!

My resume is slowly trickling into the NYC school system and I visit Boston next week. I am scoping out the land...trying to find where I fit best. I am also very interested in going back to school sooner rather than later. If any of you know of any ways that I can go to graduate school for free to obtain a Master's in African American Studies pray tell. I am not ready for that PhD. just yet.

Leap Year

I decided, it seems, that because this is a leap year I will simply skip over the month of February as far as blogging is concerned. Truly this past month has been a demon hell-ride and I am clenching the coattails of my colleagues and begging for help. Influenza has struck down many a student which is great because less students make for smaller classes and that means easier days for a variety of reasons. While this outbreak of funky boogers was serendipitous it was also a bit of a drag when my planning partner and teaching partner was bed-ridden for 9 days in a row. Now, while I do consider myself skilled enough to go into any situation and take charge or to be flexible and "wing it," I have learned that I can only do that for about, um, two consecutive days before throwing up in my mouth every time I step onto school grounds. Last week was hell; winging it is no good. Here, I will share just a few little road bumps from last week: a student of mine was arrested for selling prescriptive meds, colleagues put white out over my name on the library reservation sign-up sheet, I got my first student suspended (he totally deserved it...nine times over), every employee of my school had a nice lil' passive aggressive email in their inbox from one upset wrestling coach because the newspaper of which I am the adviser for 'forgot' to mention his team, a crown completely came out of my mouth (I was eating taffy...so what), I stayed at work until 8:30 at night one night editing embarrassingly second-rate articles to print in the paper, the whole while pushing away my desire to ring the necks of every single one of my cocky newspaper staffers, and I got a nasty email from the man down below for missing a meeting.

One thing I have learned about being a teacher is that you can't take shit. Not from the students (most don't give it ) or from the eclectic mix of absurd people that you work with. Luckily I have some friends who have my back and can be like, "Yo wrestling coach! Lay off the new girl or I'll show you how to make a Half Nelson count!" and also I am no wuss. I am actually becoming less and less of a wuss every day when I realize that if I don't stand up for myself then no one will. Sometimes I catch myself humming "We Shall Overcome" in the middle of the day as I fight my own battles.

Oh, and heck yes Black History Month! My school is getting together a pretty fantastic program for next Wednesday and I am very excited. I think I have (possibly...maybe) decided that I want to go back for a masters in African American history/literature before going back for a PhD. One thing that is for sure though is that I wanna go back.

Last week I was at Emory listening to Salman Rushdie discuss the relationship between autobiography and fiction and just being there made me crave that school-type scenario again. I don't like being the one doing all the talking...I wanna listen too. It seems I talk more than I listen every day which is a shame...it is just he way things are working out right now.
I am trying to find alone time to read a bit, and right now I am reading Midnight's Children by Rushdie (yes I was inspired by his lecture). I was also inspired to get back up and write something tonight. He says that we are a "nation of forgetters." I don't want to be one of those. I wanna remember the details and take the minutes of my life. Hello again reflection and blogging.

Our Government Makin' Out Like a Bandit!

PAYDAY! I have officially recieved my first paycheck as an adult, with a career, and after working at this school for a total of six months. I was so excited about making my own money, living my own life, and saving as I prepare to move! I woke up this morning and went straight to my bank account so I could see the glory that is direct deposit and take note of the HUGE increase in my checking account. I watched the screen appear, sleepy-eyed and fuzzy-headed, with my brand new balance on it and then...I teared up and laid back in bed.

On paper, I thought that I was going to be rich! I am fresh out of college, mind you, so this meager teacher salary that I always hear teachers fussing about seemed like a goldmine to me! I am cheap and I don't need much. I thought, "Geez, I could save half of my income! Hello New York!" I was so (sosososo) very wrong. It seems that our government wants us to believe one thing by saying, "Teachers pay starts at this amount in this county" and my county pays pretty dang good. Then, before they give you that money they take out $438.19 in taxes. FOUR HUNDRED AND THIRTY EIGHT DOLLARS BEFORE MY HEALTH CARE!?!?!? No, you have to be kidding me. What in the world could I possibly be paying for with those taxes? Tell me. Please, someone, make me feel like this world is fair and good again. The government has ripped from my clenches the belief that being a grown-up rules. Add my benefits to that ad my check is $562 less than what my contract says. Why then, do we get tricked into thinking that we will be making X amount of dollars? Why don't the people hiring us (state employee!) say, "Hey, I know this paper says this, but go ahead and count on making, uhhh, $10,000 less than what it says here. This piece of paper is actually filling you with false hopes and supporting goals that will never come true. It is a lie and we are dirty bastards out to steal your very hard earned money. Enjoy your new career."

Does everyone go through this new experience?

The Winds of Change

For as long as I can remember having this desire to travel inside of me I have told myself, "Nope. It is unreasonable. Impossible. Just wait. Wait until you save some money. Wait until you graduate. Wait until you have worked for at least two years." Wait, wait, wait.
Well, my friends, life waits for no man (or woman!). I must go. My time has come and my courage blossomed out of a trip to the big city this past weekend. I flew alone for the first time. I hailed a cab for the first time. I had a beer in a bar alone for the first time. I walked streets of a city that could eat me for lunch alone and uncomfortable, and I loved every second of it. I was visiting friends too, mind you, I am not a lonely girl. Ever since my plane landed in Atlanta I have been rather depressed. I see that I have taken all of the wonderful things that this city can give me: great friends, family, education, jobs, and put them away in my archive of goodness. Now though I know it is time for me to live in unmarked land. I gotta move, I gotta go.

So, here's what my options are at this point.
I am completing an application for the Peace Corp. I am one essay short of being finished.
Hopefully, the process wouldn't take longer than 6 months and I could leave in August of 2008. I am interested in living in South America. I want to become fluent in Spanish.

Options next:
Move to New York and teach. I loved that city for the independene it demanded. It would only be for a year though. I am more afraid of teaching in a public school in NY than I am to move away to South America for two years! I would have to make some major life changes to go up there too. I have exactly one best friend there for support.

Move to Austin and teach. This plan is one I have considered for a while (just like the Peace Corp). I was actually thinking of Peace Corping it for two years, coming back and going to UT Austin for grad school. Living in a small, underdeveloped land for two years should give me plenty of time to study for the GRE. I'd ace the thing! I will have exactly one best friend living there too. Also, I have a colleague who knows someone who is teaching there now.

Move to Boston and teach. I guess I like the cold places. I have never been here so a visit would be in order. For some reason I have toyed with the idea of one day living in Boston for quite sometime. Other than my face freezing off in chunks every winter, I think it would be cool. My friend across the hall did her student teaching in Boston.

I am filling you all in on this mainly because I want advice about the places I am considering (have you lived there, visited numerous times, just know for sure that I would love it!?) and to see if you are famliar with any other organizations that take good care of you like the Peace Corp. I have discussed the Peace Corp with one of my favorite professors numerous times for the past few years, and the thing that makes me nervous is the two year commitment. So if you know of any other organizations/opportunities for travel and work do tell. I am interested. Soon.

I gotta learn to go and make good everywhere I do. It's time to shake things up a lot.
So, any suggestions, any contacts, any experiences you want to share please do so quickly.
I have to make a decision by the end of February (that is when I am up for contract renewal). Most likely I will not be renewing.

"May you live every day of your life." -Johnathan Swift

Grammar Lesson #1: The Loss of a Period

I was once attending a seminar given by a YAL author (for extra credit) when I was in college and he made the statement: "No Child is Left Behind because nobody is going anywhere!"
This was humorous. I chuckled a bit, casually of course, because it just isn't that cool to laugh at those seminars; someone may think you are actually enjoying yourself! Either way, I remember it because it was true. [let this simmer]

This is my second week as a full-fledged teacher lady. My darling babies (yes, even the convicts...no joke) care for me already. They say things like, "Yo shawty, you pretty fly" and "Dang Ms. Cook, you ain't so bad." It is after I firmly inform them that I am not and will never be a "shawty" that I flash an approving smile and go about my lesson. I like them alright too and fear that I will be all too fond of them by the semester's end. As a new educator I have completely surprised myself by how much I really care about these people (mini-folks) that I teach. My care and concern for my students, new and old, is what prompted my brain funk at the day's end when realized just how many of my female students are being left behind.

Today I met a student for the first time, Hispanic, who missed the entire first week of school to take care of her baby. 16.
Last semester I had a senior who I suspected was pregnant. I ran into her in the mail room last week and noticed that her fashion hoodie wasn't doing as good of a job of hiding the lump of life in her belly. She is either 17 or 18. Young black female.
One of my hardest working inclusion (means she is in special ed) students wrote in her letter to me (first assignment of the year) that she wants to do very well in school and for some reason she has been getting very tired, and that it must be because "the baby is getting bigger inside of her." 16-year-old Hispanic girl.

I started thinking about these babies, these poor, unguided babies, and couldn't help but ask myself, what the hell are we doing? How in the wealthiest of nations, can we afford not to take time and teach students proper sex education? How are these girls falling through the cracks and getting left behind?
I become very red in the face when people say (regarding poor minorities) "well, if they'd quit having babies then maybe they could afford to move outta the projects!" Well, dear ignorant, silver spoon, daughter of a successful marriage - maybe if we would stop pretending like condoms are what is going to drive kids between the sheets and admit that if we give them out in school then at least maybe a kid would think about using it and not have a fatherless child at age 16 then some of these children whose parents aren't around could have a chance. Then maybe I would be willing to talk to someone about "equal opportunity," but as long as my students are coming into my class with only 3 hours of sleep and still trying to make it, my lips are sealed. I am not saying condoms are the answer, and I don't know what is, but I'll be damned if I don't feel the weight of failure upon my little teacher shoulders this evening.

Six days in and my first diatribe...not too bad, eh?

Ain't Nothing Like a Cold, Dirty Shower!

Here is my newest venture that is totally tangible with your help!

Here is where I want to go: Chijnaya
(Scroll Down; not the best web design, I imagine the people of Chijnaya are seriously concerned about that though...please note the sarcasm in that statement)

This is my mentor teacher, colleague, and friend who went two summers ago and tells me that there is nothing like it: Kate's Blog

Basically, the organization is newish (but safe) and it, like most volunteer organizations, needs a donation on top of my travel expenses. I know nothing about fund raising...nothing. I am also interested in inquiring into individual travel grants seeing as how I am going there to teach English, maybe I could get funds to do so and maybe to do a study while over there.
If you have fund raising suggestions, let me have them or have any suggestions as to how I may find a company, organization, school that would be willing to give grant money to an individual who is furthering her studies in her field (I will be teaching English!). I am looking for all of my options, so if you know somebody who knows somebody let me know.

Or if you know of other programs that will allow me to experience people living their lives which are drastically different than the one that I am accustomed to, let me know. I am interested in experiencing another culture, not being a tourist. I want to help people, not buy stuff. I want real human life to teach me a little something about life.