Ain't You Wise?

New Era of Blogging

2009-10-21T14:53:00.000-07:00

I have retired from teaching!

I was thinking that that new phase of my life deserved a new blog.

Here is a link to my new stuff.

It's slow, but I blame grad school.

Cheers!

Let's Get Official!

2009-04-09T06:36:00.000-07:00

April 9, 2009.

9:36.

I accepted the offer from Boston University.

I will freeze...

and I can't wait.

Spring Breaking and more waiting

2009-04-08T06:18:00.000-07:00

The letter arrived while I was enjoying some farm living in Asheville over the weekend.

My friends there are so inspiring and my visits are so nourishing...I return full of love and with a renewed sense of passion for people, for goodness, and for my own personal endeavors.

The letter from BU was very congratulatory and made me feel wonderful, as did the scholarship covering the full amount of tuition, but the stipend I was recommended for was not attached to the "official offer." So, like a rotten brat (or a lady who doesn't want a butt load of debt) I emailed asking if there was any more funding available. I have until April 15th to accept. I am getting used to waiting.

While in Asheville I was invited to lead a class at Warren Wilson College, a college that I feel gets a lot of things right about academia and work and relationships. The class is taught by a friend of mine who has lived a long, interesting life and who I have a lot of admiration for.

In this Civil Rights course I spoke with about 17 undergraduate students about my experiences with race, gender, and other power struggles growing up in the south and opened the floor for them to offer their stories. It was inspirational and impressive. The students are far better thinker than I remember being as a freshman in college. It confirmed my desire to get on board with the PhD seeking.

BU here I come. PhD -- You are next!

Human Rights and Human Wrongs

2009-03-23T08:50:00.000-07:00

The human rights unit that took me weeks to create has been in action for about two weeks now.
So far, so interesting!

Last week, my most advanced class (all of my classes are 'honors level,' but this class is filled with the most precocious little geniuses in the school) debated immigrants rights and the right to seek asylum or safety from persecution in another country. It was a pretty heated, yet respectful discussion. It is interesting to have such opinionated 16-year olds in my class. When I was 16 the only thing I was opintionated about was whether The Princess Bride was more engaging than Mallrats (today I use Princess in my classroom...sorry Kevin Smith, you didn't make the cut).
I feel pretty safe in saying that majority of my students are pretty sympathetic and understanding regarding cultural influences, haves and have nots, and fairness. Furthermore, it is interesting to hear what a concise knowledge of world history my students have...they not only make arguments, but also back them up with some undeniable facts that leave the students who stand firm in their parent's opinions dragging their heels in the dirt.

I just finished another novel called Cereus Blooms at Night by Shana Mootoo, which I highly recommend. It is one of the novels I have assigned for this unit on human rights.
Amidst the twisted plot filled with a defiance of, what Arundhati Roy describes as "the love laws that lay down who we should love and how much," the reader is exposed to different sets of circumstances that demand judgement. This judgement that the reader subconsciously makes is later deconstructed along with society's ideas of "should" and "should not." Throughout the novel, tortured souls practice forgiveness of pasts speckled like snail shells with stains of abandonment, deceit, and physical and mental abuse. Still these characters manage to appreciate the gentility of love while finding hope amidst their hurricane of life. They live in memories of goodness and in smallness of very few and far between acts of kindness. Maybe most inspiring of all was the way in which the characters were judged, written off, and erased from existence, within the pages of the novel, yet still learn to acknowledge equality in nature and celebrate the smallest of nature's miracles which, in turn, are the life-blood of a society that burdens and beats them down. This book is about survival among societies most dangerous of creatures -- human beings.

I like it a lot!!!

Grad school update: Should be getting paper confirmation this week by mail.
Then, and only then, will I believe it is all true.

Fun Facts

2009-03-06T09:52:00.000-08:00

If given the opportunity to study at Boston University I will be:

1. a student of the oldest African-American Studies Department in the country.
2. studying where Martin Luther King, Jr. received his PhD.
3. studying where Howard Zinn received his degree

If you want to know about some of the classes I could possibly take go here

I am beginning my studies early! I have started making a timeline and making a list of authors I must read before I go to school. The idea of me at such a "big" school is really intimidating and I am trying to prepare as much as possible. Any suggestions of must reads? I gotta be smart enough.

The first week of my Human Rights Unit has gone over great!
My students are choosing between the following books for Literature Circles:

In the Time of Butterflies
Cereus Blooms at Night
The Inheritance of Loss
The Grass is Singing
A Thousand Splendid Suns
Year of Wonders

All of these novels deal, in many ways, both directly and indirectly, with violations of human rights on some scale. Each week I am handing out supplementary material (Bios, testimonies, documentary film clips, excerpts from novels, etc) that also deal with individual people groups (immigrants, children, women, GLBT, etc.) rights and having my students connect their novels to the supplementary material to their novels. This week I introduced ideas of Natural rights and Civil Rights, cultural perspectives, and responsibilities of the individual. I am asking a lot of question and my students are answering them based on previous knowledge, experiences, opinions, and thinking critically about consequences of acting and not acting, responsibility, and knowledge seeking.

It rules so far. I am pretty pumped. So many people have offered me suggestions for material and I really appreciative. I have so many great people in my life...all teachers in their own way.

Graduate School - Decisions

2009-03-04T10:00:00.000-08:00

Graduate School has arrived and has knocked me in the chest and thrown me overboard, but then, just as I was losing hope, it swooped down at the last moment to catch me and catapult me into the air, higher than I've ever been before.

Monday was a snow day and the day that I received a letter from University of Texas, Austin sincerely thanking me for my interest in their program, but respectfully rejecting my application. I was devastated as I had decided that Boston University is far too expensive for me to attend school there this past weekend and felt the sting of defeat. I explained to a friend that in my world, if you work hard for something you usually get what you worked hard for and that this just stunk. I worked so hard. No doubt about that.

Yesterday I fought off thoughts that were telling me I wasn't good enough for grad school and maybe it was time to redirect my dreams. It was rough -- after dedicating so many thoughts and so much time to this goal, coming out with no reward was pretty terrible.
Then, around 4:00, my phone rang and the Director of the Department of African-American Studies in Global and Comparative Perspective was on the other line to tell me I had been accepted to Boston's MA program. This was great news, however, the cost of tuition is unreal so I was grateful, but hopeless. THEN she told me that I had been recommended to be awarded a 100% tuition scholarship and a stipend to cover living expenses during the time that I would be a student in the program.

I am still processing this whole thing. It is truly unbelievable.

My students are expressing joy and pride as they fake frowny faces and follow up with, "but Ms. C-------k! Who will teach us next year?!?"

I am telling them that maybe I'll teach them in college.
Wow. Maybe I will.

I am so unbelieveably grateful for those who have helped me and supported me.
It was their help that got me to where I am and will keep pushing me in the direction of where I'm heading.

This is the opportunity of my lifetime and I intend to meet it head on, if given the opportunity.

Thanks to you even, those of you who read this blog and are interested in my life. I'll keep it up during this waiting time. I'll keep it up if I'm lucky enough to get the scholarship and I end up freezing my tail off up North.

How great!

My Rushdie and Me: Adaptation

2009-02-22T15:56:00.000-08:00

I emailed this to a favorite person of mine after returning home and thought I summed up all I wanted to share in it. This is a new strategy...rather than adapting (fresh thoughts) my messages for blogs why not maintain the originality of the first expression of the thoughts?

Attempt one: unadulterated explanation, straight from the heart.

Just got home from the Rushdie lecture. He was on point...as per usual I assume.
His lecture was centered around Adaptations. He focused mainly on film adaptations of movies (Ben Button, The Reader, and Slumdog being the primary three) but then led into discussion of adaptations in our own lives (which got me at the core). I thought of you and your infrequent transformations. I appreciated his critique of Slumdog after hearing Deepika's (shared aversion to the film adaptation being made my a man who had "never visited India and thought it would be interesting") and am looking forward to seeing it and viewing it with a critical eye albeit influenced by some marvelous thinkers. He noted an important question when thinking of adapting books to film, mini-series, etc. is What is essential? Then applied this same question to humanity. It was interesting to think in terms of how at times in our lives we find certain things essential (i.e. reading, love, money, "success," parenting children, etc.) and when our lives are shaken (we go blind, someone leaves us, get fired, children grow up) we adapt to find a new essence of life. On a larger scale even to think of this adaptation is also pretty rad. He said we had lived through an era of bad adaptations, appeasements, and can only hope for better films, better movies, and better stories. That was an approximation of how he ended his speech as they took my bag from me and I had to take minimal notes on an the Methodist Church's Offering Envelopes (forgive me father).

Back to our point of how what gets you and I going individually seems to be these endless tunnels with tiny lights at certain points, but for some reason we keep wandering about (and I can only speak for me here): I think that what makes a lot of this stuff so great is that the truths that we stumble upon in our 'studies' are truths that we have known in our lives and have always been on the cusp of naming (consciously or otherwise). It's like tonight, Salman was connecting literature and humanity, and by this ability I was blown away and envious. I want to do that...I want to train my brain to get big, be free and not rigid, to guide itself to epiphany after epiphany as I cultivate it with stories and studies. There was also something comfortable about everything he was saying towards the end though, and I think this is because I have known this habit of adapting by some other name at some other time in my life. I think it is this; the connection to humanity, to emotions, to the 'essence' of life, that keeps me wandering because I am (or feel at least) always almost there. It, like my mother's perfume, C's dumb jokes, and the sound of you singing a new tune, feels like home.

That is what rules about loving what you study and studying you love and I certainly hope that I get into graduate school.

Reflection on Lecture: "There are no women in the Third World"

2009-02-19T08:47:00.000-08:00

Last night the student inside of me experienced the blessing of resuscitation; the life-giving thrusts upon my chests, the exhalation from another human’s breath into my lungs, and I feel alive again, in theoretic discourse at least.

I attended a lecture by Emory’s Associate Professor of English and South Asian Studies, Deepiks Bahri last entitled: “There are no Women in the Third World.”
She discussed the role of and position of women in the context of globalization and from a postcolonial feminist perspective examined the questions:
Who can speak and for whom? Who listens? How does one represent the self and others?

Here is where I attempt to connect the dots to what she said and the fragmented thoughts and memories that live somewhere in “No Man’s Land” (i.e. my brain).

As D addressed issues centered around these women that live in developing countries and, therefore, deemed Third World Women (by the First World, of course) she brought to the proverbial table a lot of interesting issues regarding representation, globalization, market economy, power, language, knowledge, understanding, misunderstanding, repression, recession, and oppression. A problem with the problems,she suggested, is that there are no clear resolutions and sometimes the problems aren't viewed as problems to the livers of the lives.

I drifted here and began thinking of the livers of the lives and how we discuss these people like we know (because we have done the research)their situations; their relationships to living. Deepika brought me back with stories from her travels through slums and brothels in India. Personal stories are history, I attempt to thread the tales together to create my understanding of humanity...maybe that explains why my understanding and remembering of things is in such shambles!
An idea came back to me during this lecture; was one that was born in a class on Jazz and Pop Culture as I was reading Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man. In the beginning of the book, second chapter or something, the narrator is thrown into a battle royal and all I remember thinking as this scene filled me with terror disgust is "how can he keep his dignity?"
-and for the connection!-
As Deepika traveled in India and heard the stories of married women who were subjected to forced, unprotected sex with their husbands, forced into the sex trade, chose to live and work in the sex industry, orphaned, sick, and many of these women,she said, had one thing in common: the idea that they still had their "dignity." Deepika discussed the women she encountered as having dignity in a way that suggested that having dignity empowered these women who are seen by many in the Western World as powerless victims to their situations. Her argument, I think, was that these women who, in many ways, have been silenced are speaking up every day in their own language, in their stories that are never going to be published (see globalization to blame), and are not seeking salvation at the hand of Western values or judgments.

I was then led to wonder if feeling worthy of honor (dignity) can conquer a representation that has manifested itself deep into human consciousness (which is an entirely different discussion on representation, our susceptibility to it, and our perception). If that sense of worth carries that much power, and if so how does one maintain that sense of self hood when others are deliberately attacking it. What strength human beings have.

Ah, but these are just questions...that lead to more questions.

A Land Where Imagination Reigns Supreme

2009-01-27T19:07:00.000-08:00

I've been seeking refuge from hardening of the imagination by reading children's tales.
I look to authors like Roald Dahl and Shel Silverstein and remind myself that they were adults too. I try to find my creativity and make things with my hands to remind myself that I am capable of creating and imagining.
I've made terrariums complete with banjo playing astronauts, journals adorned with pigs and mice in britches, paintings that double as night lights with roosters on them, super hero dolls, trading cards, drawings of giants, and I feel that I have rescued myself from the dismal valley of "grown up." My writing though is still struggling. It has been so long since I have stayed in with hopes of writing something for myself that isn't simply a reflection, an analysis of a book, event, or film, or a line from my reading that struck me for one reason or another. I want to center myself again and focus my creativity towards writing.

It is my goal to find sanctuary from whatever it is that plagues the youthful mind as I wish to never lose it...
I'm still trying to figure out how to protect it.

Here are some great ones...love Shel Silverstein.

"God's Wheel"

God says to me with a kind of smile,
"Hey how would you like to be God awhile
And steer the world?"
"Okay," says I, "I'll give it a try.
Where do I set?
How much do I get?
What time is lunch?
When can I quit?"
"Gimme back that wheel," says God.
"I don't think you're quite ready yet."

"Listen to the MUSTN'TS"

"Listen to the mustn'ts, child.
Listen to the don'ts.
Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts.
Listen to the never haves,
then listen close to me...
Anything can happen, child.
Anything can be."

Back to School Not-so-Blues

2009-01-13T16:34:00.001-08:00

It's been a long, long time since I've blogged, but not since I reflected.

Last semester was a bit to much for me to process. Towards the end it seems that all the tiny fires that have been ignited collide with high winds volcanic ash sloshing about. Really, it was a pretty terrible last week and I couldn't have been more thankful for that 3:50 bell on Friday afternoon. My break was great, I had a new year and a new birthday, so here I am a year older, a bit wiser, and hoping for nothing but a disgusting display of positive events this year. ONLY good things. It's all I will accept. Last year brought on enough bad for me to appreciate the good this year too. Gimme all that shimmers and set the rusty bits aside for a while!

The beginning of this semester hasn't been so terrible. I have two of three college applications submitted. The last one will be done soon enough and then I cross my fingers until March(ish) I think. Stress.

I am gearing my focus towards activism and dedicating my time outside of school to crafting and self-education.

Activism within the school is geared towards the Gay/Straight alliance. We have really broken some ground this semester -- I am looking forward to helping individual students and the school community as a whole become more comfortable with GLBT issues. The newspaper is taking care of itself but I am challenging my students as journalists, making them step outside of comfortable places and report facts. This has proven very hard for a Jewish student of mine who is approaching the Israel/Palestine conflict, but she presses on and I pound my fist in the air behind her. It's fun to push them.

I am learning a lot as well. I began the semester after a break that was a little too much fun without knowing what I would teach then deciding to teach something that I wasn't familiar with -- The Arthurian Legend. There was a lot of learning to do and I have actually enjoyed coming back to the legend as an adult.

I am dedicated to a book, a novel believe it or not, just for fun. It's about a fictional literary revolution in Mexico and these kids, well men and women I suppose, parallel lives of Ginsberg or Kerouac sleeping in caves, drinking tequila until sunrise, and the whole while celebrating poetry. It's fun -- The Savage Detectives by: Roberto Bolano.

There will be more as I try to center my focus again to blogging.

So to all my "fans"" (i.e. my wonderful grandfather), don't worry there will be more.

Balancing the Madness

2008-11-22T16:38:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-14T17:20:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-11-07T08:45:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-04T11:14:00.000-08:00

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

2008-10-16T13:11:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-24T19:44:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-20T17:22:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-08T16:42:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-03T18:41:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-08-29T08:24:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-25T15:46:00.001-07:00

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

2008-08-21T12:40:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-20T08:57:00.001-07:00

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

2008-08-18T13:38:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-17T13:19:00.001-07:00

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

2008-08-12T14:55:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-23T05:25:00.000-07:00

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"

2008-05-19T18:13:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-09T10:44:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-25T05:36:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-04T09:04:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-03T11:40:00.001-07:00

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?

2008-03-03T18:42:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-21T20:18:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-01-31T11:00:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-25T08:14:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-14T16:43:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-01-10T15:24:00.001-08:00

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.

Sabotage!

2008-01-09T16:07:00.000-08:00

My day was going phenomenal! I had just finished lecturing my 3rd period honors students (13 girls, 2 boys) on how they are a privileged youth and should be grateful that they are able to be informed and taught about issues that are controversial so that they may one day form their own opinions and do so with a bit of knowledge in their brains. This lecture was spawned from one of my snotty-female students saying, "Like, I don't wanna sound like, uncaring or anything, but I am just getting tired of talking about the genocide in Darfur." Um, excuse me? Well why don't you give me that left arm of yours and let me sneak attack you from behind the desk and chop it off with a machete. Either that or you have to learn how to sneak attack others and chop off random body parts too. It's a much bigger decision than the pedicure with the French finish or the Mani/Pedi combo!

So after I leapt from atop my soapbox (fitting, because I am sure if I were a public speaker I'd be using some makeshift stand to hoist myself up at this point in my career/life) I proudly walked to my brand new, five year old, eight people used, DELL computer and saw that some blue screen had swallowed all of my nice, organized files. One of my two male students answered his nerdy little call to duty and tried to resuscitate my dead pile of crap, but we were unable to wish it back to life. I have lost my lists of things (I love lists!) I have lost all my plans (I also love plans!).

I feel that these small trials I am being tested with are signs that I have wronged someone or broken some universal rule and now I must pay in head pain, heart burn, and tummy knots, but I can't figure out what I have done. I have recently put down a nasty habit which makes my stress much harder to deal with, but soon will be replacing that nasty habit with a little Hot Latin! Sounds steamy, right? I am gonna learn to salsa dance and maybe other dancing...not sure exactly, but totally pumped about it. Trying to find new projects to counter the stress of teaching is a super fun task!

Two Down

2008-01-08T19:30:00.001-08:00

I am pretty much official now, well, minus the name tag (which should be here by next week).
My day begins early and end late. Too late. Traffic late. There is no way I could even imagine leaving though, not before at least 1/3 of my work is done. It is hard.

Day one I told my kids my one rule: Respect.
Day two I only had to remind one period of my one rule. Actually, I had the kid who was there yesterday tell the kid who was there today (talking while I was talking...rude!) to tell him that there was only one rule: Respect, and that talking while I was talking was disrespectful.

I like newspaper/journalism, but was reminded today that the minds of teens are immensely different than that of adults. Brittney Spears v. New Hampshire Primaries. Bologna v. News.
Hmmm, now I am trying to figure out how to make a suggestions without really making a suggestion. I did say today that, "Newspaper is for news, not for bitching!" Good ole' boss lady.

I am in a constant state of disarray, and as hard as I try to become organized there is always something missing. It is very frustrating. I even bought stand-up files and lay down files and all sorts of files. It has only been two full days and I am already exhausted.

My favorite part of the day is when my sixth period comes because I have a few Hispanic students that say, "Hey Mees!" My name is not Miss Cook, just "Mees." It is actually real cute.

I'll get it down...it might take a while though.

arrivederci 2007!

2007-12-31T06:44:00.000-08:00

I am trying to wrap up the last day of 2007 (good riddance!) by preparing like crazy for the first few days of 2008. I begin work on Friday and the kids come galloping in the following Monday. I am completely freaked out. Completely.
I know that I will be teaching some genre of literature and that the kids should be ready to begin research on particular authors that their teacher-formerly known as super slack- should have already set up with each of them. Probably hasn't. I will have to. I am trying to read all of the short stories in my binder that I may, possibly, any chance in hell, teach to them so that I am one step ahead. I feel that is how I will shuffle through these first few months...one step ahead of every kid.
As far as the newspaper class goes, I had a brief tutorial with an old friend on InDesign and Photoshop. Um, so, we'll see.
I have definitely been that annoying first year teacher who is coming in mid-year and emailing all of my future colleagues with questions and planning ideas (which we decided we would do before the break) and have only heard from my darling, across the hall, neighbor who I love. She is in her second year and remembers the fear that floods the hearts of new teachers. She is also, um, 23, just like me. Well, I will be 23 on Wednesday. THEN all of the ridiculous holiday parties can stop and I can get back to watching TVD's and reading books all by my lonesome.

I think that 2008 will be good because I want it to be. I am going to start getting my travel on which is what makes my heart flutter the most. First trip is to NY in January (bad timing, I know...irresponsible, maybe) and I am excited to fly on an airplane all alone for the first time in my whole, tiny little life. Teeny little steps to get me started on a grand adventure! I will not rely on luck or fate or any of those other invisibles that I don't believe in. No collard greens and black eyed peas will lead me to happiness this year; I will. All by myself and all growed up.

Merry Christmas $1.84

2007-12-17T15:18:00.000-08:00

This one was inspired by a cryptic history.
--------------------------------------------------------

If only my mailbox could muster the courage to form the words you must’ve meant.

As if a little glitter is enough to patch up a hole in the wall that begs the bitter wind enter safely.
Or a check hidden in a fold could buy back skinned knees, honor roll certificates, pre-feminist playground games, post-pubescent heart troubles, the first rally, the first and second graduations?
All things spectacular, mediocre - a fall from Grace,
a journey to enlightenment - have rushed past without your knowing.

Hallmark certainly doesn’t erase snotty noses, smoking barrels, swallowed fearlumps, or sheets hiding tiny, tear-stained faces from a troubled memory.

The days of sugar and spice and everything nice are long gone and the evenings completed by mothball scented animal crackers have been tucked into the depths of forgetfulness.
The only thing worse than a Driftwood Dad is the older generation of bandits that acted as his accomplices.

And if you knew me at all you would know that I hate pink and don’t believe in angels.

The end of an era

2007-12-13T13:41:00.000-08:00

As I stumbled across the stage to receive proof that I am an educated lady today I didn't feel that overwhelming, stomach in your throat excitement that a college graduate, teary-eyed, mouth-watering with a sense of accomplishment should feel. I felt more of a nostalgia for the times I had in college, and the books I studied, the authors I became acquainted with, and the new methods for reasoning that I learned. I felt a genuine nostalgia for learning.

I worry that I will not write as much now that I have no cue card telling me what to focus my ideas around. I fear that I will become lazy in my life as a career girl, going and coming every day, just as the thousands around me do. Maybe because I have this fear I won't allow it to happen. It has only happened once before and rode into my life on the shoulders of contentment. A very close scholar friend of mine once told me of this quote friend he likes that states "the future belongs to the discontented." I never want to feel that sense of paralyzing contentment again. What a terrible sensation; that one's life has been lived.
Last night a cookie told me that the best times of my life have yet to be lived. I only hope that the God of the Cookies meant for me to retrieve that fortune. I only hope that is true.

New Plans include learning Spanish to help my chances of getting into a better grad school. Begin studying for the GRE as soon as possible so when I take it I will kick it's smarty-pants testing ass, and get into a great grad school.

It was strange to see my college friends and favorite professors for the last time. Very strange.
I move into my room tomorrow...not that I have much to move in. If you would like to send me a token of you to put in my classroom for decor (a porcelain elephant, your lucky stone, a picture of a rhinoceros eating spaghetti that you love, etc.) let me know and I will gladly put it on my desk and think of you every time I see it.

I wanna do right, but not right now

2007-12-10T14:10:00.000-08:00

I was laying flat-backed in the park yesterday making shapes out of the clouds instead of planning. After I spotted an ogre and a little squirrel crouching on a paper airplane, I began reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being, instead of planning. This book was recommended to me by at least three of my closest friends and they all suggested that I "read it now, it'll be good for you." Conclusion: my friends think I am a crazy woman right now.

Since my job offer last week I've been thinking too much about what career life entails. Here I am, a 22 year-old kid signing up for life insurance when I barely have any life to insure! I have to choose a health plan, and think about a 401k or a 503b or something like that! It's nuts really, this transition to adulthood. Actually, I take that back, the work "transition" suggests a progression (digression) or a movement through stages..this is not. It is as if Adulthood and his pals car insurance, doctor bills, rent, phone bills, medical bills, and all the other Bills that they know just moved in unannounced to my tiny studio apartment. There are so many things you are supposed to know as an adult, like which boxes to check on the confusing tax forms, who to call when your car breaks down, how to politely deny the Jehovah Witnesses that show up at your door (as a kid you can just cut out the lights and lay on the floor until they leave), or what a flexible spending plan is (?). When do you learn these things? Is there a handbook?

Mostly though, I have been considering this notion of planning to achieve our goals. We plan, the plan is set, we reach the goal, then we are done.
It seems I have achieved this big goal and now I have to create a new list. That is what I will be replacing planning with today.
Still just sketching out ideas on the design for my life.

The Payoff

2007-11-30T11:49:00.000-08:00

I am gonna be able to pay rent in January 2008 and my Christmas break is going to be a demon hell-ride.

Sshhh.

Now all I have to do is force myself to finish up this end of school madness.

Oh, oh, and Chicago is my new favorite city, Kentucky has beautiful colors, and Memphis has secrets in every single crack of every single brick in every aging house on her streets.

Arundhati Roy

2007-11-17T16:02:00.000-08:00

She writes beautifully. I am a true believer that the things you bring into your life should be right for that time. God of Small Things is right for me right now.

I want to share some of her words because they make sense and have an innocence about them; an innocence that carries wisdom on it's shoulders. William Blake would probably disagree.

"Smells, like music, hold memory. She breathed deep and bottled it up for posterity."

"Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones -- a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered."

"She hadn't learned to control her Hopes yet."

"Our dreams have been doctored. We belong nowhere. We sail unanchored on troubled seas. We may never be allowed ashore. Our sorrows will never be sad enough. Our joys never happy enough. Our dreams never big enough. Our lives never important enough. To matter." (Uncle talking to niece and nephew about being 'prisoners' of war)

"She wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes."

[my favorite]
"Perhaps it's true that things can change in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of burned house -- the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture -- must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for."

Ideas: A viable dying age. A Design for Life. Love Laws.

It's a really good book so far and I suggest it to anyone who is looking for a book (all six of you who read this). I guess it is hard to represent her skill with excerpts taken out of context, but really, trust me. It'll make you smile at memories you had forgotten about.

"And the things you can't remember tells the things you can't forget that history puts a saint in every dream." -Tom Waits

Final Assignment

2007-11-14T18:20:00.000-08:00

This is my last week of teaching.

My final assignment for the kids is one that is completely for my personal gain. I am asking them to write a letter to me. Before writing I want them to reflect on the time that we have spent together and think of things (whatever it may be) that they have learned from me. I hoping to get big picture lessons, not the steps of a heroes journey or how to write a character analysis. I am (secretly) hoping for them to have learned to ask questions, to think before they speak, to not be rude, to be respectful of all things and people, to live deliberately. I want to know if they have grown with me or if I have ignited any interests in their lives. I hope so. It's what I want to do. If not, I will take that too.

I am asking for their advice because they are the ones who matter. Not the supervisor who is watching me, not the teachers who compliment my growth, not even my extremely critical views of myself. Alright, I guess those opinions do matter, but I am still most interested in hearing what those kids have to say.

I will enjoy reading 130 letters while I am on the road over the holidays.
Yes! I have a plan, I am going to see things I have never seen, going to smell new smells, and touch new buildings! I am going to unscrew my head and let all the moths fly out of it with my best girl at my side. I will not be working on my Impact on Student Learning or my online portfolio (vomit) because my collapsing innards are most important now. I need to breath some fresh breaths and blink twice and pinch myself, so I am gonna do it. It doesn't make sense says my diminishing savings account, but life doesn't make much sense all the time either. Neither do the plans we have created or the goals that we have reached.
I don't wanna graduate college, I want to continue writing papers, and engaging in larger than life discussions with classmates and professors. But really, I gotta go figure out what I need because somehow, on my path to this "ultimate goal" of college graduation, I have forgotten what that is. Oh Lordy, I hope I can wrap my tired little hands around some type of idea - a design for my life.

I sure am gonna miss my mama's collard greens though and her sweet, familiar smell that always reminds me of home. That smell is my only home. She is quite a lady.

Point Master

2007-11-08T18:10:00.000-08:00

Today a student who isn't in any of my classes brought me and CT some candy bars that he bought just for us! Cool! Chocolate. I am not sure of the protocol for accepting candy from kids, but alls I know is I am not saying no to free candy.

Also we were doing this Craniumesque vocabulary review for their quiz tomorrow and my beloved third period (little demons incarnate)decided that one of their team names was gonna be "Mike Hawk." I wasn't actually teaching their class (because they are bad kids so I gave them back) but CT wrote it on the board and the kids sniggered from their Devil thrones. Get it Mike Hawk, my cock. Puerile wordplay.

At the end of class I told that team that I was subtracting one point from their final score for assuming that their teachers are too dumb to understand their baby jokes.

Hahaha!

Update

2007-11-07T15:27:00.000-08:00

This Cortfolio is going to take A LOT of time. Oh man, see you later fun.

True Blue

2007-11-07T13:00:00.000-08:00

Try to remember back to that time when your boss told you not to wait too long because the deadline was just around the corner or your professor assigned a paper three weeks in advance to give you ample time to complete the assignment, but in true student form you waited until the week, or in most cases, night before it was due. As I begin working on this final college assignment I am refreshed to know that my undergraduate tendencies are as alive as ever.

I have just started looking at my online portfolio and beginning to put together the materials that are necessary for the completion of my program. I do not think that this online portfolio will benefit me, I do not think that any principal will actually take the time to visit my online portfolio, and I do not think that I will enjoy doing it, but sometimes you just have to bite the bright side of things, or get going when the shit hits the fan, or I don't know, I am just going to do it.

I was supposed to have performed an analysis on my students learning. By studying closely a "pre-test," then teaching a skill, and then assigning some type of assessment I was to determine each students progress. The key tense of this last bit of information is past. Yes, yes! Past tense!
I was supposed to have done this while I was teaching. However, hindsight is 20/40 right? I am going to complete this assignment as a reflection. Of course I will have all of the data I need, but all stuck in my big brain. The University I attend is well-known (at least by students in the English Ed Dept.) for it's fondness for reflection, so this should be fine, right?

I am not too worried because one thing I am sure of is that college students have this strange ability to pull things from their unspeakable at the last minute, and college english students have this even weirder ability to make it sound good.

Soul Journey

2007-10-31T11:51:00.001-07:00

Looks like life has gotten in the way of blogging once again. I think that is just fine though. Here are updates.

As of last Friday I started teaching the Seniors. This group of seniors is so disenchanted with life. They enter my room quietly, sit quietly, and leave quietly. Getting them to talk to me is equally as hard as getting my third period (worst period) to shut up. I have considered different types of ways to get them to be more active because simply asking them, and being real with them, is failing miserably. One idea I had was to make a deal that if they participated in class discussions (poetry analysis and Romanticism) then I would let them teach me something. Considering the things that they could teach me (Stoicism 101) led me to trash that idea. Back to drawing board.
The first day I taught them we had a "discussion" on poetry as a representation of culture. They brought in song lyrics and we discussed whether or not the song qualified as poetry. We attempted to identify unique traits of each students individual culture, which was insanely hard. When did the population of school age children become so homogeneous? Differences include race, socio-economic status, and, uh, I guess that is all they thought of. WHAT? Back to the story...
After my monologue spotted with "yeahs" and "I disagrees" from my audience I asked them to write a poem that accurately represented the culture from which they come. By the way, when they said "I disagree" I would really sink my teeth in and get them talking, but it didn't work. Generally, I give my kids a choice of whether or not they want to share, but not these guys, they had to share. Asia's turn to share came about and she stood up, marched to the front of the class (not required) and began to cry. She then shared with us a poem she wrote about her step-brother getting shot outside of a QuickMart three days prior. I had no idea.

That class is a true melting pot, with hot wings and caviar covering white, steamed rice. Some of those kids are bound for ivy league schools, and the only way that the others would see the halls of Yale is from behind a mop. Why mix kids on such drastic levels? It is beyond me. Quite a challenge.

My freshmen are cute. They stress more than I do. In the past four days two beautiful, bright little ladies have come to me crying because grades in other classes or because they had a test coming up. It is wrong for 14 year old children to be crying over an 89. CT is going to bring it up at her Dept. Chair meeting today. Basically Math and Geography are swallowing the kids whole and because of that I am afraid to give any homework, which is fine. However, I do not want to feel guilty for assigning some if it is necessary. Poor babies. So much pressure on them to succeed, when they don't even know what success is yet. Not for themselves.

Tonight is Halloween. I love Halloween.
Friday I was Karl Marx with a yellow party hat on. A member of the Communist party! Get it? It was bad. Nobody got it.

Teaching has really hindered my ability to be able to deal with my own life. Currently, I am working on a plan to find my head again and resurrect part of my heart. Wish me luck. This is what is most important of all.

Throwing in the Towel

2007-10-24T13:50:00.000-07:00

Today I submitted an application for Fulton County. Now this may seem like the normal progression of things to most, but in my heart I don't know if saying the "Pledge of Allegiance" every morning and being cut off by obnoxious bells is where I want to be. There was this time a few years ago in a 9th grade classroom when I got this feeling of overwhelming rightness. I don't know if that is proper use, but that is what it was. I knew, I mean I knew, that teaching was my calling. I was meant to stand before curious students and preach the good words of ancient and contemporary truths, to ask unanswerable questions, and to learn by teaching for a long, long time. Unfortunately my heart is no longer filled with that rightness. I find myself struggling to remember my passions regarding public education, I make lists of the things I wanted to do, the impact I hoped to make. I forget so easily and it is so very hard to jog my memory (which is probably as good as a newborn baby's to begin with) of why I wanted to be there in the first place.

The real world jitters or anxiousness of becoming a real life grown-up is common, from what I have been told, for most college graduates. I listen and nod and pretend like the advice, that I am not really even asking for, makes sense or helps guide me. Truth is, I don't know if this is only butterflies about becoming a big kid or if I have spent the past few years preparing for a life that is not going to be mine. All I am sure of is that whatever I do for my career will be something I am passionate about. I get to make that choice. I just have to remember my passions first.

I submitted my application today because I owe it to myself to try this on my own, for a little while. Hopefully I will get the job at my school now for the last semester. That way I don't have to sign in blood for an entire year. I can get my feet wet, have my own classroom, and make a better decision when I am hopefully at a more stable period in my life.

My certainties often cower in the face of my doubts. I am losing my knack for convincing myself of things. Wish me luck I guess.

Check your Crack at the Door

2007-10-23T13:45:00.001-07:00

Gone are the days of Kriss Kross and their backwards Oshkosh, and apparently the days of civil rights are too.

The dreariness of my morning was enhanced when NPR informed my curious little noggin' that a small, rural community near my hometown (like 10 miles out) has officially "outlawed" baggy pants. I would like to take a minute and consider this as I have already dismissed such a rule, excuse me, law, from existing in my head. I imagine it deserves some thought. It is, after all, the stupidest thing I have heard of since this girl:

After the first mention of this conspiracy to oust baggy pants I joked with my room mate and told her as I passed kids in the hallway at school I would sometimes say (in my head of course) "you are under arrest, pull up your pants scoundrel!" Then laugh to myself as I promenaded down the hall taking notice of all the "Drug Free is the way to Be!" signs that are posted for Red Ribbon Week. Did I mention it is Red Ribbon Week and that kids do drugs...lots of drugs...lots of kids? But, yeah, OH, back to baggy pants - the real issue here. So it's done. Somewhere in the state of GA all of those booties will be carefully shielded from eyes of those poor sweet tea drinkin' Southerners. Oh boy, I don't know what to do with this law.

I am going to continue walking through the halls singing "Bad boys, Bad boys..." to myself not because I agree with this rule, but because I think it is absolutely ridiculous to worry about saggy pants (and insanely funny). Maybe next time I go home I will wear my britches extra low...just to try those suckers.

I was also working on analogies today trying to get my kids some extra practice. You guys try this one:

Umbrella : Clear Night :: Law :

a. Teen Drug Use
b. Teen Violence
c. Pants riding low
d. Gang Violence

Sometimes I think our society has progressed, then I turn on the radio.

Potable

2007-10-19T14:07:00.001-07:00

[in the midst of a vocabulary review Ms. C learns a new joke]

Ms. C: "Potable is an adjective meaning fit to drink."

[repeat]

Ms. C: "Can anyone use potable in a sentence? Oh, okay Emily."

Emily: "People over 21 are potable."

Ms. C: "Ahhahahahahahah! Only some my friend, only some."

My Fickle Universe

2007-10-18T13:47:00.000-07:00

My week has been crazier than seven witches cackling around a cauldron of stone soup!

Too many days have passed since I last posted. That in no way, however, represents the amount I have been thinking, reflecting, or crying about teaching. I had my first almost-quarter-life crisis last week. I started doing that thing that all college students do before embarking on a journey into the unknown land of business casual: questioning my path. While I do like teaching, I feel that the practice of disciplining, grading, and hollering have really covered my passions in a layer of foul-smelling kid germs. I want to love it. I know that I won't love it it every day, but I want to love it most days. Loving Literature and teaching children are far different worlds and while I am adjusting and the kids are enjoying me, most days I just want to love Literature. I don't like having to ask kids to stop talking every time I want to talk. I have only two rules: don't be rude and be respectful. The first falls under the latter really, but that is how I break it down for them. I tell them when they are being rude and it usually works for about five seconds. Not a bad deal, eh? I just want to read literature and talk about it! Let's write some good stuff too.

So Sunday there I was, all hugging my knees to my chest in my living room, wondering what the hell I would do with myself if I didn't go into teaching and thinking of all the different ailments that I could fake on Monday when it came to me that I no longer wanted to be a teacher! I decided to graduate and then figure it out. Monday I went into school and CT asked how I was doing, I told the truth, she basically offered me a job.
The universe toys with me.

I am, of course, going to give it a shot before writing it off. I just want to be a student forever. Write papers. Read books. Drink coffee. Sleep late. Think all the time about all the questions that I will never have answers for, all the while, simply loving the questions themselves. Alas, I must try what I have worked so hard for...then grad school. Seven years!

I am pulling myself out of this abysmal life confusion. Student teaching is a crazy, demon hell ride. My knuckles are white and I am doing my best to hang on.

I saw a sneak preview of Lions for Lambs, the new Robert Redford movie. Go see it. No joke. Go. As soon as it comes out.

Asian Wisdom and Mariachi Madness

2007-10-11T16:41:00.001-07:00

Tuesday night my sleep was interrupted by a nightmare I had where my ex-boyfriend and one of my Seniors were dating. When I woke up I was hyperventilating and crying.
Only two thoughts were in my head after I suddenly awoke: 1. I wish both of those jerks would keep outta my head and 2. I need a freaking break!

This week has been rather chaotic. Monday my students were wearing sombreros, playing with marionettes, bouncing eyeballs, magic wands, wigs, and a Webster's dictionary. It was our final (very informal) assessment to wrap up this characterization stuff and we decided that this assignment was silly as hell then asked ourselves, "Why do it?" Our response was simply, "Why not?"

The assignment was to get one of the totally random props that we had provided for them and then to partner up. They were to each perform an interview using questions that I had developed plus some of their own all focused primarily on the prop and their partners relationship with/to it. They had to basically develop turn their partner into a character based on the prop. Next they had to create a Word Portrait, which was just like the Word Photos (below) except a portrait of their partner/character and his/her prop. Finally, this was the totally random part, they had to pose their character/partner in a pose that was relevant to his/her attitude as a new character and fingerpaint a portrait of them...in two minutes. I am evil.

It was fun, but wow was it hectic. Wednesday was especially strange. Not sure why...my mind has been really running away from me lately and just feel frazzled. So after the longest day ever on Wednesday I decided to open one of the props, a fortune cookie, just to read the fortune. As if I didn't already know that my day had been bad enough with the sub who doesn't complete anything - including a simple thought, and kids who can't stop talking for fear that the attention will be directed towards me, the teacher, my fortune was exactly what I needed to quit my day.
It read: Today your mouth will be moving, but no one will be listening.

It was then that I calmly closed my grade book, put the pathetic excuses for essays that I am currently grading into my bag and marched out of that hell hole. After, of course, I taped my fortune to the desk.

Week In Review

2007-10-05T21:27:00.000-07:00

My life is a mini-wreck right now, the state of health I am in is adding a few worry wrinkles to my forehead, and my kitten has learned to play rough. However tomorrow I depart for the North GA mountains and set up camp for the weekend. I am brining One Hundred Years of Solitude with me. Gonna read that first. Then I will read God of Small Things. If you all want to suggest and reading to me then please do. I promise to consider it. I am going to share some touching word photos that bring my thoughts from yesterday, the ones about trauma being hard and thus sticking around, to light a bit. Here they are. Of course, names have been changed.

Word Photo #1
His father took his sister and him to the hospice for one last moment ot see their mother. She was lying on her bed peacefully, beneath a soft white sheet and a blue cotton blanket. The room was solely lit up by the light from out the glass doors to the garden. Her face was finally showing signs of tranquility, instead of suffering and pain. There were no breathing tubes, no water bags, just her gentle face. He walked up beside her and hugged her as gently as he could, as not ot disturb her as if she were only sleeping. He wept upon her shoulder for a long time as he remembered all of the moments that she was there to help him. As he was walking to the door, he took one last look at her peaceful body and wondered why it had to be this way.

Word Photo #2
The doors slamming all throughout the house. Frightened and worreid, Emily ran to her older sister's room for comfort. These were the only times the two got along. They huddled together in the room too big for a twelve year old, watching the blue walls as if they held the secrets to the fights, waiting for any clue of what to do. The sound of angry footsteps echoed the hall, and they prayed that it was over. Emily squeezed through the door to see the opening to the rest of the house. Little green pebbles sliced the soles of her feet as she crept to where it had all started. It was broken glass, a memory of the war. She saw her mother, cradled on the floor and sobbing, and she knew that hte beloved high school sweethearts had finally given up.

One thing that I have been told numerous times is that "we all have a story to tell." It is so true. Each one of these kids have stories. Difficult stories of charmed lives gone sour, stories of becoming men and women through religious confirmations, stories of leaving and being left of loving and denying, and of trying to make sense of a world which moves around them too fast to fully understand. The kids, people, who wrote these memories for me to read are such good people. Smart people with good hearts. I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a "good man" or a "good woman." My father used to describe some people in his life (an elite few) as "good men/women" and as a child I never understood. I now do. I now strive to be a good woman/person. It isn't something you have to try to do...you just do it. You are good to people you love to people you don't to people you will never have the opportunity to know and, of course, to yourself. These kids are still kids, but they are good people. They have sincerity in their hearts and a humbling kindness that they have acquired somehow, somewhere on thier short journey. Thier stories break my heart, thier lives inspire me. I am a lucky girl.

Mama Said

2007-10-04T15:35:00.000-07:00

I finished reading Dorian Gray this week. Wilde is very quotable. Generally, after I finish a book I will go back through it and type up all of the quotes that I have highlighted or underlined onto my computer so that I may return to them whenever I need to. I typed up a total of three pages from Dorian Gray and here are a few of my favorite:

"The value of an idea has nothing to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it."
"The harmony of soul and body – how much that is! We in our madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism that is vulgar, an ideality that is void."
"The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly- that is what each "of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves nowadays."
"Nothing can cure the soul but the sense, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."
"Behind every exquisite thing that existed there was something tragic."
"Humanity takes itself too seriously. It’s the world’s original sin. If the caveman had known how to laugh, History would have been different. "
"No life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested."
"There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves we feel that no one else has the right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution."
"Actual life was chaos, but there was something terribly logical in the imagination."

That was me being picky. I have tons more. I have revisited them all a number of times...thought about them, not through them, and simply appreciated the words. Words are so powerful. Filled with charge. Is there anything more powerful than words?

I have decided to, in my free time, lose myself in other's words. Today I created a list of what I will be reading. These books are not books that my students are reading, they are just books I want to read. I am doing it for me.

I assigned word photos to my kids. An example of a word photo is this:

LAX

She stood in a waiting room amidst white collars and sleeveless shirts, pleated skirts, and baby bottles. Dirty fingernails fidgeting the top of her suitcase, like a tourist who had no sense of direction. Sneakers suffocating her sock-less feet; as her right toes cowardly hid under the left, she stared at the departure times desperate for a solution. She was battling her darkened eyelids, pleading with them to stay open, while simultaneously struggling to keep her emotions in control. Tears made tiny wade pools in her lower lid, she clenched her jaw, lit her last Parliament and took a seat right there in the corner. Wishing to be invisible.

That is about a time when I went to LA and didn't tell my mom. I missed my flight and didn't have a credit card or a telephone and thought I was pretty screwed. The idea is to freeze time and recreate it with images and senses. Showing, not telling, what the event was that took place. Most of them didn't really get the idea and turned in a narrative. However, a lot of the kids wrote about a very traumatic time: fights their parents had, the fight that we products of divorce know well which acts as a gust of wind that most broken homes cannot withstand, deaths of animals, parents, or friends, or losing their sense of home. CT and I discusses briefly why it is so much easier to remember those tragedies in life. I want to remember a Sunday morning eating my half of the grapefruit, or splitting an Oatmeal Creme Pie into fourths, or something good. My timeline is mostly filled with memories from that painful refuge in my heart that only opens it's door when I need words to write. My biological father, who has been deemed "Driftwood Dad" in many of my writings has butted his way on the page. Why? I never think of that life or him. Why is it that the happy memories slip away into the goings on of life, but these bad memories, the hard ones, wade at the seabed of our minds? I think maybe it is because they are hard and we have to work at them. Bolo in hand we have to find our way out of whatever jungle of madness we have been put into. My mom always said that something is more meaningful if you work for it. Maybe it's the journey that makes them resilient.

Do you hear what I hear?

2007-10-01T16:54:00.000-07:00

Megaphones in the hallways, kids in pajamas with artificial freckles painted on their faces, pigtail propellers coming close to sideswiping my face off. Can you guess what this week is?
Homecoming.
I have never realized the wretched powerhouse that is a 16-year-olds vocal cords until 3:40 today. It is my new least favorite thing.

My brain has been a desert lately. I mean, I have been reading, and I have most certainly been thinking, but not too much about questions of the universe that I can apply to my classroom.
I am just trying to figure out my life right now. Forgive me for weak posts...maybe something will knock my brain off balance soon enough and I will have to ponder it. I am always on the lookout for tip-top bumper stickers. I want to start writing again, I just can't find the words I need.

Class is going fine. The kids are being great. I hate grading. We start Flannery O'Connor tomorrow...that makes me happy.

Stand-In

2007-09-27T14:17:00.001-07:00

Yesterday my sickness and my jammies held me captive and, apparently, that is just what I needed. Read on.

Old man Fronzoni was my partner in crime today. By "partner in crime" I am referring to the shadow of a man in the corner. This fragile substitute shambled aside and got out of my hair. It was pleasant. It was refreshing to teach and not have Big Brother hovering over me with those yellow squinting eyes peering. No! Today my classroom was not the Valley of Ashes, it was my classroom! Perhaps, I haven't realized that I feel I am being watched. I never felt restricted or nervous teaching in front of my CT, but in her absence this pleasant sensation, which is the complete opposite of every other sensation I have had this week (being sick and all), sprang suddenly up from the germy depths and I was "on point" as my students would say! I was being silly and making bad jokes (Ex. A poisonous pickle is inimical) to help them learn vocabulary words, and I may have even whistled a ditty. I guess having your own space makes a difference. I am looking forward to tomorrow, but I should probably begin working on something to share with my darlings.

Sick Week

2007-09-25T13:33:00.000-07:00

What is difficult to understand is that kids don't really care if you are sick. I am. Very.
My kids don't care. I don't know if we are allowed sick days so I have been teaching four classes and suffering from an ailment that I have never had before this week. I started my antibiotics yesterday so hopefully I will not end every day with my head pounding and body aching.

Nothing this week has been too terribly exciting. We are still working on characterization with hopes of having students write an essay on "Everything that Rises Must Converge" next week focusing on one character and the type of characterization used, which means that next weekend I will be grading essays.
Tonight I am attending a presentation of Flannery O'Connor's letters that were recently released at Emory, although I feel like I should be watching reruns in bed with my cat.

CT's husband also works in the school and today he came over to our classroom at the end of the day and saw my Bell Hooks book which sent him on a rant. He doesn't like her (for her feminist writing, not her writing on education), but I was humored and he and I joked about the differences. I like when that happens: two people disagree, but listen to one another and agree to disagree.

No more blogging today. Thursday and Friday my CT is gone and it is just me with a sub.
Maybe I will have interesting stories to share!

Screen Porches and Nice-Nasty

2007-09-20T14:29:00.000-07:00

Today was the second Feather Circle day. It was great. They are still warming up, but "oh joy, joy, jubilee!"

I have chosen lines from many of the student's writing to put up on the wall in the classroom.

After nervously reading my writing that was composed at 8:15 this morning my students told me that I should be an author. It made me feel less crappy for waiting until the last second. This was my second time participating in this assignment. My favorite memory was one of my mother forcing a Morning Glory to open before the sun had risen so I could see how beautiful the flower was. Writing helps you not forget. I got a good mama.

On to my babies...read them all. It is worth it. Promise.

“I am from the honey inside the Honey Suckle plant which I ate day after day.”

“I grew up in a green house with scraggly walls that accounted for many of my childhood cuts.”

“I am an urban child.”

“I love the smallness. I love the closeness. It’s that Southern hospitality that makes me.”

“I am from a British woman who married a Texas man.”

“I am from a huge Jewish family that eats too much and is way too loud.”

“A diversity of religions
Quakers and their oats
Jews and their bagels
Christians and their chocolate Easter rabbits.”

“I’m from the pasture with the little yellow tin-roofed shed.”

“I am the Georgia peach, in a house full of New York apples.”

“When I leave, the city lights beckon me home.”

“Ancient shell-pink bricks are bathed with a breath of salty sea wind. Gnarled live oaks, cascading with curling Spanish moss. Sandy bicycles bumping over cobblestones in the twilight…my first memories of home.”

“I am Charles Gresham, fighting the Battle of the Bulge as a sergeant and a tank commander in the US Army during WWII. I witnessed my own men being torn apart by machine gun fire and murdered by Nazi spies in the dead of night.”

“From the food I eat: Legume, Lambi, Griot, Sauce Pois, Diri et poist, to the language I speak. I am a Haitian Sensation.”

“I have cayenne pepper in my blood and the Mississippi River running through my veins.”

“I am a peapple. A wonderful mix between a New York apple and a Georgia peach.”

“I come from the alarm is a rooster at 7 o’clock in the morning…I come from the dust. I come from Trejo Barranco.”

“You see a place full of fine Southern tradition,
Mixed with Modern ideas
And luxurious details of life.
A house raised by humanism,
Based on human rights and equality.
Based on doing what is right."

“I am split between biscuits and gravy and Pepsi.
Between the civil rights movement
And coalmine cave-ins –
A melting pot of hope and change.”

“My family crests are embedded in Irish history.”

“I’m from an intersection of two culture, traditions, beliefs, and ways of life.”

“Comfy slippers and an old stuffed rabbit named Tuscan.”

“A young mind being molded.”

“Butter yellow house of 14th Avenue. Warm and Inviting. Smells like cinnamon.”

“A book lays open on this cover, it’s pages turning themselves from the gust of the ceiling fan. The cicadas and grasshoppers chirp outside. The faint smell of bleach comes from the sheets, freshly cleaned.”

“I am from sourdough bread and crescent rolls at Thanksgiving.”

“I’m from a place that’s found in a book full of magic carpet rides or wizard’s duels. I’m from a place where anything is possible.”

“Where I’m from there are traffic locked streets, peaches and fairs. I’m from Atlanta; the Dirty South.”

“I am from the sun that shines bright. The one everyone sees every morning and at night it gives hope to the hopeless, and dreams to the sleepless, and keeps a smile on every face.”

“I am from the land of chicken biscuits, waffles, and coke. Surrounded by peanuts and peaches. Where great athletes have come and competed. Where the term “rush hour” is an understatement.”

“I am from the old dirt roads of South Africa where walking was not an obstacle, but a way of life."

“I am from a place where salt water lingers in the air and where you can feel wind tangle your hair as you step outside.”

“I am from the Chanel No. 5 that my mother always wears.”

“It’s bright outside, but not from the sunlight. The city lights are shining on the sheets of the bed. Atlanta, GA, and it’s everything that I thought.”

“Where you are from is what you picture in your mind when someone says “home.”

Support our Troops

2007-09-19T16:12:00.000-07:00

At 8:45 this morning I watched a video called Invisible Children with my students. The video shared some information about the children who are victims of the 17 year long civil war in Sudan. It tells their story of abduction, rape, and a life of innocence taken from them. Most of the children are orphans. All of the children fear the LRA (Lords Resistance Army) and what will become of them once they are taken from the destitute lives they live under in the basements of flooded hospitals or in the high brush of the forest. These children's games of hide-and-seek have a lot more at stake than any game I have ever played. They aspire to be doctors, lawyers, and teachers. They know they never will be. They fear being murderers; slashing innocent people with machetes for a thrill that they are brainwashed into thriving off of.
It wasn't the most uplifting way to start a morning, but it was a very effective tool to educate those of us who needed to know more (which, in my opinion, is all of us).

Then we moved to two silly seminars and I read The Picture of Dorian Gray while my students yawned through lectures.

The day ended with a welcome home for a teacher who was in the Army Reserves and just returned from Iraq. Picture a high school gym full of students singing Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American." Wacky! I do not support this war. No part of me, not one little fiber in my bleeding heart supports this President's agenda which has taken so many innocent lives. However, I do support our troops. I know that is hard for many right-wings to believe: that one could support living people fighting for an unknown cause, while still completely 100% disagreeing with the purpose. It was hard for me. I am also against recruitment within schools. These children who are told that the Armed Forces are their only hope at a "successful" life don't even know what an IED is. Well, that is, until one of their legs is blown off by one. It is trickery at it's best. Government funded deception. I will most definitely inform my students about the Conscientious Objector status. Anyway, it was a very strange experience to see 300 children welcoming home a teacher, who some of them didn't even know, and singing praises of our country in unison. The war was not glorified or misrepresented. The children were not mislead into believing that this particular teacher's path was the right path or the only path. I respect that.
It was an experience that I needed. I needed to make the division between our troops and Mr. Bush's war. I needed to put that into practice internally.

I did my very favorite thing in the world today: learned.

Elephant in the Corner

2007-09-18T14:22:00.001-07:00

Wearing earrings, ironing pants, and pinning a mess of hair up can do wonders for a girl trying to look like a professional adult. I thought maybe if I dressed the part then it would be easier to pretend that I knew how to act the part for my first formal observation today.

Being the preplanner that I am I had already created all that I needed for my lesson and used my third period class as a pre-performance warm-up. That word, "perform," was thrown around in my follow-up meeting. I thought it strange how what we teachers do is considered a performance. I have thought of it as that before, sure, but to have another tell me that it was a "remarkable performance" may have rubbed me the wrong way. I am still thinking on that. My "remarkable performance" included opened with me asking my darlings to write in their journals and answer the questions:
Is any one human life more valuable than another?

After that we discussed their answers briefly. Then we did an exercise where we imagine that there is a burning building and on top of this building are people such as a pregnant woman, a child, a doctor, a businessman, a woman of color, a teacher, a construction worker, a professional athlete, etc. The students were told that only one person could get out at a time and it was up to them, individually, to decide what order these people could escape. Blowin' their minds, right? Right! It's what I am here for.

They had real trouble with this, which makes me figure that their strange little bodies house some pretty decent hearts. After most of the class had finished we discussed some answers. For the most part the pregnant woman was first, the child, and the woman of color. I then questioned why, in our society, we have end up feeling this way: women and children first...manly men marching out of the fiery rubble last. I don't even know. We were just talking.

Next I provided them with some more descriptions: pregnant woman is on probation for drug abuse, the child is an orphan, the doctor is Dr. Kevorkian (whom they do not know!), the businessman raises tons of money for all types of charities (vague, vague, vague!), the woman of color was Oprah, the athlete, Michael Vick, the teacher was their favorite (me), and the construction worker was a single mother of two. This really got them. We discussed our preconceived notions about careers, we discussed how we truly do place a value on life based on different factors, and we discussed how it made them feel that I was screwing with them so much. I loved it. They were thinking.

My observer was pleased.
The kids are learning stuff. I think?
My CT was pleased.
I am real tired.

My cat's name is Sully. A wise woman asked that I name it that and I fear if I choose not to accept this suggestion my life will be less rich and I may be cursed for forever...however long that is.
That and she said it was a "gweat" name!

Long Monday

2007-09-17T14:03:00.000-07:00

Today was a strange one.

I assigned a new Feather Circle topic. I looked into a sea of twisted faces...once again. They are just missing the connection between journaling and public writing. I know why too...because I really haven't taught that! I am having to really squish what I can into my 48 minute class periods and I didn't know how much class time my CT would be willing to spare for a writing program. Now I have decided that next week I will be discussing the writing process with them. Yay mini-lessons! Today I made a large image of the writing process schematic and put it in the front of the room. Tomorrow I will put the Five Commandments of writing in the front of the room. That way it is there for them to see and understand (hopefully) without us having to spend a ton of class time on it.

Tomorrow I will also be formally observed for the first time. I am sort of nervous, but I told my kids that we would have a guest and they needed to make me look real good. I did. No shame.

Journals were pretty interesting. Some of those kids really have thoughts bumping around the inner-workings of their 14 year old black hole's. By thoughts I mean questions; one's that are not dealing with boys and kissing. I got some good stuff and I let them know it was good. Some kids really remind me of me when I was their age. I can tell that those students have a bright future! Haha.

Best part of today by far: one of my "colleagues" in the English Dept. may be moving in or around December. He will know more by mid-October. Maybe I won't be completely broke, standing frostbitten on the corner of Edgewood and Boulevard rapping for my dinner!

Feather Circle Numero Uno

2007-09-14T15:37:00.000-07:00

Today was the first Feather Circle. Feather circle reading is a time when we share something that we have written with one another. We sit in a circle. We pass a stick with a feather on it to signify who should be speaking (yes, I made a stick). Most of the writings will be creative, thoughtful, and polished. Focusing on answering a very specific question like “where do you come from” in an abstract way. However, today was a time for the kids to warm up to the idea of the circle, following the rules of the circle (respect!), and getting comfortable sharing with one another. They were to fill out and decorate a sheet listing the following:

Three writings that influenced your life.
Some people outside of your family who influenced you.
Epigraph (which some confused with epitaph)
Things that make you hopeful.
Things that make you lose hope.
Turning points in your life.
Three gifts you bring to this class.

The students did a fantastic job in the circle. We sat on the floor in front of the desks and I think this created a really good vibe. Sitting on the floor kind of showed them that these writings are, and should be, separate from the monotony of everyday schoolwork. They have a hard time just doing. They need to be told, how long an assignment has to be, in what format they have to answer in, and other specifics that you and I would probably never think to ask. It has been challenging trying to get them to just do. I am going to list some of the things that surprised me. My favorite class (4th period) really solidified their position as my class o’ teacher’s pets when they were telling me that the things that made them hopeful and those that made them lose hope. Read on…

Things that made some of my students lose hope:

“The fading in someone’s voice…like when they trail off at the end of their sentences. It shows a lack of confidence in one’s thoughts. That is sad.”
“Global Warming” (Yeah 4th!)
“War” (Yeah 4th!)
“Anxiety”

Things that make my students hopeful:

“Bio-fuel”
“YALE”
“rain”
“The prospect of world peace”
“change”

Epitaphs

“You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes, you can steer yourself in any direction you choose.”
-Dr. Seuss

“To be successful you have to be dumb enough to think you can change the world and smart enough to know how.”

“I live simply so that others may simply live.”

I have saved this for last because it was what struck they most.

Influential People:
Frank Lloyd Wright, All people who have adopted children (especially from Africa), Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Albert Einstein, Abraham Lincoln, Ghandi, Mother Theresa, JFK, and Ms. Furbee, and Ms. Fish, and Ms. Fields.

Those teachers are on lists with world changers, do-gooders, and renowned thinkers. I wanna be one of those teachers.

I have 130 journals in my car right now. It is gonna be a long weekend, BUT these kids are writing!

Everyone's got a soft side, right?

2007-09-12T11:29:00.001-07:00

My lessons are going great. Yesterday we read "A Respectable Woman" by Kate Chopin and used a silly little graphic organizer with a potato on it. We discussed the importance of character development and picking up on the subtleties that the author offers the reader. It was fun. Easy.
Today we finished up. Assigned literature circle roles and reviewed common mistakes on their summer reading essays (this is a new essay that I spent my weekend grading, not the one that I used for the contest). I designed a suggestion box so my kids could help me name my cat. This is the hardest thing EVER! I am leaning towards Ezra. However, I want a long, dignified name. Ezra is short. Ezra Pound influenced the likes of T.S. Eliot and Yeats. Any really great characters you can think of? I also like Basil and Eliot. The kids told me I should name him Gouvernail or Gaston because of the story we just read. I told them I would consider it. Maybe that could be part of his name. It has to be perfect.

This past weekend, with tears in my eyes, I turned the very last page of The Kite Runner. I really enjoyed the book I have begun The Picture of Dorian Gray and I am going to attempt to read this with my students. Whew! I feel like I am really pushing myself.

Having the week planned in advance has made everything easy. I go in every morning, make copies, order my coffee to be delivered to my room (!!!) and set up. My CT is still unorganized (because she can be and still be a really great teacher), but I have a nice little file drawer where I put all of my materials in particular folders, in a specific order. It works.

Yesterday I observed another teacher's room during one of my planning periods. The 9th grade “regulars” were presenting their life stories. It was a real experience for me. Many students have immigrated to the US from Mexico and their stories were touching. This 200lb. teddy-bear of a boy stood up in front of the class to tell us about the most thrilling points of his life: coming here. He apologized because his board looked “like a girl decorated it” and then, in his heavily accented English he said, “but, you know, everybody’s got a soft side, right?” It was real cute.

So many stories.

Rinse and Repeat

2007-09-10T14:20:00.000-07:00

I am going to spare you all the details of how amazing my debut performance was in the role of one and only teacher lady and provide you with an overview of my day.

I was prepared.
Each desk had a journal on it.
I had my copies of "Theme for English B" and the Feather Circle rules at the front table.
The kids came in, we worked on identifying prepositional phrases and the verbs/nouns/adverbs they modify and then BLASTOFF!
I asked the students to open the journals on their desks and answer one simple question: "Who are you?" Of course, each period asked a few questions about how length requirements, specifics, and other assignment type stuff that they always expect. Fortunately though they began writing. I sat at the front of the room and wrote along with them. This is what I wrote:

I am a student who is at the end of her journey. Or is this the beginning? As of yesterday I am the proud companion to a 2 month old kitten (name tentative...maybe Digby, Basil, Sprout, or something else). My teacher shoes are growing a bit more comfortable, however, I still have sore spot on my left foot. I am the leader. I am the follower. I am the student I am the teacher. My teacher's are 14 years old. I am learning every day. I am the product of a stubborn Southern man and a tough-as-nails mama from the North. I prefer pedaling over pushing the pedal to the metal. I don't eat anything that had a mother or a face. I find comfort in knowing that books help us outgrow our madness. Help us unlock certain secrets to the world. Within our own souls. Early to bed. Early to rise. That's who I am theses days.

After I read it they clapped...so kind. Three brave students per class read their entries too. Then we had a discussion about the common ways we identify ourselves.

I transitioned into this poem:

Theme for English B

It really sparked great conversation. We discussed who you becomes after "you" is no longer the instructor. I had written "But I guess I'm what I feel and see and hear" on the board and I asked the kids if this was accurate. If we really only those things. I asked if race defines us. I asked if the music we listen to defines us. I asked if I define them and they define me. I discussed the relationship that we were destined to have and how whether any of us like it or not, we are all a part of one another now. We are part of one another's journey. Hughes is a part of our journey too. We are "you."

The kids clapped after the poem was read aloud.

Um, what else? I explained the feather circles.
I gotta find a stick before Friday!
About three of the kids have done Feather Circles before. Apparently, those three had the wife of a writing professor from my university as their 8th grade teacher. Coincidence.

They should be well versed in the ways of the circle.

By fifth period I was flying through, comfortable with everything, and I didn't miss a beat. I really hope the feather circles are successful. We'll see.

Discussion rules. Poetry rules. My cat rules. I need to name the little darling.

The first movie we watched together was Dead Poet's Society. "Oh Captain, my Captain!"

She's Got a Pulse!

2007-09-05T14:56:00.000-07:00

I am alive.

This week has been pretty slow, but next week will be very interesting as I am creating a unit right now and will be implementing it starting Monday. What I am teaching will be a surprise for you all. You will just have to read next week to find out! Here are some hints: I am an easily distracted Southern feminist who disapproves of racism and other forms of discrimination alike. I value expression of all forms and I like poetry. Stay tuned...

My students have been presenting their ABRs ("alternative book reports" for those of you not down with the eduspeak). What a success! I grade them with ease, simply filling out the rubrics as the students sing songs, act out skits, play movie trailors, or pull symbolic objects out of a brown bag. I have had a variety of presentations: sock puppets, radioesque recordings, paintings, fake tattoos full of symbolism, video representations, song and dance...the list goes on.

Our first Spectrum meeting was this morning. Spectrum is a Gay Straight Alliance at our school that acts as a support group and raises awareness. From my understanding it is less political - more social. Students and teachers alike participate in the Day of Silence, and this is a club that works towards acceptance and tolerance. I am glad to be at a school that hosts this club and these principles.

My thoughts keep drifting back to the idea of going to another country for six months or a year in January and teaching English. It is prime time for me to take my life by the balls (pardon the language) and, besides, I got some soul searching/internal excavatin' to do. It will probably just spark my flame and fill me with the wanderlust though. I may never return.

-OR-

If you know my folks talk them into sending me to Chile for a month or so after graduation!!! You know, Moms, for research!

Some friends of mine had a healthy baby boy today! That kid has an amazing adventure ahead of him!

Fill Me Up

2007-08-31T11:43:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-08-28T14:03:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-27T14:27:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-23T18:41:00.001-07:00

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

2007-08-22T14:22:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-20T14:52:00.000-07:00

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.