Today was a bizarre day scheduling-wise. Since our school is closing, our kids are being farmed out to a bunch of different high-schools; today, many representatives from the other schools came to ours, to touch base with their respective kids. It was also "Field Day," i.e. the day where the whole school has one giant recess.
This meant that I only had five students in 5th period. And, those five kiddos were only going to be there for about 20 minutes.
"Do you guys want to blog...?" I asked. "That's what the other classes did, it's an extra credit option..."
"No, let's hang out and talk!" Andy said, plopping down on the floor in front of the fan. "Socratic Seminar!"
"Let's tell fairy tales!" said Maisie, and sat down beside him.
We've been discussing allegory this week, which ties into our unit on Animal Farm. The extra-credit blog option was to create their own allegorical story. We could work that into fairy tales...
I sat down with them and the couple remaining kids followed suit. "We could tell ALLEGORICAL fairy-tales..." I offered. "About our own lives."
Andy-- forever the catalyst-- grinned and said, "You first! Lead by example!"
I thought for a second. "Once upon a time... There was a young maiden. She LOOKED like she was fifteen, but actually she was much older..."
The kids laughed-- Maisie gives me endless grief about how young I look.
I continued: "And she was in charge of teaching all the little squirrels and birds of the forest. That's you," I clarified. The kids grinned and nodded. "And... sometimes the birds would get distracted from their lessons and fly away... and sometimes the squirrels would chatter really loud, but the maiden liked them all anyway. And she would often spend long hours going to collect water and food for the animals after they had gone to sleep. And one day, she met a fairy godmother, and got to make a wish," I said.
"Actually--" I paused. "She got two wishes. Because I want two wishes. Actually--" I paused again. "She got three wishes."
The kids laughed.
"The first wish was that the birds and the squirrels would always know how much POTENTIAL they had," I said. "The second wish was that SHE would always remember how much potential they had. The third wish was for a magic wand that would silence their voice-boxes when they chattered too much." The kids cracked up again.
Maisie's fairy tale started off like so: "Once there was a peasant girl... Who was born to two OBNOXIOUS gypsies. And one day, she started walking towards the castle, towards the kingdom... And she saw a prince who was a JERK-FACED LOSER, and she fell in love with him... And then, you know. He was awful."
"So he was an evil prince in disguise as a handsome knight?" I asked.
"Yes! That's exactly what he was," she pronounced.
Andy's story began, "So there was this CASANOVA..." which made me laugh. Then he continued to tell a story that was very much a straight-forward version of his own, albeit told in third person. "He went to get educated, but... Things kinda got hard. He wanted to go off and be this big shot business man, but, you know..." He shrugged and looked at me, his face a little crestfallen. Andy is very smart, but has failed many of his classes, including ours.
I interrupted him. "And then HE met a fairy godmother, and she told him that he was young and that it was EARLY in his life, and that he still had every chance in the world to become a hot-shot business man."
The stories ended up working with the allegorical theme-- Fiona equated her and her siblings to three different kinds of suitcases, and even though Tommy didn't quite understand how to translate his story into allegorical characters, we worked it out together.
So the Friday Fairy tales ended up being a pretty great way to wind down those 20 minutes. "And they all lived happily ever after..."
Sure hope so.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Difference Between Prom and Weddings
Blog originally published May 25th
One friend commented on my last blog, saying that she wished we could all go to prom again as adults. I thought, "Haha! That WOULD be fun!" but then thought: "Wait... aren't going to weddings sort of the adult version of prom?" After all-- both involve boutonnieres, dancing, and dresses. But, it turns out, they are not the same.
This is why:
1.) Weddings usually involve drinking. In fact, there are featured toasts-- there is GLORIFIED drinking. Proms mean no drinking OR ELSE. If it is done, it is done covertly. And chaperones must not drink at all. If they do, they get their certification taken away. If the chaperone is a student-teaching intern, and is essentially a glorified volunteer, there would be no way to strip her of her certification, but she WOULD get a big scowl.
2.) At prom, you vote on the king and queen and it's revealed as a big surprise. At weddings, you pretty much know.
3.) At weddings, you don't have to worry so much about a 9th grader asking you to dance. And if it DID happen at a wedding, you could just laugh about it and humor the kid, rather than awkwardly avoiding the question and then going to hide behind your mentor.
4.) At weddings, there's one MAIN couple, and if they get a little dirty on the dance floor, everyone just thinks it's cute. At prom, there are lots of thrown-together couples, and they ALL get dirty on the dance floor, and it's gross.
5.) At prom, there are no humiliating bouquet tosses where the single 20-somethings out slink out and acknowledge with a wave and a grim smile, "Yep! Still coming out for these...!"
6.) At weddings, you don't have to worry so much about students needing to explain to their dates, "No, she's actually a teacher. I know, she looks YOUNG, huh??"
7.) At prom, there are treats. At weddings, there are buffets.
8.) At weddings, you can dance however you want. At prom-- if you're chaperoning, anyway-- you have to make sure you don't move your hips around too much.
9.) At weddings, you're usually not worried about acne anymore.
10.) At weddings, there is lots of crying. At prom, there is lots of grinding.
Some things really are the same though... The girls spend all day long getting ready. The guys throw on a tux, brush their hair, and call it good... The DJs are bad, no matter what... Everyone always looks great, all cleaned up... There are awkward slow dances at both, and awkward conversations and both, and let's be real, do we EVER move beyond the awkward stage?
But in any case, there is dancing. And there are friends. And there are good times. And BOTH occasions provide an excellent excuse to get a new dress...
So celebrate good times, come on.
One friend commented on my last blog, saying that she wished we could all go to prom again as adults. I thought, "Haha! That WOULD be fun!" but then thought: "Wait... aren't going to weddings sort of the adult version of prom?" After all-- both involve boutonnieres, dancing, and dresses. But, it turns out, they are not the same.
This is why:
1.) Weddings usually involve drinking. In fact, there are featured toasts-- there is GLORIFIED drinking. Proms mean no drinking OR ELSE. If it is done, it is done covertly. And chaperones must not drink at all. If they do, they get their certification taken away. If the chaperone is a student-teaching intern, and is essentially a glorified volunteer, there would be no way to strip her of her certification, but she WOULD get a big scowl.
2.) At prom, you vote on the king and queen and it's revealed as a big surprise. At weddings, you pretty much know.
3.) At weddings, you don't have to worry so much about a 9th grader asking you to dance. And if it DID happen at a wedding, you could just laugh about it and humor the kid, rather than awkwardly avoiding the question and then going to hide behind your mentor.
4.) At weddings, there's one MAIN couple, and if they get a little dirty on the dance floor, everyone just thinks it's cute. At prom, there are lots of thrown-together couples, and they ALL get dirty on the dance floor, and it's gross.
5.) At prom, there are no humiliating bouquet tosses where the single 20-somethings out slink out and acknowledge with a wave and a grim smile, "Yep! Still coming out for these...!"
6.) At weddings, you don't have to worry so much about students needing to explain to their dates, "No, she's actually a teacher. I know, she looks YOUNG, huh??"
7.) At prom, there are treats. At weddings, there are buffets.
8.) At weddings, you can dance however you want. At prom-- if you're chaperoning, anyway-- you have to make sure you don't move your hips around too much.
9.) At weddings, you're usually not worried about acne anymore.
10.) At weddings, there is lots of crying. At prom, there is lots of grinding.
Some things really are the same though... The girls spend all day long getting ready. The guys throw on a tux, brush their hair, and call it good... The DJs are bad, no matter what... Everyone always looks great, all cleaned up... There are awkward slow dances at both, and awkward conversations and both, and let's be real, do we EVER move beyond the awkward stage?
But in any case, there is dancing. And there are friends. And there are good times. And BOTH occasions provide an excellent excuse to get a new dress...
So celebrate good times, come on.
One of the Ugly Sides of Teenagers...
Blog originally published May 22nd.
One of my freshmen students is a goofy little guy-- he looks like he's about 11, and he has extreme ADHD, so he's always squirming around in class and making noise. He's not very popular-- our kids are, by and large, an extremely accepting crew, as far as I can tell-- but I've still seen this kid get mocked on occasion.
Today he came in late to class, with red swollen eyes. Had he been crying? When we left to go to the library, he said that someone had slapped him across the eyes. He said he didn't know who, because he couldn't see them after they hit him. Right now, he's working on writing a blog, and is trying to act like everything's normal. I just told a girl to focus on her blog when I saw her on another website, and she said, "I have ADD."
"So do I!" this little guy said.
Everyone scoffed.
"Yeah, no kidding."
"No one ASKED you."
"Mind your own business, stop trying to butt into other conversations."
Why are kids so mean? Obviously this little guy can be annoying, but I wish other kids could understand that he DOESN'T pick up social cues like they do... That he CAN'T just "control" his excess energy. Why can't they show him a little grace? It's one thing to snap out in impatience, but to SLAP him?
A couple days ago, I'd called out one of the main kids who bullies this other little guy, and had said sternly-- they know to listen when I get stern like THAT-- that I would not accept bullying my classroom. I said, "Say whatever you want in the halls, but in MY classroom, it is NOT ACCEPTABLE to insult someone else. Ever. Do you understand?"
The boy had muttered some form of acknowledgment.
"Eduardo, do you understand?" I said again, louder and more forcefully.
"Yes ma'am!" he'd replied.
Yet today, my little goofy guy came in with red swollen eyes.
It puts such a frown on my face.
Anyway, I'm going to prom tonight. As a chaperone. Should be interesting...!
One of my freshmen students is a goofy little guy-- he looks like he's about 11, and he has extreme ADHD, so he's always squirming around in class and making noise. He's not very popular-- our kids are, by and large, an extremely accepting crew, as far as I can tell-- but I've still seen this kid get mocked on occasion.
Today he came in late to class, with red swollen eyes. Had he been crying? When we left to go to the library, he said that someone had slapped him across the eyes. He said he didn't know who, because he couldn't see them after they hit him. Right now, he's working on writing a blog, and is trying to act like everything's normal. I just told a girl to focus on her blog when I saw her on another website, and she said, "I have ADD."
"So do I!" this little guy said.
Everyone scoffed.
"Yeah, no kidding."
"No one ASKED you."
"Mind your own business, stop trying to butt into other conversations."
Why are kids so mean? Obviously this little guy can be annoying, but I wish other kids could understand that he DOESN'T pick up social cues like they do... That he CAN'T just "control" his excess energy. Why can't they show him a little grace? It's one thing to snap out in impatience, but to SLAP him?
A couple days ago, I'd called out one of the main kids who bullies this other little guy, and had said sternly-- they know to listen when I get stern like THAT-- that I would not accept bullying my classroom. I said, "Say whatever you want in the halls, but in MY classroom, it is NOT ACCEPTABLE to insult someone else. Ever. Do you understand?"
The boy had muttered some form of acknowledgment.
"Eduardo, do you understand?" I said again, louder and more forcefully.
"Yes ma'am!" he'd replied.
Yet today, my little goofy guy came in with red swollen eyes.
It puts such a frown on my face.
Anyway, I'm going to prom tonight. As a chaperone. Should be interesting...!
Spirit Week
Blog originally published May 14th
This week has been Spirit Week. Some people poo-poo dressing up for Spirit Week. I am not one of those people. My outfits so far have included:
Wacky Tacky Day:
THIS dress--
(Second from the left, in the wacky tacky dress.)
Plus THIS jacket:
Sports Day:
This jersey (I'm on the far left):
Which is actually not a jersey at all, but a sorority shirt. That was the closest I could get. Those are my little small group chickies by the way, aren't they cute??
Decade Day:
Prompted a resurrection of my 50's Housewife Outfit:
THIS on top--
(Except with no pony tail because of new short hair)
And THIS on the bottom:
Also, I carried a wooden spoon.
Today was "School Spirit" day. I didn't have a shirt with my school's name on it, so I asked Viola to bring me something. She found a sweat-shirt for me, but I had to take it off midday, because it got too hot. After my outstanding Spirit Week showing (some might even say, otherworldly) up to that point, I felt a little chastened to be only wearing a navy blue long-sleeved shirt-- only the most basic of nods to one of our school colors. However, I got a second chance to improve my spirit-showing come the Staff/Student Basketball game after lunch...
Viola had asked me several weeks ago if I wanted to play.
"No."
"Why not???"
"I can't play, Viola! I'm seriously terrible."
"I'm going to play! I'm not good, I just get in people's faces!"
"But you're athletic Viola! I-- trust me, I shouldn't play. I'll have fun watching."
But when I got to the gym today, they had T-SHIRTS. They had t-shirts with MY SCHOOL'S name on them. The only condition was that you had to play.
You want a girl to play sports? I mean, THIS girl? Bribe her with clothing.
At first, I really did look like an idiot. I missed every single basket that I threw during warm-ups, and the first time I got out on the court against these big boy seniors, I just sort of skipped around and fluttered my hands at people and ran away from the ball. Every once in awhile I would hear the announcer point out, "Greta's open," which was a point universally ignored by my team.
After the first quarter, I thought it was over. "Yaaay!"
Viola corrected me. "It's not done yet!"
"... Oh!"
The kids were cheering loud, and the staff was INTO it-- from the young dude teachers, to the middle-aged pot-bellied folks who rocked the casbah like nobody's BUSINESS. Seriously-- Paul? Was an ANIMAL! The ladies represented on the court one at a time-- and-- I'm a little embarrassed to admit-- my sex was pretty terrible. Evelyn, Viola, Patti, Karen and I held down the court (get it?? COURT?) but not very well. As I was the youngest girl by about 20 years, I decided I needed to step it up.
So I DID.
Y'all-- I made no baskets. None at all. And when the announcer pointed out yet again, "Greta's open," my team-mates still knew better than to pass me the ball. BUT: I ran, I blocked, I JUMPED, I got knocked over and popped back up, I got my hands in the big boys' faces, and I was SCRAPPY, dang it. Viola told me later that she and another teacher were laughing. "At first she looked kind of scared out there!" Viola apparently told Josh. "Now it looks like she's going to foul out!"
U know it.
And even though I thought the game had ended again at half-time-- and was once again corrected by my astute mentor-- I got high-fives from the kids afterwards, got a rallying cry with my staff, and got kudos from the kids who had watched and told me that I looked "tough."
And-- (perhaps not *best* of all, but most WEARABLE of all):
I got a SWEET school t-shirt. Our school's name is on the front. And our slogan-- all the "U KNOW" of it-- is on the back.
The moral of the story? Play. Play anyway. Even if you suck. Even if you look ridiculous.
There might just be t-shirts.
This week has been Spirit Week. Some people poo-poo dressing up for Spirit Week. I am not one of those people. My outfits so far have included:
Wacky Tacky Day:
THIS dress--
(Second from the left, in the wacky tacky dress.)
Plus THIS jacket:
Sports Day:
This jersey (I'm on the far left):
Which is actually not a jersey at all, but a sorority shirt. That was the closest I could get. Those are my little small group chickies by the way, aren't they cute??
Decade Day:
Prompted a resurrection of my 50's Housewife Outfit:
THIS on top--
(Except with no pony tail because of new short hair)
And THIS on the bottom:
Also, I carried a wooden spoon.
Today was "School Spirit" day. I didn't have a shirt with my school's name on it, so I asked Viola to bring me something. She found a sweat-shirt for me, but I had to take it off midday, because it got too hot. After my outstanding Spirit Week showing (some might even say, otherworldly) up to that point, I felt a little chastened to be only wearing a navy blue long-sleeved shirt-- only the most basic of nods to one of our school colors. However, I got a second chance to improve my spirit-showing come the Staff/Student Basketball game after lunch...
Viola had asked me several weeks ago if I wanted to play.
"No."
"Why not???"
"I can't play, Viola! I'm seriously terrible."
"I'm going to play! I'm not good, I just get in people's faces!"
"But you're athletic Viola! I-- trust me, I shouldn't play. I'll have fun watching."
But when I got to the gym today, they had T-SHIRTS. They had t-shirts with MY SCHOOL'S name on them. The only condition was that you had to play.
You want a girl to play sports? I mean, THIS girl? Bribe her with clothing.
At first, I really did look like an idiot. I missed every single basket that I threw during warm-ups, and the first time I got out on the court against these big boy seniors, I just sort of skipped around and fluttered my hands at people and ran away from the ball. Every once in awhile I would hear the announcer point out, "Greta's open," which was a point universally ignored by my team.
After the first quarter, I thought it was over. "Yaaay!"
Viola corrected me. "It's not done yet!"
"... Oh!"
The kids were cheering loud, and the staff was INTO it-- from the young dude teachers, to the middle-aged pot-bellied folks who rocked the casbah like nobody's BUSINESS. Seriously-- Paul? Was an ANIMAL! The ladies represented on the court one at a time-- and-- I'm a little embarrassed to admit-- my sex was pretty terrible. Evelyn, Viola, Patti, Karen and I held down the court (get it?? COURT?) but not very well. As I was the youngest girl by about 20 years, I decided I needed to step it up.
So I DID.
Y'all-- I made no baskets. None at all. And when the announcer pointed out yet again, "Greta's open," my team-mates still knew better than to pass me the ball. BUT: I ran, I blocked, I JUMPED, I got knocked over and popped back up, I got my hands in the big boys' faces, and I was SCRAPPY, dang it. Viola told me later that she and another teacher were laughing. "At first she looked kind of scared out there!" Viola apparently told Josh. "Now it looks like she's going to foul out!"
U know it.
And even though I thought the game had ended again at half-time-- and was once again corrected by my astute mentor-- I got high-fives from the kids afterwards, got a rallying cry with my staff, and got kudos from the kids who had watched and told me that I looked "tough."
And-- (perhaps not *best* of all, but most WEARABLE of all):
I got a SWEET school t-shirt. Our school's name is on the front. And our slogan-- all the "U KNOW" of it-- is on the back.
The moral of the story? Play. Play anyway. Even if you suck. Even if you look ridiculous.
There might just be t-shirts.
Dancedancedancedancedancedance
Blog originally published May 6th
Today we had an African Dance assembly. Cool!
I shepherded in my group of 9th graders, and we joined the 9th/10th grade section. One sweet girl gave me a note as she sat down, for Teacher Appreciation week. It read: "Greta is... An amazing singer and a WONDERFUL teacher!!" It gave me the warm fuzzies all over.
At one point, the girls in front of me were talking, and I rubbed one girl's back gently. "Hon, quiet down." She turned around with a scowl, but when she saw it was me, she relaxed and grinned, nodding her compliance.
The music started, and the kids all started clapping along, terribly out of rhythm. It made me laugh and like them.
Then the African Dancing Singer Lady ordered all the teachers to get up on stage. What? Really?
I joined the rest of them, the lot of us laughing self-consciously. Once we were up there, the African Dancing Singer Lady told us we were going to dance. From my 9th and 10th grade corner, I heard a roar: "Gooooo Greta!!"
Ha!
And the music started, and I DANCED. Oh yes, I DID DANCE. I danced AFRICAN dance. And I was into it. I was in front, so I couldn't see what the other teachers looked like-- apparently they were "marking" the movements that the lady was instructing us in. But they were behind me, so I just tried to make myself look like her. And I did the DANCING DANCING, I DID THE DANCE.
When we were done, the kids all clapped and cheered, and when I booped and bopped my way down the stairs, they all started giving me high-fives. I got back to my corner of kids and they were all congratulating me! As they filed out of the assembly, I got one high-five after another, and kudos from the kids on my dancing. When I found out I was apparently doing it "bigger" than the other teachers, I felt a little embarrassed, but the kids' comments made me laugh and grin.
I just LIKE them all so much. I love what I'm doing. Another one of those starry eyed, shmoopy posts. But especially after yesterday, I realized how much I like MY students, and how much I'd missed them. I told them as much, this morning. "I really missed you guys!!"
The other day, the kids were still getting settled in their desks, and I was looking over them all. Eduardo said, "What are you looking at? You're wondering if we love you, huh?"
I grinned and rolled my eyes.
"We like you, don't worry," he said. "You're one of the good ones, we like you."
"Sometimes you get on our nerves, but we like you," another girl supplied.
"I'm sure I do!" I said, and laughed.
Just right then: they like me, but I'm not so buddy buddy with them that I never get on their nerves. When I'm telling them that they need to turn in their homework, or stop talking, or that cursing in their blogs is inappropriate, I SHOULD get on their nerves. But they like me, too.
And I like them. :)
Such a good thing.
Today we had an African Dance assembly. Cool!
I shepherded in my group of 9th graders, and we joined the 9th/10th grade section. One sweet girl gave me a note as she sat down, for Teacher Appreciation week. It read: "Greta is... An amazing singer and a WONDERFUL teacher!!" It gave me the warm fuzzies all over.
At one point, the girls in front of me were talking, and I rubbed one girl's back gently. "Hon, quiet down." She turned around with a scowl, but when she saw it was me, she relaxed and grinned, nodding her compliance.
The music started, and the kids all started clapping along, terribly out of rhythm. It made me laugh and like them.
Then the African Dancing Singer Lady ordered all the teachers to get up on stage. What? Really?
I joined the rest of them, the lot of us laughing self-consciously. Once we were up there, the African Dancing Singer Lady told us we were going to dance. From my 9th and 10th grade corner, I heard a roar: "Gooooo Greta!!"
Ha!
And the music started, and I DANCED. Oh yes, I DID DANCE. I danced AFRICAN dance. And I was into it. I was in front, so I couldn't see what the other teachers looked like-- apparently they were "marking" the movements that the lady was instructing us in. But they were behind me, so I just tried to make myself look like her. And I did the DANCING DANCING, I DID THE DANCE.
When we were done, the kids all clapped and cheered, and when I booped and bopped my way down the stairs, they all started giving me high-fives. I got back to my corner of kids and they were all congratulating me! As they filed out of the assembly, I got one high-five after another, and kudos from the kids on my dancing. When I found out I was apparently doing it "bigger" than the other teachers, I felt a little embarrassed, but the kids' comments made me laugh and grin.
I just LIKE them all so much. I love what I'm doing. Another one of those starry eyed, shmoopy posts. But especially after yesterday, I realized how much I like MY students, and how much I'd missed them. I told them as much, this morning. "I really missed you guys!!"
The other day, the kids were still getting settled in their desks, and I was looking over them all. Eduardo said, "What are you looking at? You're wondering if we love you, huh?"
I grinned and rolled my eyes.
"We like you, don't worry," he said. "You're one of the good ones, we like you."
"Sometimes you get on our nerves, but we like you," another girl supplied.
"I'm sure I do!" I said, and laughed.
Just right then: they like me, but I'm not so buddy buddy with them that I never get on their nerves. When I'm telling them that they need to turn in their homework, or stop talking, or that cursing in their blogs is inappropriate, I SHOULD get on their nerves. But they like me, too.
And I like them. :)
Such a good thing.
Bubbling Over
Blog originally published April 22nd.
It's 9:30pm. I got up this morning at 7:00am, taught all day until 3:15, went to my grad school class from 4:30 to 7:00pm, came home, ate dinner, and now I need to grade the kids' blog comments.
But I can't do that just yet. I am too FULL.
I am too FULL of excitement, and joy, and inspiration. I LOVE what I'm doing. I love this job! I LOVE teaching!
In the morning, I still sometimes get anxious, and get little butterflies in my stomach. And then I pull into school, and I see all my students-- hanging out, talking, smoking outside the nearby cafe, in their funky outfits-- and I get so EXCITED to see them! I get so excited to talk to them about what they're doing THAT day, what they're thinking TODAY.
I love reading their thoughts on their blogs, and I love reading their comments on one another's. I love seeing a kid like Tre, who got out of juvy earlier this year, who gets contacted by his parole officer all the time, who is HUGE and tough, but who has warmed to Viola and I slowly but surely... I love seeing Tre blog-- write TWO blogs, two whole blogs, when he hasn't turned in a SCRAP of paper all year. And even though the two blogs were about pot and drug cartels (but the first one was about how pot was BAD-- "Things fall apart, like if I have a relapse"), I love that he WROTE, and that he even found a picture to accompany the second! And I love hearing Tre advising his buddy Andre-- who has also been failing all year-- on HIS blog, and I love seeing the two of them check their friend George's blog together and hearing Tre then say, "What?? George hasn't posted anything yet? Loser!"
I loved watching Siaba give a Powerpoint presentation on her childhood in Africa. I loved her passionately describing the city that she lived in, in Cote D'Ivoire, which she pointed out was developed and advanced. And even though I didn't love seeing her break down and cry when describing the war in her country that forced her family to leave, which has killed some of her family members and countrymen, I was unforgettably touched, and moved. And though I ache when I think about the emotional pain she clearly harbors, I love thinking of how we might be able to help her process through some of it by writing, and I love HER.
I love telling them about Tikambe and Clayton-- two of the kiddos that I worked with in Africa-- and seeing the whole class grin as I imitate sweet Clayton's swagger, and tell them about how his cool, sagging jeans always slipped below his naked bum. I love asking the kids to think about joining me in saving money to join up with the Spilling Hope project, to help send money to Uganda to dig fresh-water wells. I loved seeing their eyes change, and grow deep and serious as I told them about how many people die in Africa because of the lack of access to clean water, and I loved that, when I asked them, "Is this something we want to work together towards? I don't want to harass you by forcing you to participate in a charity, but if you want me to bring in a jar or something to collect our change or our cash to help kids like Tikambe or Clayton, I WILL" ... I loved that they told me to YES, bring something in.
I love their poetry. I love their comments on each other's blogs, and their exquisite encouragement of one another. I love their vulnerability, and their strength, and their awkwardness, and their individuality. I love their passion, and their weird outfits. I love their tenacity, and their moods. I love their humor.
Maybe it's not TEACHING so much that I love, but THEM.
No. I love the teaching too.
What a privilege it is, truly-- to be given a role to play in these kids' lives. They are letting me in, and I am overwhelmed and overjoyed with who these kids are. It is the most delightful thing to get to TEACH them-- to invite them and guide them to further discovery.
There are bad days, I know-- I have recorded many a bad day on this blog. But this isn't talking about one SPECIFIC day-- it's not as though I just had one particularly good DAY. This is a bubbling up of the last several weeks-- no, not even that: of the whole year. I have gotten to KNOW these kids... And I love who they are. I love what I'm doing. I love the role I get to play as their teacher.
Whatever difficulties or bad days may come, today, I KNOW: this is what I am meant to do.
And I love that.
It's 9:30pm. I got up this morning at 7:00am, taught all day until 3:15, went to my grad school class from 4:30 to 7:00pm, came home, ate dinner, and now I need to grade the kids' blog comments.
But I can't do that just yet. I am too FULL.
I am too FULL of excitement, and joy, and inspiration. I LOVE what I'm doing. I love this job! I LOVE teaching!
In the morning, I still sometimes get anxious, and get little butterflies in my stomach. And then I pull into school, and I see all my students-- hanging out, talking, smoking outside the nearby cafe, in their funky outfits-- and I get so EXCITED to see them! I get so excited to talk to them about what they're doing THAT day, what they're thinking TODAY.
I love reading their thoughts on their blogs, and I love reading their comments on one another's. I love seeing a kid like Tre, who got out of juvy earlier this year, who gets contacted by his parole officer all the time, who is HUGE and tough, but who has warmed to Viola and I slowly but surely... I love seeing Tre blog-- write TWO blogs, two whole blogs, when he hasn't turned in a SCRAP of paper all year. And even though the two blogs were about pot and drug cartels (but the first one was about how pot was BAD-- "Things fall apart, like if I have a relapse"), I love that he WROTE, and that he even found a picture to accompany the second! And I love hearing Tre advising his buddy Andre-- who has also been failing all year-- on HIS blog, and I love seeing the two of them check their friend George's blog together and hearing Tre then say, "What?? George hasn't posted anything yet? Loser!"
I loved watching Siaba give a Powerpoint presentation on her childhood in Africa. I loved her passionately describing the city that she lived in, in Cote D'Ivoire, which she pointed out was developed and advanced. And even though I didn't love seeing her break down and cry when describing the war in her country that forced her family to leave, which has killed some of her family members and countrymen, I was unforgettably touched, and moved. And though I ache when I think about the emotional pain she clearly harbors, I love thinking of how we might be able to help her process through some of it by writing, and I love HER.
I love telling them about Tikambe and Clayton-- two of the kiddos that I worked with in Africa-- and seeing the whole class grin as I imitate sweet Clayton's swagger, and tell them about how his cool, sagging jeans always slipped below his naked bum. I love asking the kids to think about joining me in saving money to join up with the Spilling Hope project, to help send money to Uganda to dig fresh-water wells. I loved seeing their eyes change, and grow deep and serious as I told them about how many people die in Africa because of the lack of access to clean water, and I loved that, when I asked them, "Is this something we want to work together towards? I don't want to harass you by forcing you to participate in a charity, but if you want me to bring in a jar or something to collect our change or our cash to help kids like Tikambe or Clayton, I WILL" ... I loved that they told me to YES, bring something in.
I love their poetry. I love their comments on each other's blogs, and their exquisite encouragement of one another. I love their vulnerability, and their strength, and their awkwardness, and their individuality. I love their passion, and their weird outfits. I love their tenacity, and their moods. I love their humor.
Maybe it's not TEACHING so much that I love, but THEM.
No. I love the teaching too.
What a privilege it is, truly-- to be given a role to play in these kids' lives. They are letting me in, and I am overwhelmed and overjoyed with who these kids are. It is the most delightful thing to get to TEACH them-- to invite them and guide them to further discovery.
There are bad days, I know-- I have recorded many a bad day on this blog. But this isn't talking about one SPECIFIC day-- it's not as though I just had one particularly good DAY. This is a bubbling up of the last several weeks-- no, not even that: of the whole year. I have gotten to KNOW these kids... And I love who they are. I love what I'm doing. I love the role I get to play as their teacher.
Whatever difficulties or bad days may come, today, I KNOW: this is what I am meant to do.
And I love that.
The Downside of Spring
Blog originally published April 16th.
Ugh.
Stayed up too late last night having fun with friends, but I'm paying for it now.
Working with 4th period now-- which is typically the angelic focused class-- but they're all over the place today.
Adding to tired grumpiness and crazy 4th-period'ers is the job situation stress: EVERYONE at my school, which is closing down (have I mentioned that...?) is freaking out about jobs, and it is so CONSTANTLY tense.
Adding to tired grumpiness, crazy 4th'ers, and stressed out teachers is the fact that close to 30% of students have skipped class this week.
It's sunny. It's warmer. We're doing standardized tests in the morning, so many kids don't even NEED to show up until 11:15, at which point, they simply don't.
I saw two boys that were absent yesterday at a nearby cafe, when I was driving home after school. Today, I pulled them aside.
"I saw you yesterday at the cafe, but you were gone in class. Tell me... is there ANYTHING I can do to help get you folks to class?"
They were a flurry of protestations and denials.
"No, I'm asking sincerely, I'm truly soliciting your opinion: I know it's spring, the weather's getting nicer... I know that kids are going to want to skip... So what can I do to get people to still come to class?"
"It's not you," one kid replied. "I just didn't feel like coming. There's nothing you can do, it's just us."
I sighed. "We put a lot of effort into planning lessons for you guys that are engaging, and interesting, Kyle. When you don't come... it's hard not to take it personally."
He shrugged. "It's not you. I just didn't want to go."
Last Friday, when we had similarly low attendance, one kid in 5th period said, "So we're talking about Africa and then starting the book, right?"
"Yeah!" I said, laughing. "Do you guys talk to each other out in the halls about what we're doing in class that day?"
He grinned and nodded. "That way we can decide whether or not to come!"
My smile disappeared. "So..." I paused. "How should I interpret the fact that so many people are missing?"
His grin disappeared as well. He shrugged.
It's hard not to take it personally.
I posed the same question to our sparse 4th period today. "We're coming up on the really nice weather. What can I do to get people to come to class? I'm a new teacher, I'm trying to do the best I can to get things right, so tell me: from YOUR perspective... How do I keep you all from skipping class?"
The suggestions were random and mostly joking.
"Give us cupcakes every day!"
"Let us go outside!"
Viola has warned me about the utter disintegration of student focus when taking a class outside. I sighed.
It's not me, they say. Viola, the student, other teachers, say. It's not me. But when I plan these lessons that I think are fun, engaging, IMPORTANT... and 30% of our classes simply don't show up...?
It's hard not to take it personally.
Ugh.
Stayed up too late last night having fun with friends, but I'm paying for it now.
Working with 4th period now-- which is typically the angelic focused class-- but they're all over the place today.
Adding to tired grumpiness and crazy 4th-period'ers is the job situation stress: EVERYONE at my school, which is closing down (have I mentioned that...?) is freaking out about jobs, and it is so CONSTANTLY tense.
Adding to tired grumpiness, crazy 4th'ers, and stressed out teachers is the fact that close to 30% of students have skipped class this week.
It's sunny. It's warmer. We're doing standardized tests in the morning, so many kids don't even NEED to show up until 11:15, at which point, they simply don't.
I saw two boys that were absent yesterday at a nearby cafe, when I was driving home after school. Today, I pulled them aside.
"I saw you yesterday at the cafe, but you were gone in class. Tell me... is there ANYTHING I can do to help get you folks to class?"
They were a flurry of protestations and denials.
"No, I'm asking sincerely, I'm truly soliciting your opinion: I know it's spring, the weather's getting nicer... I know that kids are going to want to skip... So what can I do to get people to still come to class?"
"It's not you," one kid replied. "I just didn't feel like coming. There's nothing you can do, it's just us."
I sighed. "We put a lot of effort into planning lessons for you guys that are engaging, and interesting, Kyle. When you don't come... it's hard not to take it personally."
He shrugged. "It's not you. I just didn't want to go."
Last Friday, when we had similarly low attendance, one kid in 5th period said, "So we're talking about Africa and then starting the book, right?"
"Yeah!" I said, laughing. "Do you guys talk to each other out in the halls about what we're doing in class that day?"
He grinned and nodded. "That way we can decide whether or not to come!"
My smile disappeared. "So..." I paused. "How should I interpret the fact that so many people are missing?"
His grin disappeared as well. He shrugged.
It's hard not to take it personally.
I posed the same question to our sparse 4th period today. "We're coming up on the really nice weather. What can I do to get people to come to class? I'm a new teacher, I'm trying to do the best I can to get things right, so tell me: from YOUR perspective... How do I keep you all from skipping class?"
The suggestions were random and mostly joking.
"Give us cupcakes every day!"
"Let us go outside!"
Viola has warned me about the utter disintegration of student focus when taking a class outside. I sighed.
It's not me, they say. Viola, the student, other teachers, say. It's not me. But when I plan these lessons that I think are fun, engaging, IMPORTANT... and 30% of our classes simply don't show up...?
It's hard not to take it personally.
Participation... via Pancake Stories
Blog originally published April 14th
For our blogging project, the kids requested that I create a blog as well. With this blog, my teacher blog for grad school, and now the plethora of blogs created via this class project, you should all be informed that I'm basically taking over the blogging universe.
"Week Two's" prompt read as follows: "Using the internet, find the most unusual, surprising cultural tradition from your own ethnic heritage that you can-- this can be a wedding, funeral, holiday, meal, etc. In your blog, describe the tradition in your OWN words, and your thoughts about what it would be like to experience it firsthand. You're encouraged to describe that imagined experience with detail."
My response then, for MY "class blog."
Responding to Prompt 1:
I’m a mix of many different European “flavors,” but Irish and German probably make up the largest percentages of my respective ethnic pie chart, so I checked out examples of Irish festivities.
On one site, I read about the Irish version of “Fat Tuesday,” which they call, “Shrove Tuesday.” Apparently, when the Irish were experiencing one of their famous famines, they still wanted to observe the gluttony which is commonly practiced with gusto on the day before the Lenten season. However, at the time, with no fats or meats to spare… They only had eggs, milk, and butter with which to feast. So?
They decided to make pancakes.
Every “Fat Tuesday,” the Irish– those particularly in the Dingle region– enthusiastically observe “Pancake Tuesday,” by making and EATING as many pancakes as possible. RANDOM! In earlier days, a girl’s eligibility to be married was apparently equated with her pancake making skills. Bad pancakes… equaled no hubby. Haha!
My imagined Shrove Tuesday experience…
I stared down at the frying pan, already in a sweat. Mama O’Neill– who wasn’t my mother, of course, but who insisted on being called so by everyone under 50– hovered at my elbow. “Remember, dear!” she chuckled in her lilting brogue. “Ye’d best mix it well, ‘lest the men-folk think ye be lackin’ in the kitchen… Or in the bedroom for that matter!” She threw back her head and cackled. “The two go t’gether, so they say!”
I thought of Willy Brian, who I’d promised my first stack to– thought of his ruddy cheeks, and wide, bright smile. I’d made the batch of butter myself, collected from our cow this morning– but had spilled the salt during the churning. I’d tasted it earlier, and had been utterly dismayed by its brackish taste. In vain I’d tried to steal some of mother’s from the larder, but she’d whisked me out the door to attend the Shrove Tuesday festival before I’d had a chance. And here was Mother O’Neill, watching, hawk-eyed, as I mixed up the batter. I felt the sweat roll down my neck.
“Don’t be nervous, lass!” she cackled again. “It’s only your love life at stake!” Her wized wrinkles danced on her face, wiggling in inexplicable patterns as she laughed. “Here.” She shoo’ed me out of the way. “Let me try a bit.”
She lifted a spoon of batter to her mouth, and tried it. Then, with a great cough, she spewed the mixture all over the circle of batter in the frying pan, already cooking. I cringed. She turned to me, her sparkling blue eyes now full of jesting concern.
“Oh darlin’. Ye’d best serve Willy a Guinness or two before you feed him that!”
For our blogging project, the kids requested that I create a blog as well. With this blog, my teacher blog for grad school, and now the plethora of blogs created via this class project, you should all be informed that I'm basically taking over the blogging universe.
"Week Two's" prompt read as follows: "Using the internet, find the most unusual, surprising cultural tradition from your own ethnic heritage that you can-- this can be a wedding, funeral, holiday, meal, etc. In your blog, describe the tradition in your OWN words, and your thoughts about what it would be like to experience it firsthand. You're encouraged to describe that imagined experience with detail."
My response then, for MY "class blog."
Responding to Prompt 1:
I’m a mix of many different European “flavors,” but Irish and German probably make up the largest percentages of my respective ethnic pie chart, so I checked out examples of Irish festivities.
On one site, I read about the Irish version of “Fat Tuesday,” which they call, “Shrove Tuesday.” Apparently, when the Irish were experiencing one of their famous famines, they still wanted to observe the gluttony which is commonly practiced with gusto on the day before the Lenten season. However, at the time, with no fats or meats to spare… They only had eggs, milk, and butter with which to feast. So?
They decided to make pancakes.
Every “Fat Tuesday,” the Irish– those particularly in the Dingle region– enthusiastically observe “Pancake Tuesday,” by making and EATING as many pancakes as possible. RANDOM! In earlier days, a girl’s eligibility to be married was apparently equated with her pancake making skills. Bad pancakes… equaled no hubby. Haha!
My imagined Shrove Tuesday experience…
I stared down at the frying pan, already in a sweat. Mama O’Neill– who wasn’t my mother, of course, but who insisted on being called so by everyone under 50– hovered at my elbow. “Remember, dear!” she chuckled in her lilting brogue. “Ye’d best mix it well, ‘lest the men-folk think ye be lackin’ in the kitchen… Or in the bedroom for that matter!” She threw back her head and cackled. “The two go t’gether, so they say!”
I thought of Willy Brian, who I’d promised my first stack to– thought of his ruddy cheeks, and wide, bright smile. I’d made the batch of butter myself, collected from our cow this morning– but had spilled the salt during the churning. I’d tasted it earlier, and had been utterly dismayed by its brackish taste. In vain I’d tried to steal some of mother’s from the larder, but she’d whisked me out the door to attend the Shrove Tuesday festival before I’d had a chance. And here was Mother O’Neill, watching, hawk-eyed, as I mixed up the batter. I felt the sweat roll down my neck.
“Don’t be nervous, lass!” she cackled again. “It’s only your love life at stake!” Her wized wrinkles danced on her face, wiggling in inexplicable patterns as she laughed. “Here.” She shoo’ed me out of the way. “Let me try a bit.”
She lifted a spoon of batter to her mouth, and tried it. Then, with a great cough, she spewed the mixture all over the circle of batter in the frying pan, already cooking. I cringed. She turned to me, her sparkling blue eyes now full of jesting concern.
“Oh darlin’. Ye’d best serve Willy a Guinness or two before you feed him that!”
Sneaky Blogging
Blog originally published April 14th
I'm in second period.
The kids are all working on a Powerpoint project.
And I am blogging.
(Sneakily.)
Last week was exhausting: there was a ton of upfront "teacher time" which required massive energy on my part. We started a new book on Friday, and so I read the first 20 pages of Things Fall Apart in a nice clear, loud, expressive voice to FOUR different periods.
Fell asleep that Friday at 9:30pm. Woke up the next morning at 9am. Was knackered indeed, and relished every minute of those 11.5 sleeping hours.
After that, I resolved, "Less of me; more of them." I believe students learn better by discovering new information on their own anyway-- it helps them learn better and also keeps ME from crashing and burning.
Still: I now have time to sneaky blog, and can't help feeling guilty. Eep.
That's all for now-- should supervise the kiddos!
I'm in second period.
The kids are all working on a Powerpoint project.
And I am blogging.
(Sneakily.)
Last week was exhausting: there was a ton of upfront "teacher time" which required massive energy on my part. We started a new book on Friday, and so I read the first 20 pages of Things Fall Apart in a nice clear, loud, expressive voice to FOUR different periods.
Fell asleep that Friday at 9:30pm. Woke up the next morning at 9am. Was knackered indeed, and relished every minute of those 11.5 sleeping hours.
After that, I resolved, "Less of me; more of them." I believe students learn better by discovering new information on their own anyway-- it helps them learn better and also keeps ME from crashing and burning.
Still: I now have time to sneaky blog, and can't help feeling guilty. Eep.
That's all for now-- should supervise the kiddos!
Flip Flop
Blog initially published on April 8th
Not referring to the sandals today. Unfortunately.
Today, I started my official "full-time" teaching for the next eight weeks. This means: I'm the boss.
Sort of.
In any case, it means: I'm the one doing the teaching. I'd planned a technologically whoop-de-doo lesson to kick off our new unit on Things Fall Apart, which entailed setting up all our students with blogs. I was nervous that things wouldn't work or that kids wouldn't like it, and blah blah blah, and was NERVOUS.
Also, ack: full time now! Equals NERVOUS.
So third period, I was nervous, and couldn't talk, and bumbled my way through the lesson. There were some frustrating classroom management moments (just a few kids in particular who DO tend to be difficult-- not, I hope, just for me) and at the end of the lesson I thought:
"I'm going to burn out so fast. Why did I pick this as a career? This is hard. The kids are hard. Thinking up lessons every day is hard. Trying to sell the kids on the lessons is hard. Why didn't I just choose a job that entails worrying about ME, not the learning and educations of all these kids? Is it too soon to start a second career? My second career was going to be relationship counseling, but I haven't been married yet. My second career was supposed to start after my first career but my first career hasn't started yet. I'm probably not even going to be able to find a job next year. What am I gonna dooooooo, BAAAAAH."
Etcetera.
But then fifth period (we only had third and fifth today, since it was a Block day) saved me. I know: FIFTH period! The notoriously difficult period! But I had my sea-legs at that point, and was comfortable giving the lesson, and the kids were good during class, and had fun starting up their blogs. So then after THAT class, I thought:
"I can do this. It's fun. It's engaging. I'm good at thinking up creative lessons. I'm good-- mostly-- at keeping the kids in line. This career will be fulfilling. This career will be fine. This career is do-able. I could be good at this. I might even be great at this. I might even love this."
Etcetera.
So it was a tiring, difficult day, and it was a fun, engaging day. And I might burn out so fast, but I really hope I don't. Thinking I need to get a skin thick enough to ride these good vs. not-so-good classes so that ONE of the latter doesn't send me into a downward spiral where I bemoan, and doubt, and quit.
Must not be a flip-flop. Must be a boot.
Or... you know. Something.
Not referring to the sandals today. Unfortunately.
Today, I started my official "full-time" teaching for the next eight weeks. This means: I'm the boss.
Sort of.
In any case, it means: I'm the one doing the teaching. I'd planned a technologically whoop-de-doo lesson to kick off our new unit on Things Fall Apart, which entailed setting up all our students with blogs. I was nervous that things wouldn't work or that kids wouldn't like it, and blah blah blah, and was NERVOUS.
Also, ack: full time now! Equals NERVOUS.
So third period, I was nervous, and couldn't talk, and bumbled my way through the lesson. There were some frustrating classroom management moments (just a few kids in particular who DO tend to be difficult-- not, I hope, just for me) and at the end of the lesson I thought:
"I'm going to burn out so fast. Why did I pick this as a career? This is hard. The kids are hard. Thinking up lessons every day is hard. Trying to sell the kids on the lessons is hard. Why didn't I just choose a job that entails worrying about ME, not the learning and educations of all these kids? Is it too soon to start a second career? My second career was going to be relationship counseling, but I haven't been married yet. My second career was supposed to start after my first career but my first career hasn't started yet. I'm probably not even going to be able to find a job next year. What am I gonna dooooooo, BAAAAAH."
Etcetera.
But then fifth period (we only had third and fifth today, since it was a Block day) saved me. I know: FIFTH period! The notoriously difficult period! But I had my sea-legs at that point, and was comfortable giving the lesson, and the kids were good during class, and had fun starting up their blogs. So then after THAT class, I thought:
"I can do this. It's fun. It's engaging. I'm good at thinking up creative lessons. I'm good-- mostly-- at keeping the kids in line. This career will be fulfilling. This career will be fine. This career is do-able. I could be good at this. I might even be great at this. I might even love this."
Etcetera.
So it was a tiring, difficult day, and it was a fun, engaging day. And I might burn out so fast, but I really hope I don't. Thinking I need to get a skin thick enough to ride these good vs. not-so-good classes so that ONE of the latter doesn't send me into a downward spiral where I bemoan, and doubt, and quit.
Must not be a flip-flop. Must be a boot.
Or... you know. Something.
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