Worthy of note are three specific student incidents from the past couple weeks, and interestingly all three occurred during dismissal. This is perhaps the most intriguing part of my day. Last week, I alarmingly rushed to a tight ring of students, fearing an outrageous fight in the middle. What I found instead was one student, the center of attention, with the happiest look I have ever seen on her face (not surprising, given the circumstances). A new wave of alarm settled in as I immediately remembered that this girl is not usually the primary focus. And then the reason slammed into me as dozens of students jumped eagerly to relay the student’s story: she had told everyone she was pregnant.
I personally have no idea what to make of the situation even now. Sure, it was a “look-at-me” ploy. But it also strikes me powerfully when considering the fact that I know of at least one student for whom such a statement could physiologically be true, and this unnerves me for ALL of my girls. Then I take into account the unsettling prevalence of teen pregnancy in the Delta, and the prevailing acceptance of childbearing as a solution for every type of lifestyle. I almost think that young, unwed pregnancies are as close to a rite of passage as high school graduation…well, quite frankly, even more so. I cannot even fully articulate the phenomenon, other than to say: pregnancy is EVERYWHERE. It continues to mystify me.
Event #2: One of my students, who is nothing short of a third-grade thug destined for jail, brought a BB gun to school—including bullets. He brandished it proudly after school, and one of my braver, sweeter boys immediately brought it to my attention. Until the “fun” ended, I gathered from other students that this student saw such idiocy as the coolest thing imaginable. I can barely comprehend the kind of woman his mother is and the type of people to whom she is exposing her children. Such an occurrence makes me dishearteningly realize that I know of no way to help this child in the long term; he must have a terrible home life with zero acceptable role models, and the school officials are either inept or too passive about such behavior. What to do to save this child from himself?
Event#3: In some ways, this last anecdote is the scariest of all to me. I have heard plenty of rumors circulating about one of my students concerning her home life: her father is abusive, the family is tragically poor, and the mother had tried to give away her children. It is heartbreaking, and this incredibly bright student has significant behavior problems as a result. On Wednesday, this girl’s mother came rushing up to me after school, asking me if I could take her daughter home with me while she went to Batesville (forty minutes away). I knew in that instant, without any doubt, that if I said yes, this mother would never come to get her child.
The incident forced me to see my lifestyle in an entirely new perspective. In many ways, I still live and function as though I am in college. I live with roommates, I do not spend much time cooking, I am minimalist when it comes to furniture, and I am focused almost solely on my work. Even though I am committed to my job, I still approach it with an understanding that it is temporary, and so I have spent no time creating a home. That is no atmosphere for a child even for a night, and especially not in this case, when it appeared that this girl just might be abandoned into that environment.
And so I suddenly sense an even greater disconnect between me and the rest of Clarksdale. I live differently, I think differently, I bring a completely different context to every single decision and tiny movement I make. I am floating in my own bubble, isolated and sheltered from the true realities of the Delta. Everything I experience is real life for the first time. It is harsh and brutal. And yet, relatively speaking, I walk away each day unscathed by the hardship everyone else faces. In this way, I am much closer to the people at the Chinese New Year’s party than I am to all of my co-workers and students and parents. And there is no hope EVER that I will get any closer.
My co-teacher had volunteered me to help supervise students during the after-school practices for the black history program, and this role quickly evolved into one where I was in charge of both behavior during our ridiculous number of practices and the backstage during the actual production. The multiple layers of irony were never lost on me. I got acquainted with students from all the grades, which was the most rewarding part, and I earned myself some “street cred” on every imaginable front: parents, students, and even other teachers. And when the show started off with a fairly major crisis, I handled the backstage turmoil with calm and success. It was an energizing experience, especially since my co-teacher did her best to make sure everyone knew and sufficiently appreciated my role. I imagine I will be involved in future performances, perhaps even improve them a bit!
On a personal front, I reached an important conclusion in the past couple weeks. First, some background: My roommate had told me about a very close friend she had had while in the Peace Corps, and to whom she never speaks anymore. She was lamenting this situation, especially in light of the intensity of that former relationship. It reminded me of my senior year at AU, when I would spend every night of the spring semester in tears as I contemplated all of the friendships I was about to lose as a result of graduation. I could not accept the prospect of such loss. And then an extremely wise professor told me that friendships will inevitably grow and evolve as our circumstances change. The key to surviving the transition is to recognize that you and your friend will continue to support one another in new ways. Relationships should not require constant contact (as they did in college); friends can acknowledge that despite the distance and the longer lapses of conversation, their friendship can always just pick up where it left off. There is no need for awkwardness or resentment, just security in the friendship. For many of my relationships from college, this has been the most liberating and truthful piece of advice I have ever received. It was a truly helpful way to approach my impending graduation.
Now, I find myself intermittently struggling with the relationships I have created here in the Delta. To me, they are one of the most important aspects of my survival on a daily basis, but they are also priority in the greater scheme of my life and experiences. I find myself wondering how these relationships will fit into the larger picture after TFA. Where I flounder is that I cannot quite comprehend how important my friendship is to them. When this is all over, will we continue to stay in touch? Or even, is this relationship only significant here in the Delta? I have already deliberated on the Delta vacuum, but this discussion requires a return visit. I propose that most of what I have experienced in TFA is a heightened experience, largely because there is a nagging void in my environment. Earlier I said that I function in a protective bubble of sorts. I think this applies to just about everything, including the relationships I create. We have surrounded ourselves with the things and the people that can offer us the support and comfort we need during a truly grueling process. But remove that factor from the equation and put us back in our old lives, and I would argue that the things and the people would fall away. The need is no longer there, and the commonality is lost. The hardships would suddenly be less hard and the void would be filled with all sorts of other distractions.
It is the same thing that happened when I studied abroad; the intensity of the experience gave me three truly remarkable friends, and I grieved the loss of their constant companionship when I returned home. But today, I never talk to them, I never think about them, and I never miss them. I have fond memories, certainly, and I would love the opportunity to see them again, but it is not something for which I yearn or constantly strive.
I imagine my friendships here will go in the same way. For a while, I created the same internal battle that I had when leaving Germany and graduating from AU. I was always devastated by the upcoming change in my friendships, and all I wanted was to keep these people predominantly in my life. I have already felt the same way here in the Delta. A part of me did not want to let go of what I had managed to create, and that same part of me resisted any attempt to change those relationships. But now, I understand the necessity of pre-empting that inevitable hardship by re-framing my outlook. I already know that such a course will be difficult, but it must be done: I have decided to approach my friendships the same way I have approached everything else in TFA—temporary. Even though I might care deeply about the people I have met, I must accept the fact that I will only be important to them for the duration of my TFA commitment. After that, we will go our separate ways, and inevitably the new demands of the next stage will overcome any lingering closeness from the previous experiences.
I struggle with this realization almost as much as I did with the actual feeling of loss at other times, but I am hoping that being realistic now will help to save me some heartache in the long run. Moral of the story: enjoy it while it lasts, but do not be too devastated when it is gone. I am going to be too busy embracing the next step. And none of this means that I can’t look back on the memories fondly. And in ten years, there is no reason why we won’t be able to just pick up where we left off.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Adding Pieces of Understanding
Last Saturday, I attended a birthday party for one of my students, which was a wonderful way to experience my students in a non-academic setting. I had spent hours frantically searching store after store for the birthday gifts my co-teacher had recommended: “Something pretty and girly, like a necklace, hair bows, or a purse. Make sure it is princessy.” At first, I thought I could handle it; I knew the student and I knew the local store offerings. How difficult could it be to select some cute hair bows? But as I roamed about Clarksdale, I realized just how much I never was a girly-girl growing up, and how much I just wanted to buy her a chapter book, so I could encourage her already advanced reading level and school performance. After all, that is what I would have wanted at her age (I know, think what you must), and that is a gift I would expect from her school teacher. But my co-teacher’s suggestions won out, and we ended up being quite successful in our present, regardless of the minor panic attack I had shopping so far outside my comfort zone.
I realized at the party that I thoroughly enjoyed getting to see and interact with my students outside of school. They treated me like a celebrity—which was new to me and certainly helpful to the self-esteem—but I also experienced the strongest desire to continue such informal interactions and to help develop the entire child rather than simply his or her academics. I spent the rest of the weekend excitedly turning over different proposals for after-school clubs and social gatherings that would both enhance my students’ academics and provide them with an opportunity to socialize outside our school roles. I went into the new week with outlined ideas that I wanted to present to my principal at the earliest possible opportunity.
That energy quickly waned, however, as the intensity of a difficult week immediately emerged. My students were terrible this week, beginning to finish, and I could not muster the enthusiasm to spend any more time with these rascals than I was already required. They would not listen when I presented my new material, so they failed their independent practice. Their social roles between each other are growing more pronounced, and they are getting in the way of our classroom environment. The part of me interested in psychology and anthropology deeply yearns to sit back and observe these developing group dynamics, but my first loyalty—motivated by a healthy amount of doubt and fear—is to the state tests in May, so I continue to battle as best I can.
Come to think of it, perhaps this is the element of my week which is the most interesting to contemplate. I get the powerful impression that my students are starting to consciously realize that they are sexual beings, capable of a wider degree of emotions than they ever thought possible. The interactions between the boys and girls are taking on a different tone, one that certainly terrifies me, given their young age. They are starting to pair off, or at least recognize that status as a possibility. I have even caught snippets of conversation about what my students term “business” and witnessed my most aggressive and confident boy invite two girls to search his body for a hidden dollar. I will give you one guess where he hid that dollar. And yes, the girls did manage to find it…
On Wednesday, I had to break up my first, full-fledged fist fight between two of my boys (obnoxious alliteration completely unintentional), which actually unnerved me more than many of my other experiences. Perhaps it was the physicality of stepping in and restraining these two students, or perhaps it was having to confront the intense anger felt and so prominently displayed on both sides, or perhaps it was the sneaking suspicion that I could have prevented it altogether had I reacted a little quicker. Regardless, the episode changed the tenor of my week from one of desperately trying to reclaim the fun and control I usually get to use, to one of complete submission to my perpetual bad mood and ineffective governance of an unruly class. I gave up trying to redeem the negative experiences and instead fully accepted the upcoming weekend as the only refuge from five days of unexpected challenges.
So heading into a new week, I am already disappointed in how quickly the weekend has come and gone, and dreading the next four weeks before spring break. I question my ability to neutralize the growing tension in my room, and even my desire to continue pushing back against the rising tide. I will wake up tomorrow with lower but perhaps more realistic expectations. I have learned so far that one day really has no bearing upon the next, so it is anyone’s guess what the next week will bring. I find a little bit of consolation in that.
On Friday, a prominent member of Oakhurst Baptist (our landlord) invited my roommates and me to his home for a celebration of the Chinese New Year. Sarah and I went largely for the well known quality of the food and for the sake of having Friday night plans, so we were thrilled at the glimpse we received into the other side of Delta culture. Those in attendance were all Chinese Americans and rather successful members of their community—professors at Ole Miss, owners of local businesses, and high-ranking officials in their given occupations. They had money and education, two qualities most, if not all, my students’ parents lack. As a result, their perspectives on the current events in Clarksdale and our role as public school teachers were entirely different. They were informed and intelligent problem-solvers, and yet their tones were still tinged with that underlying racism I experience everywhere. Many of the problems in Clarksdale are black problems. Blacks cause the situation, so naturally they must also bear the fruits of public education’s downward spiral. Similar to Sarah and me, these community members were able to more accurately pinpoint the underlying issues at work, but unlike us, they refused any role in changing the situation. And why should they take any greater interest? They can sit in their prosperous corners of the Clarksdale community and function without any detriment reaching them from the slums. I finally experienced more concretely the isolation these people must enjoy. It was perhaps the most interesting bubble I have encountered in quite a while, and the closest comparison I can find is the sheltered bubble of white South Africa. I finally understood how completely possible and even comfortable it would be to live and work in the white community and only distantly observe the challenges facing the black community. How completely different would my experiences be!
I had glimpsed the possibility and the appeal, but ultimately I could not accept it. Such willful ignorance in the face of so much education and prosperity is distasteful and disappointing. While I thoroughly enjoyed the company at this party for so many reasons, I could never make their world my world. I want to merge the different communities into one comprehensive picture and to indulge in the best of all these elements, but it is like forcing magnets together. It just does not work, and so it does not happen. On the other hand, I suppose I am a random piece of plastic, and so I fit in nowhere. This reality is always present and unfailingly discouraging.
Unbidden, my co-teacher has actively played the matchmaker, insisting on acquainting me with Clarksdale’s young and successful men. She has a vision of helping me settle permanently in the area and into a lifestyle both happy and comfortable. While it started in good fun, I wonder if she has ever realized an underlying consequence: in finding this suitable partner, she would be pushing me from the small hold I have on her community, and thoroughly relegating me to that white Clarksdale bubble.
I realized at the party that I thoroughly enjoyed getting to see and interact with my students outside of school. They treated me like a celebrity—which was new to me and certainly helpful to the self-esteem—but I also experienced the strongest desire to continue such informal interactions and to help develop the entire child rather than simply his or her academics. I spent the rest of the weekend excitedly turning over different proposals for after-school clubs and social gatherings that would both enhance my students’ academics and provide them with an opportunity to socialize outside our school roles. I went into the new week with outlined ideas that I wanted to present to my principal at the earliest possible opportunity.
That energy quickly waned, however, as the intensity of a difficult week immediately emerged. My students were terrible this week, beginning to finish, and I could not muster the enthusiasm to spend any more time with these rascals than I was already required. They would not listen when I presented my new material, so they failed their independent practice. Their social roles between each other are growing more pronounced, and they are getting in the way of our classroom environment. The part of me interested in psychology and anthropology deeply yearns to sit back and observe these developing group dynamics, but my first loyalty—motivated by a healthy amount of doubt and fear—is to the state tests in May, so I continue to battle as best I can.
Come to think of it, perhaps this is the element of my week which is the most interesting to contemplate. I get the powerful impression that my students are starting to consciously realize that they are sexual beings, capable of a wider degree of emotions than they ever thought possible. The interactions between the boys and girls are taking on a different tone, one that certainly terrifies me, given their young age. They are starting to pair off, or at least recognize that status as a possibility. I have even caught snippets of conversation about what my students term “business” and witnessed my most aggressive and confident boy invite two girls to search his body for a hidden dollar. I will give you one guess where he hid that dollar. And yes, the girls did manage to find it…
On Wednesday, I had to break up my first, full-fledged fist fight between two of my boys (obnoxious alliteration completely unintentional), which actually unnerved me more than many of my other experiences. Perhaps it was the physicality of stepping in and restraining these two students, or perhaps it was having to confront the intense anger felt and so prominently displayed on both sides, or perhaps it was the sneaking suspicion that I could have prevented it altogether had I reacted a little quicker. Regardless, the episode changed the tenor of my week from one of desperately trying to reclaim the fun and control I usually get to use, to one of complete submission to my perpetual bad mood and ineffective governance of an unruly class. I gave up trying to redeem the negative experiences and instead fully accepted the upcoming weekend as the only refuge from five days of unexpected challenges.
So heading into a new week, I am already disappointed in how quickly the weekend has come and gone, and dreading the next four weeks before spring break. I question my ability to neutralize the growing tension in my room, and even my desire to continue pushing back against the rising tide. I will wake up tomorrow with lower but perhaps more realistic expectations. I have learned so far that one day really has no bearing upon the next, so it is anyone’s guess what the next week will bring. I find a little bit of consolation in that.
On Friday, a prominent member of Oakhurst Baptist (our landlord) invited my roommates and me to his home for a celebration of the Chinese New Year. Sarah and I went largely for the well known quality of the food and for the sake of having Friday night plans, so we were thrilled at the glimpse we received into the other side of Delta culture. Those in attendance were all Chinese Americans and rather successful members of their community—professors at Ole Miss, owners of local businesses, and high-ranking officials in their given occupations. They had money and education, two qualities most, if not all, my students’ parents lack. As a result, their perspectives on the current events in Clarksdale and our role as public school teachers were entirely different. They were informed and intelligent problem-solvers, and yet their tones were still tinged with that underlying racism I experience everywhere. Many of the problems in Clarksdale are black problems. Blacks cause the situation, so naturally they must also bear the fruits of public education’s downward spiral. Similar to Sarah and me, these community members were able to more accurately pinpoint the underlying issues at work, but unlike us, they refused any role in changing the situation. And why should they take any greater interest? They can sit in their prosperous corners of the Clarksdale community and function without any detriment reaching them from the slums. I finally experienced more concretely the isolation these people must enjoy. It was perhaps the most interesting bubble I have encountered in quite a while, and the closest comparison I can find is the sheltered bubble of white South Africa. I finally understood how completely possible and even comfortable it would be to live and work in the white community and only distantly observe the challenges facing the black community. How completely different would my experiences be!
I had glimpsed the possibility and the appeal, but ultimately I could not accept it. Such willful ignorance in the face of so much education and prosperity is distasteful and disappointing. While I thoroughly enjoyed the company at this party for so many reasons, I could never make their world my world. I want to merge the different communities into one comprehensive picture and to indulge in the best of all these elements, but it is like forcing magnets together. It just does not work, and so it does not happen. On the other hand, I suppose I am a random piece of plastic, and so I fit in nowhere. This reality is always present and unfailingly discouraging.
Unbidden, my co-teacher has actively played the matchmaker, insisting on acquainting me with Clarksdale’s young and successful men. She has a vision of helping me settle permanently in the area and into a lifestyle both happy and comfortable. While it started in good fun, I wonder if she has ever realized an underlying consequence: in finding this suitable partner, she would be pushing me from the small hold I have on her community, and thoroughly relegating me to that white Clarksdale bubble.
Friday, February 5, 2010
February Musings
Usually by Thursday night or Friday morning, I am caught in a pointless quandary: did this week go by fast? Or slow? I really wish I could stop this habit, because after a while the asking is no longer interesting, and I am no closer to solving this mystery than I was the first week of the school year. I will note, however, that I am shocked we are over halfway through the third nine weeks. Already… But then again, it feels like ages since I was in Ohio for Christmas…
See how easy that is? :)
I thought I would switch up my routine and see if my update has a different tone at the beginning of the weekend rather than the end. At this point, I am still recovering from the pros and cons of the week, and I do not have much of that re-energized optimism going for me. But we shall see.
Upon reflection, not much stands out from this week. Even now, I am searching fruitlessly for some highlights with which to regale my eager audience, but to no avail. This is particularly frustrating, since I seem to remember at the beginning of the week thinking, “This will be a great story for my update.” Well, if I ever recall what it was that captured this musing, I will be sure to pass it along. As it is, I will go more for general impressions.
I have found to my halfheartedly surprised chagrin that there are certain students in my class whom I cannot tolerate with any measure of patience. In particular, I have one who is strikingly small for her age, and she has a habit of using her “cuteness” to get by with just about anything. I will correct her for singing in the middle of my lesson, and she will just look at me with a smile that hopes to say, “How can you be upset at my disruption, Ms. Cook? I am so adorable and cuddly!” When she is in my after-school tutoring, she resorts to a baby voice, and often she will come to me to whine or pout about one thing or another, so much so that I can rarely understand what she is even saying.
I think what gets me the most is that the assistant inclusion teacher is the exact opposite of me: she favors the cute-and-cuddlies, and this child loves to take advantage of that fact. Today, the student goes up to the inclusion teacher, holding her eye, and complaining that it hurt. You all know how much I shudder at these attention-grabbers, and my response, for my whole life, has always been, “Get over it.” But instead, this woman pulls her out of my class for the rest of the morning, doctoring this atrocious eye-hurt. She sends the student back in just long enough to ask for a copy of the reading test she was supposed to be taking with her classmates. I have already graded it. She improved by three letter grades over her usual test score. Coincidence? I do not believe in the word, and especially not when these two leave a perfect trail for me to follow.
I struggle to stand up to this teacher, particularly because she is a vicious presence in the school, and I hesitate to be on the wrong side of her. And because I doubt that any comment from me would change her behavior. My co-teacher is a much stronger and more experienced woman than me, and she too flounders when coming up with a helpful solution. More on this relationship in the future, I suppose.
In any case, all of the above should be read casually; I am still in the venting stage of my weekend! ;) The point is that I have noticed an emerging pattern in my relationships with certain students: because I sense a personality clash, I find it difficult to treat them with the fairness they deserve. I have always had a little too much pride, so I think part of it is my third-grade self trying to unleash a little revenge on the children who once made my early years full of needless drama and self-consciousness. The other part is that I refuse to give in to the characteristics I resent and do not admire in others. But I try to keep in mind that I was once a child like these, and given some of the social situations presented to my students, I am not entirely sure I did act or would have acted any differently. I also try to remember that not all of them are blessed with a healthy or even stable home life. And, above all else, they are still children. I cannot impose on them the hurts, fears, angers, humiliations, successes, and failures of my own life. I say all of this and even truly believe it, but I still struggle to live out these values on a daily basis. More than the TFA busy-work, this is where I know I need to improve.
Since the start of the new year, I have realized that there is a bit too much freedom for mental rambling during my days and weekends. As always, I have a malfunctioning on/off switch that keeps me over-thinking and over-analyzing during all hours of consciousness. And while I often enjoy this aspect of my being (it makes for some intriguing dreams), it is also exhausting and inconvenient a fair portion of the time. I feel the need to keep constantly busy and to find distractions even more than I ever did in college, and I have only been partially successful at this. I am still severely limited in friendships and social pastimes and surrounding areas for escape. Anyone who has experienced the Delta can perhaps commiserate with the huge vacuum that seems to exist in many of these areas. I have yet to find non-TFA people my age or avenues for my energy that are conducive to my interests and my teaching schedule. I have asked my mentor about ways to get involved in the community, but so far I have turned up few leads.
So for now, I set aside time each day for reading, which has contained a lovely mixture of genres, topics, and interests. For the first time in…well…ever, I pursue the titles that offer a free-spirited education in popular fiction, history, politics, literary classics, social science, and philosophy—whatever the whims desire. I just finished Nelson Mandela’s Long Walk to Freedom, which is the first South African book I have managed to pick up since I defended my thesis last April. This situation is actually one that continues to mystify me: the single greatest achievement of my life was that thesis, and my topic has lodged itself solidly into a special corner in my heart and mind. Yet every time before this that I had attempted a South African book, I just could not do it. I had to let ample time pass. It is a circumstance that has never made sense, so naturally I cannot fully articulate it. But regardless of this stretch of time, I now find myself happily settled in the history, culture, and persona of Africa, and I imagine I will put a sizeable dent in the African section of my personal library before I stop.
Side note: in my classroom, I put up an 8x10 photograph of the children we met in Vrygrond township (attached). It hangs on my back wall so that I can look on their sweet faces whenever I need a moment of strength. They look much like my children, and like my children, they remind me why I am here and why I keep trying. If it were for personal gain, I would have failed long ago, like so many elitists I have met along the way. My heart is in the right place, even though it might not always seem that way, and sometimes even I forget.
See how easy that is? :)
I thought I would switch up my routine and see if my update has a different tone at the beginning of the weekend rather than the end. At this point, I am still recovering from the pros and cons of the week, and I do not have much of that re-energized optimism going for me. But we shall see.
Upon reflection, not much stands out from this week. Even now, I am searching fruitlessly for some highlights with which to regale my eager audience, but to no avail. This is particularly frustrating, since I seem to remember at the beginning of the week thinking, “This will be a great story for my update.” Well, if I ever recall what it was that captured this musing, I will be sure to pass it along. As it is, I will go more for general impressions.
I have found to my halfheartedly surprised chagrin that there are certain students in my class whom I cannot tolerate with any measure of patience. In particular, I have one who is strikingly small for her age, and she has a habit of using her “cuteness” to get by with just about anything. I will correct her for singing in the middle of my lesson, and she will just look at me with a smile that hopes to say, “How can you be upset at my disruption, Ms. Cook? I am so adorable and cuddly!” When she is in my after-school tutoring, she resorts to a baby voice, and often she will come to me to whine or pout about one thing or another, so much so that I can rarely understand what she is even saying.
I think what gets me the most is that the assistant inclusion teacher is the exact opposite of me: she favors the cute-and-cuddlies, and this child loves to take advantage of that fact. Today, the student goes up to the inclusion teacher, holding her eye, and complaining that it hurt. You all know how much I shudder at these attention-grabbers, and my response, for my whole life, has always been, “Get over it.” But instead, this woman pulls her out of my class for the rest of the morning, doctoring this atrocious eye-hurt. She sends the student back in just long enough to ask for a copy of the reading test she was supposed to be taking with her classmates. I have already graded it. She improved by three letter grades over her usual test score. Coincidence? I do not believe in the word, and especially not when these two leave a perfect trail for me to follow.
I struggle to stand up to this teacher, particularly because she is a vicious presence in the school, and I hesitate to be on the wrong side of her. And because I doubt that any comment from me would change her behavior. My co-teacher is a much stronger and more experienced woman than me, and she too flounders when coming up with a helpful solution. More on this relationship in the future, I suppose.
In any case, all of the above should be read casually; I am still in the venting stage of my weekend! ;) The point is that I have noticed an emerging pattern in my relationships with certain students: because I sense a personality clash, I find it difficult to treat them with the fairness they deserve. I have always had a little too much pride, so I think part of it is my third-grade self trying to unleash a little revenge on the children who once made my early years full of needless drama and self-consciousness. The other part is that I refuse to give in to the characteristics I resent and do not admire in others. But I try to keep in mind that I was once a child like these, and given some of the social situations presented to my students, I am not entirely sure I did act or would have acted any differently. I also try to remember that not all of them are blessed with a healthy or even stable home life. And, above all else, they are still children. I cannot impose on them the hurts, fears, angers, humiliations, successes, and failures of my own life. I say all of this and even truly believe it, but I still struggle to live out these values on a daily basis. More than the TFA busy-work, this is where I know I need to improve.
Since the start of the new year, I have realized that there is a bit too much freedom for mental rambling during my days and weekends. As always, I have a malfunctioning on/off switch that keeps me over-thinking and over-analyzing during all hours of consciousness. And while I often enjoy this aspect of my being (it makes for some intriguing dreams), it is also exhausting and inconvenient a fair portion of the time. I feel the need to keep constantly busy and to find distractions even more than I ever did in college, and I have only been partially successful at this. I am still severely limited in friendships and social pastimes and surrounding areas for escape. Anyone who has experienced the Delta can perhaps commiserate with the huge vacuum that seems to exist in many of these areas. I have yet to find non-TFA people my age or avenues for my energy that are conducive to my interests and my teaching schedule. I have asked my mentor about ways to get involved in the community, but so far I have turned up few leads.
So for now, I set aside time each day for reading, which has contained a lovely mixture of genres, topics, and interests. For the first time in…well…ever, I pursue the titles that offer a free-spirited education in popular fiction, history, politics, literary classics, social science, and philosophy—whatever the whims desire. I just finished Nelson Mandela’s Long Walk to Freedom, which is the first South African book I have managed to pick up since I defended my thesis last April. This situation is actually one that continues to mystify me: the single greatest achievement of my life was that thesis, and my topic has lodged itself solidly into a special corner in my heart and mind. Yet every time before this that I had attempted a South African book, I just could not do it. I had to let ample time pass. It is a circumstance that has never made sense, so naturally I cannot fully articulate it. But regardless of this stretch of time, I now find myself happily settled in the history, culture, and persona of Africa, and I imagine I will put a sizeable dent in the African section of my personal library before I stop.
Side note: in my classroom, I put up an 8x10 photograph of the children we met in Vrygrond township (attached). It hangs on my back wall so that I can look on their sweet faces whenever I need a moment of strength. They look much like my children, and like my children, they remind me why I am here and why I keep trying. If it were for personal gain, I would have failed long ago, like so many elitists I have met along the way. My heart is in the right place, even though it might not always seem that way, and sometimes even I forget.
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