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.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Bring. It. On!
In many ways, this week was unexpected, though by now I should be expecting that. Haha. …. Ok, bad joke…
Warning: long update below. Unusually eventful week… (also a bad joke)
On Monday, I had two observations, one from my principal and another from my Program Director for TFA. The first was unexpected, and the second was a source of significant anticipation. The last time he had come to observe my class was at the very beginning of the year, when I was completely frazzled over classroom management. I have always been a little too critical of my PD; I sincerely believe that he is a subpar teacher who is a little too sold on the TFA model and treats teaching like an unnatural science rather than an instinctual art. You all know me well enough to know that this is a personality with which I am bound to clash, especially when that personality is put in a position of authority over me. Regardless, however, I took his scheduled visit very seriously, and lost a great deal of sleep in the process. I dreaded the thought of being judged by someone who did not entirely leave me in wonder of his capabilities, and who has always been just as critical of me as I have been of him. I also feared the perceived moment when he would inevitably confirm my innermost trepidation: that I am indeed a terrible teacher myself.
During the visit from my principal, we were working on visualization using our poem of the week, and it was an amazing lesson. The students were engaged and excited, so we had a great time. I felt pretty good about what was going on in my classroom, and my principal made a point later in the day to share her own excitement with me about what she had observed. It was a wonderful feeling to experience some measurement of success.
When my PD came, we were working on Shurley English, particularly the Question and Answer Flow that accompanies most lessons. My students were a little rusty on the process, so the observation was a little rocky, but at no point did I feel like I had failed miserably in representing myself well as a teacher and as a TFA teacher at that. I walked away from the day feeling satisfied.
But in my debrief the next evening, my PD once again succeeded in making me feel like an inadequate, slacker teacher of whom TFA would be ashamed. My lesson lacked focus and precise objectives, so my students had proceeded without purpose. If only I would spend more time completing the TFA model for lesson planning, I would be more effective with my time, and my students would finally start to achieve. At the end of a very long day that wasn’t even close to being over yet, this PD made me plan out two lessons, which were complete with objective, key points, opening, intro to new material, guided practice, independent practice, and closing. It was tedious and degrading, to say the least.
And yet I walked away with important revelations: I could finally articulate the heart of my frustrations with my PD. It wasn’t so much that I hate the “TFA way” of doing things—in fact, I was surprisingly excited about the lesson plans I made during our session—but rather his way of presenting the TFA way. It is more than a little creepy that the people in TFA talk in the same way; both my PD and my advisor in Houston used the same phrasing and approach to meetings with me. “Angie, I am going to push you on that,” or “Now I want you to summarize for me what you have learned from this meeting,” or “How are you going to implement this in your class tomorrow?” It is exceedingly patronizing and overly professional. If anything, it makes me defensive and even belligerent. I do not respond well to this kind of relationship (is it any surprise that I came to loathe both these individuals?), which no doubt gives these TFA figures a somewhat negative impression of me. It’s ok, though. I am more than fine with that.
So the point is this: I am finally starting to practice the TFA lesson planning strategy of my own free will. I can see its benefits, and I finally feel like I am comfortable and adapted enough to try it of my own volition. For the longest time, I struggled to conceptualize how to use this model given my discomfort in teaching in general, my obstacles with classroom management, and my stuck-ness in survival mode. I have started to flow effortlessly in my teaching role, I have my kids under control as much as any other teacher can boast, and I am enjoying myself enough to finally seek out ways to push myself even further. Things are finally starting to feel manageable and even exciting. The possibilities really open up after I make it to that stage.
What I DON’T appreciate is a person trying to persistently shove me into their definition of success. From the beginning, my PD has tried and tried and tried to mold me into the TFA way, which is a cookie-cutter approach that I have rejected from the beginning. What my PD fails to realize is that we all start at different levels in this process: some come into TFA ready to embrace the organization’s model and can immediately begin practicing the TFA strategies. Some of us, like me, come in without any conception of how to be a teacher at all, let alone the kind of teacher TFA wants us to be. And others come in who are anti-TFA from beginning to finish. We all start out differently, so the PD’s approach to each of us must necessarily take into account these different positions. I would have loved to have a PD who said, you know what? I can tell you are not ready to follow our approach to the smallest detail, so let’s focus on how we can troubleshoot your most immediate concerns, and then we can build you up to where we want you to be. When I think of this strategy, I think of the words subtle, flexible, and downright sneaky. Would this approach be more effective? I have no idea without testing it. But a part of me thinks that I would have responded much better to this kind of covert manipulation than the TFA heavy-handedness.
And I will admit that to an extent, my PD has been successful in molding me. I just wish he had treated me with more respect and a more personal touch while he did it.
On Thursday, I had an unexpectedly defensive start to the day: a parent had emailed the superintendent with a complaint about me. It will not surprise you that this parent is the same parent whose mother (my student’s grandmother) who had threatened me with bodily harm before Thanksgiving. In this case, early in the week, I had made the student in question touch his toes for a couple of minutes as a consequence for playing in the middle of my class. He had gotten into some sort of disagreement with the student who sat next to him, and they had proceeded to push a book between them, to the disruption of the entire class. It was a ridiculous waste of our learning time, and I was going to make sure they both knew it.
Thursday morning, my principal alerts me that she wants to meet with me, as soon as she can send an assistant to watch my class. In the interim, the student arrives with a note from his mother, accusing me of practicing “unethical disciplinary actions” on a child who is “functionally autistic” (he’s not) and who is incapable of paying attention (he is). She implied that she had taken action against me, since “teacher-parent rapport with you cannot be established.” As if I am the problem? Really? Who threatened whom?
I will admit that I immediately feared reprimand and further conflict with this parent, so much so that I walked to the office with every intention of back downing and giving in to the mother. But when I reached the principal, and found her office entirely empty of the disgruntled parent, I realized that I was not in the wrong. The mother did not even hang around long enough to confront me personally! She sends a note via her child, and emails the superintendent without even contacting my principal! This was not a legitimate complaint, so how could I ignore it?
My principal read me the initial email from the mother to the superintendent, and then the superintendent’s response to the complaint, which was actually impressive in its mediating tone. When it was my turn to speak, I shocked even myself in the hard line I took; I refused to back down, refuted some of the allegations, asserted the complaint was personal rather than legitimate, and pointed out that my co-teacher makes this student touch his toes all the time, but no email had gone to the superintendent over that. I stood by my disciplinary approach, and promised that I would continue to practice it in the future… until my principal had an office busting at the door hinges with angry parents. When that happened, I would consider changing my ways, but for now, I had nothing for which I need to apologize. I knew that I was putting my principal in a difficult position, but I felt liberated having done that much for myself.
Later that morning, the director in charge of special education stopped by to let me know the latest from the Central Office. She had met with my inclusion teacher, who has always been supremely complimentary of my teaching practices, and she wanted to personally reassure me that I was not at all liable for the complaint. She even rolled her eyes in reference to this parent.
Needless to say, my skin is considerably tougher after five months of teaching in the Delta. I hate confrontation, which has always been an area of weakness, but I was thrilled that I had faced the threat head-on and triumphed. I finally had the explicit support of not only my fellow teachers, but also my superintendent. Now that is something to write home about.
The best part? When I returned to my room after meeting with my principal, the assistant teacher had three of my students at the front of the room, all of them touching their toes! (None of them was the student in question, though). Exonerated? I damn well better be!
Warning: long update below. Unusually eventful week… (also a bad joke)
On Monday, I had two observations, one from my principal and another from my Program Director for TFA. The first was unexpected, and the second was a source of significant anticipation. The last time he had come to observe my class was at the very beginning of the year, when I was completely frazzled over classroom management. I have always been a little too critical of my PD; I sincerely believe that he is a subpar teacher who is a little too sold on the TFA model and treats teaching like an unnatural science rather than an instinctual art. You all know me well enough to know that this is a personality with which I am bound to clash, especially when that personality is put in a position of authority over me. Regardless, however, I took his scheduled visit very seriously, and lost a great deal of sleep in the process. I dreaded the thought of being judged by someone who did not entirely leave me in wonder of his capabilities, and who has always been just as critical of me as I have been of him. I also feared the perceived moment when he would inevitably confirm my innermost trepidation: that I am indeed a terrible teacher myself.
During the visit from my principal, we were working on visualization using our poem of the week, and it was an amazing lesson. The students were engaged and excited, so we had a great time. I felt pretty good about what was going on in my classroom, and my principal made a point later in the day to share her own excitement with me about what she had observed. It was a wonderful feeling to experience some measurement of success.
When my PD came, we were working on Shurley English, particularly the Question and Answer Flow that accompanies most lessons. My students were a little rusty on the process, so the observation was a little rocky, but at no point did I feel like I had failed miserably in representing myself well as a teacher and as a TFA teacher at that. I walked away from the day feeling satisfied.
But in my debrief the next evening, my PD once again succeeded in making me feel like an inadequate, slacker teacher of whom TFA would be ashamed. My lesson lacked focus and precise objectives, so my students had proceeded without purpose. If only I would spend more time completing the TFA model for lesson planning, I would be more effective with my time, and my students would finally start to achieve. At the end of a very long day that wasn’t even close to being over yet, this PD made me plan out two lessons, which were complete with objective, key points, opening, intro to new material, guided practice, independent practice, and closing. It was tedious and degrading, to say the least.
And yet I walked away with important revelations: I could finally articulate the heart of my frustrations with my PD. It wasn’t so much that I hate the “TFA way” of doing things—in fact, I was surprisingly excited about the lesson plans I made during our session—but rather his way of presenting the TFA way. It is more than a little creepy that the people in TFA talk in the same way; both my PD and my advisor in Houston used the same phrasing and approach to meetings with me. “Angie, I am going to push you on that,” or “Now I want you to summarize for me what you have learned from this meeting,” or “How are you going to implement this in your class tomorrow?” It is exceedingly patronizing and overly professional. If anything, it makes me defensive and even belligerent. I do not respond well to this kind of relationship (is it any surprise that I came to loathe both these individuals?), which no doubt gives these TFA figures a somewhat negative impression of me. It’s ok, though. I am more than fine with that.
So the point is this: I am finally starting to practice the TFA lesson planning strategy of my own free will. I can see its benefits, and I finally feel like I am comfortable and adapted enough to try it of my own volition. For the longest time, I struggled to conceptualize how to use this model given my discomfort in teaching in general, my obstacles with classroom management, and my stuck-ness in survival mode. I have started to flow effortlessly in my teaching role, I have my kids under control as much as any other teacher can boast, and I am enjoying myself enough to finally seek out ways to push myself even further. Things are finally starting to feel manageable and even exciting. The possibilities really open up after I make it to that stage.
What I DON’T appreciate is a person trying to persistently shove me into their definition of success. From the beginning, my PD has tried and tried and tried to mold me into the TFA way, which is a cookie-cutter approach that I have rejected from the beginning. What my PD fails to realize is that we all start at different levels in this process: some come into TFA ready to embrace the organization’s model and can immediately begin practicing the TFA strategies. Some of us, like me, come in without any conception of how to be a teacher at all, let alone the kind of teacher TFA wants us to be. And others come in who are anti-TFA from beginning to finish. We all start out differently, so the PD’s approach to each of us must necessarily take into account these different positions. I would have loved to have a PD who said, you know what? I can tell you are not ready to follow our approach to the smallest detail, so let’s focus on how we can troubleshoot your most immediate concerns, and then we can build you up to where we want you to be. When I think of this strategy, I think of the words subtle, flexible, and downright sneaky. Would this approach be more effective? I have no idea without testing it. But a part of me thinks that I would have responded much better to this kind of covert manipulation than the TFA heavy-handedness.
And I will admit that to an extent, my PD has been successful in molding me. I just wish he had treated me with more respect and a more personal touch while he did it.
On Thursday, I had an unexpectedly defensive start to the day: a parent had emailed the superintendent with a complaint about me. It will not surprise you that this parent is the same parent whose mother (my student’s grandmother) who had threatened me with bodily harm before Thanksgiving. In this case, early in the week, I had made the student in question touch his toes for a couple of minutes as a consequence for playing in the middle of my class. He had gotten into some sort of disagreement with the student who sat next to him, and they had proceeded to push a book between them, to the disruption of the entire class. It was a ridiculous waste of our learning time, and I was going to make sure they both knew it.
Thursday morning, my principal alerts me that she wants to meet with me, as soon as she can send an assistant to watch my class. In the interim, the student arrives with a note from his mother, accusing me of practicing “unethical disciplinary actions” on a child who is “functionally autistic” (he’s not) and who is incapable of paying attention (he is). She implied that she had taken action against me, since “teacher-parent rapport with you cannot be established.” As if I am the problem? Really? Who threatened whom?
I will admit that I immediately feared reprimand and further conflict with this parent, so much so that I walked to the office with every intention of back downing and giving in to the mother. But when I reached the principal, and found her office entirely empty of the disgruntled parent, I realized that I was not in the wrong. The mother did not even hang around long enough to confront me personally! She sends a note via her child, and emails the superintendent without even contacting my principal! This was not a legitimate complaint, so how could I ignore it?
My principal read me the initial email from the mother to the superintendent, and then the superintendent’s response to the complaint, which was actually impressive in its mediating tone. When it was my turn to speak, I shocked even myself in the hard line I took; I refused to back down, refuted some of the allegations, asserted the complaint was personal rather than legitimate, and pointed out that my co-teacher makes this student touch his toes all the time, but no email had gone to the superintendent over that. I stood by my disciplinary approach, and promised that I would continue to practice it in the future… until my principal had an office busting at the door hinges with angry parents. When that happened, I would consider changing my ways, but for now, I had nothing for which I need to apologize. I knew that I was putting my principal in a difficult position, but I felt liberated having done that much for myself.
Later that morning, the director in charge of special education stopped by to let me know the latest from the Central Office. She had met with my inclusion teacher, who has always been supremely complimentary of my teaching practices, and she wanted to personally reassure me that I was not at all liable for the complaint. She even rolled her eyes in reference to this parent.
Needless to say, my skin is considerably tougher after five months of teaching in the Delta. I hate confrontation, which has always been an area of weakness, but I was thrilled that I had faced the threat head-on and triumphed. I finally had the explicit support of not only my fellow teachers, but also my superintendent. Now that is something to write home about.
The best part? When I returned to my room after meeting with my principal, the assistant teacher had three of my students at the front of the room, all of them touching their toes! (None of them was the student in question, though). Exonerated? I damn well better be!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Martin Luther King, Revisited
My attempts last week to create passion and meaning from the Martin Luther King holiday had fallen flat. I was flummoxed from dealing with teenage attitude in an 8-year-old. I was devastated by my student’s shockingly low test scores. The successes of the parent-teacher conference quickly receded to the background in light of new failures and challenges. Needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled to head into the new week.
But I took the time over the long weekend to complete some projects both for myself and for my classroom, and the lapsed time, as usual, did a great job to heal the hurts of the previous week. I have always told my students, “Tomorrow is a new day,” not really comprehending the meaning, but using a well-worn phrase as a motivation to improve. Now, I use it because I truly believe it—without it, I fear I would have been hindered by all the setbacks and perhaps relished the successes too much (odd, I know). Leaving the day before crossed off the calendar gives me the survival boost I need, and hopefully inspires my students to keep on trying. And this week, they tried.
I have finally figured out the secret to conducting after-school tutoring in a way that saves my sanity and proves a valuable use of an hour for the students. As soon as 2:45 hits, all pandemonium overwhelms George H. Oliver Elementary, and the students become impossible. Having to deal with these little monsters after that final bell has been one of the greatest trials, especially when my after-school kids tend to be my behavior challenges. But this week, I started using centers as a way to diversify what we cover and to hit more student needs while taking some of the pressure off me. We have started a new computer program called Kid’s College, which has turned out to be revolutionary in motivating even my lowest performers. I make sure to give each student some time on the computer while also giving them practice in math, fluency, and language arts. As the students jump eagerly from station to station, I sit back, keep the timer, and work individually as needed. All of a sudden, the worst part of my week has become my favorite. I love brainstorming new activities and lessons that I cannot feasibly pursue in a group of 27, but is perfect for working with 10, and I love the pressure-free environment to cover what interests us, not just what is tested at the end of the year. Several students had gotten into the habit of preferring another after-school teacher, but this week created such a buzz that I have to turn students away. And even better, the behavior expectations for getting to stay in my room are now extremely high. I had been planning on dropping the after-school tutoring next year, but now I think I will keep it!
The tutoring has also helped to pinpoint the discomforts I have with my teaching in general. I have never been quite satisfied or happy in the profession, but I had not managed to effectively articulate the causes. Now, I understand that I enjoy working with students less formally and in smaller groups. I want to have time to interact with the whole person, since the brain is not the only thing that desperately needs nurtured in these kids. I want their heads and their hearts in return for my own. In after-school, we get to do activities that are fun and engaging, which means I get to more directly trick my students into learning without them realizing it. I can do more when there are fewer students, and without the usual behavior conflicts, I get to relax and be myself a little bit more. Whenever I let my guard down during school, it usually backfires.
On Friday, my non-homeroom class was behind, and so I was using my Social Studies time to teach text features, a topic the other class had already covered. However, one of the first reading selections in our workbook was about Amelia Earhart, which was a perfect opportunity for me to mention phonetic spelling when trying to decipher the correct pronunciation of Earhart. Then a student had a question about the difficulty of pronouncing names, which led to a truly incredible tangent on a wide variety of topics (you know me, I LOVE tangents!). My students were thrilled that I indulged their curiosity about my own ancestry, illegal immigration, and even the rights of criminals. I got to talk about 9/11, Martin Luther King, the types of governments in other countries, why immigrants come to the United States, and the fundamental principles for which America stands. I became so passionate and so caught up in my explanations that one of my students stopped me in order to comment, “Ms. Cook, they should make you the next Martin Luther King.” The other students enthusiastically agreed. I was being unusually articulate, so I appreciated the compliment, but what energized me the most was getting to talk about all of the topics that are important to me, AND getting to say it to a truly enthralled audience of third graders. I rejoiced at their rapt expressions, and thanked the teaching gods for giving me one of those prized teaching moments that had eluded me the previous Friday. It turns out we cannot always ask for inspiration on our own schedule, but must celebrate them when they come, and then hold on to them for dear life during hard times.
The lesson paused when the front office announced, “Teachers, the principal needs your grade distributions immediately. Please stop teaching and send yours right now.” I had already submitted mine, so I excitedly sent a student to the office to convey that fact while I continued my best tangent ever. My parting comment to her was, “And tell them to leave me alone, because I am TEACHING!!” My students were in an uproar over my enthusiasm. Not two minutes later, they announced again, “We know you already sent it. You need to send it again!” I asked my students to wait patiently as I quickly completed this entirely stupid task, but the moment of true beauty had passed; my students had caught too much of my happiness and were out of control. Such moments, apparently, must always have their price. But I honestly would not trade it for anything, even if that means we are still behind heading into the new week.
But I took the time over the long weekend to complete some projects both for myself and for my classroom, and the lapsed time, as usual, did a great job to heal the hurts of the previous week. I have always told my students, “Tomorrow is a new day,” not really comprehending the meaning, but using a well-worn phrase as a motivation to improve. Now, I use it because I truly believe it—without it, I fear I would have been hindered by all the setbacks and perhaps relished the successes too much (odd, I know). Leaving the day before crossed off the calendar gives me the survival boost I need, and hopefully inspires my students to keep on trying. And this week, they tried.
I have finally figured out the secret to conducting after-school tutoring in a way that saves my sanity and proves a valuable use of an hour for the students. As soon as 2:45 hits, all pandemonium overwhelms George H. Oliver Elementary, and the students become impossible. Having to deal with these little monsters after that final bell has been one of the greatest trials, especially when my after-school kids tend to be my behavior challenges. But this week, I started using centers as a way to diversify what we cover and to hit more student needs while taking some of the pressure off me. We have started a new computer program called Kid’s College, which has turned out to be revolutionary in motivating even my lowest performers. I make sure to give each student some time on the computer while also giving them practice in math, fluency, and language arts. As the students jump eagerly from station to station, I sit back, keep the timer, and work individually as needed. All of a sudden, the worst part of my week has become my favorite. I love brainstorming new activities and lessons that I cannot feasibly pursue in a group of 27, but is perfect for working with 10, and I love the pressure-free environment to cover what interests us, not just what is tested at the end of the year. Several students had gotten into the habit of preferring another after-school teacher, but this week created such a buzz that I have to turn students away. And even better, the behavior expectations for getting to stay in my room are now extremely high. I had been planning on dropping the after-school tutoring next year, but now I think I will keep it!
The tutoring has also helped to pinpoint the discomforts I have with my teaching in general. I have never been quite satisfied or happy in the profession, but I had not managed to effectively articulate the causes. Now, I understand that I enjoy working with students less formally and in smaller groups. I want to have time to interact with the whole person, since the brain is not the only thing that desperately needs nurtured in these kids. I want their heads and their hearts in return for my own. In after-school, we get to do activities that are fun and engaging, which means I get to more directly trick my students into learning without them realizing it. I can do more when there are fewer students, and without the usual behavior conflicts, I get to relax and be myself a little bit more. Whenever I let my guard down during school, it usually backfires.
On Friday, my non-homeroom class was behind, and so I was using my Social Studies time to teach text features, a topic the other class had already covered. However, one of the first reading selections in our workbook was about Amelia Earhart, which was a perfect opportunity for me to mention phonetic spelling when trying to decipher the correct pronunciation of Earhart. Then a student had a question about the difficulty of pronouncing names, which led to a truly incredible tangent on a wide variety of topics (you know me, I LOVE tangents!). My students were thrilled that I indulged their curiosity about my own ancestry, illegal immigration, and even the rights of criminals. I got to talk about 9/11, Martin Luther King, the types of governments in other countries, why immigrants come to the United States, and the fundamental principles for which America stands. I became so passionate and so caught up in my explanations that one of my students stopped me in order to comment, “Ms. Cook, they should make you the next Martin Luther King.” The other students enthusiastically agreed. I was being unusually articulate, so I appreciated the compliment, but what energized me the most was getting to talk about all of the topics that are important to me, AND getting to say it to a truly enthralled audience of third graders. I rejoiced at their rapt expressions, and thanked the teaching gods for giving me one of those prized teaching moments that had eluded me the previous Friday. It turns out we cannot always ask for inspiration on our own schedule, but must celebrate them when they come, and then hold on to them for dear life during hard times.
The lesson paused when the front office announced, “Teachers, the principal needs your grade distributions immediately. Please stop teaching and send yours right now.” I had already submitted mine, so I excitedly sent a student to the office to convey that fact while I continued my best tangent ever. My parting comment to her was, “And tell them to leave me alone, because I am TEACHING!!” My students were in an uproar over my enthusiasm. Not two minutes later, they announced again, “We know you already sent it. You need to send it again!” I asked my students to wait patiently as I quickly completed this entirely stupid task, but the moment of true beauty had passed; my students had caught too much of my happiness and were out of control. Such moments, apparently, must always have their price. But I honestly would not trade it for anything, even if that means we are still behind heading into the new week.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Bigger Picture
The time spent away from Mississippi and from my classroom was a welcome break and a necessary reprieve from my all-encompassing experience as a teacher. But what I did not realize is that Christmas break would also give me an opportunity to forget my expectations and my daily successes and failures, and to lose sight of the small details for the sake of the bigger picture. I was missing the proverbial forest for the trees, and this is my attempt to paint the entire landscape.
I have already celebrated my improvements, but I do not think I understood the extent until after I returned from break. My mentor wrote me the following note after observing my classroom last week: “It seems the new year is off to a great start. You seem so much more relaxed and less stressed. Your smile was simply radiant. I was so proud of the students. They were well-behaved and attentive. You see, all of your hard work is paying off.” I was beyond pleased with her vote of confidence: she is a distinguished teacher with 39 years of experience and a no-nonsense attitude. She had always been supportive and encouraging, but this was the first time that I felt I could legitimately agree with her judgment.
While practicing our spelling chant, I noticed with the greatest excitement that two of my lowest students and perpetual non-participators had finally warmed to the activity. One had always struggled to simultaneously manage both the beat (with stomping and clapping) and the spelling, so she had made a habit of tackling neither one. But as I walked about the classroom, she ignored the bodily percussion and concentrated all of her energy on the spelling list in front of her. Other students have similarly fumbled to both beat and spell, but they all made the opposite choice to keep the beat and abandon the spelling words. I was thrilled beyond words to see her bent in concentration, and I did not miss the opportunity to encourage her behavior (and thus discourage the others who found the beat more important). The second student would predictably stare off into space, and not just during the spelling words. But in this case, he was the loudest one of the bunch. And under any other circumstances, “loudest” would not be my first choice for praise!
I use Shurley English for teaching language, and it is largely an oral program, using a question and answer response for labeling the parts of speech in a given sentence. I didn’t care for it at first, since the learning curve for first introducing this style to students is intense. But having given it time to ruminate with my class, I would not choose any other system. When practicing the call and response, however, it is rather easy for students to not participate, especially when the enthusiastic ones can compensate for several voices at once. This was always the case for another of my low students, who came to me on a kindergarten reading level and saw no intrinsic value in the exercise. But now, he is the first to notice a mistake, and I cannot keep him in his seat for all of his excitement. He is a different child!
My students have largely been on their best behavior since our return, which certainly helped to ease the transition back. They have helped me remember why I am here, and they have encouraged my continued efforts. My parent-teacher conferences on Thursday is often the only time I get to see or talk with many of my parents, and I did not miss the opportunity to point out all the incredible gains their children have made. I walked away inspired and re-energized beyond anything that our two-week break could have done. And on the way home, I even contemplated—for the first time with any seriousness—the possibility of staying in this profession for longer than my two-year commitment. Shocking, I know.
But of course, such elation was short-lived, as I have since come to an impasse with one student whose attitude for one minute is enough to make me forget weeks of hard-earned progress and to convince me that teaching elementary school is the last place I want to be. She is disrespectful, rude, and aggressive. She is a bully to her fellow classmates and the epitome of under-achiever in her schoolwork. I frequently contemplate whether she might actually be truly evil (I know, do with that statement what you will). My co-teacher and I have decided that she is an 8-year-old with a high school attitude, which is quite challenging to address in this environment. What do you do to an unruly teenager? I honestly have no clue. Break her spirit? Be a friend? Call her mother? Send her to the office? I seriously will take your suggestions, should you have any. :) That situation is a work in progress, needless to say.
So how do I feel two weeks into the second semester? Difficult to say. Martin Luther King Day has made me especially aware of everything involving race in my community. I experience de facto segregation everyday; I live in the white community and teach in the black community. My landlord is a white Baptist church, which I resist attending because I find it “too white” (as I weirdly admitted to my mentor in a moment of embarrassingly impulsive and unfiltered honesty). My parents were initially skeptical (and some remain so) because I am the first white classroom teacher their children have ever had. I can never truly be a member of my chosen community—regardless of whether it is white or black—because I do not meet any of the appropriate criteria: I am white, I am educated, I am a Northerner, I am a feminist, I am liberal (or at least, relatively speaking), I do believe in integration and that these black students are capable of the same things as Northern black students or even Southern white students, and I refuse to give in to stereotypes. How many times must I hear a white person say, “Our [meaning Southern] blacks are different than your [meaning everywhere else] blacks,” or a black person say, “You’ve got to hit these black children. You can’t talk to them like you do white children.” How long can I resist such a bombardment?
Friday was the first day that I have heard even a murmur among my students about my race. One of my students chose Friday, of all days, to mention to me that some students complain about me among themselves, using the appellation, “She white. She white.” All attempts I made that day to talk about Martin Luther King and his incredible legacy fell completely flat. I have never managed to inspire one of those breakthrough, hot-button conversations about which all teachers, and especially TFA teachers, dream. And I have yet to see any of my students act with any degree of passion. And this, regardless of any other achievement, will be my biggest failing.
I am not without hope. I have only realized, in light of MLK Day, that the undertaking is far greater than I have ever really anticipated. Per my tradition, I will watch footage of “I Have a Dream” tomorrow. But for better and for worse, it will never be the same.
I have already celebrated my improvements, but I do not think I understood the extent until after I returned from break. My mentor wrote me the following note after observing my classroom last week: “It seems the new year is off to a great start. You seem so much more relaxed and less stressed. Your smile was simply radiant. I was so proud of the students. They were well-behaved and attentive. You see, all of your hard work is paying off.” I was beyond pleased with her vote of confidence: she is a distinguished teacher with 39 years of experience and a no-nonsense attitude. She had always been supportive and encouraging, but this was the first time that I felt I could legitimately agree with her judgment.
While practicing our spelling chant, I noticed with the greatest excitement that two of my lowest students and perpetual non-participators had finally warmed to the activity. One had always struggled to simultaneously manage both the beat (with stomping and clapping) and the spelling, so she had made a habit of tackling neither one. But as I walked about the classroom, she ignored the bodily percussion and concentrated all of her energy on the spelling list in front of her. Other students have similarly fumbled to both beat and spell, but they all made the opposite choice to keep the beat and abandon the spelling words. I was thrilled beyond words to see her bent in concentration, and I did not miss the opportunity to encourage her behavior (and thus discourage the others who found the beat more important). The second student would predictably stare off into space, and not just during the spelling words. But in this case, he was the loudest one of the bunch. And under any other circumstances, “loudest” would not be my first choice for praise!
I use Shurley English for teaching language, and it is largely an oral program, using a question and answer response for labeling the parts of speech in a given sentence. I didn’t care for it at first, since the learning curve for first introducing this style to students is intense. But having given it time to ruminate with my class, I would not choose any other system. When practicing the call and response, however, it is rather easy for students to not participate, especially when the enthusiastic ones can compensate for several voices at once. This was always the case for another of my low students, who came to me on a kindergarten reading level and saw no intrinsic value in the exercise. But now, he is the first to notice a mistake, and I cannot keep him in his seat for all of his excitement. He is a different child!
My students have largely been on their best behavior since our return, which certainly helped to ease the transition back. They have helped me remember why I am here, and they have encouraged my continued efforts. My parent-teacher conferences on Thursday is often the only time I get to see or talk with many of my parents, and I did not miss the opportunity to point out all the incredible gains their children have made. I walked away inspired and re-energized beyond anything that our two-week break could have done. And on the way home, I even contemplated—for the first time with any seriousness—the possibility of staying in this profession for longer than my two-year commitment. Shocking, I know.
But of course, such elation was short-lived, as I have since come to an impasse with one student whose attitude for one minute is enough to make me forget weeks of hard-earned progress and to convince me that teaching elementary school is the last place I want to be. She is disrespectful, rude, and aggressive. She is a bully to her fellow classmates and the epitome of under-achiever in her schoolwork. I frequently contemplate whether she might actually be truly evil (I know, do with that statement what you will). My co-teacher and I have decided that she is an 8-year-old with a high school attitude, which is quite challenging to address in this environment. What do you do to an unruly teenager? I honestly have no clue. Break her spirit? Be a friend? Call her mother? Send her to the office? I seriously will take your suggestions, should you have any. :) That situation is a work in progress, needless to say.
So how do I feel two weeks into the second semester? Difficult to say. Martin Luther King Day has made me especially aware of everything involving race in my community. I experience de facto segregation everyday; I live in the white community and teach in the black community. My landlord is a white Baptist church, which I resist attending because I find it “too white” (as I weirdly admitted to my mentor in a moment of embarrassingly impulsive and unfiltered honesty). My parents were initially skeptical (and some remain so) because I am the first white classroom teacher their children have ever had. I can never truly be a member of my chosen community—regardless of whether it is white or black—because I do not meet any of the appropriate criteria: I am white, I am educated, I am a Northerner, I am a feminist, I am liberal (or at least, relatively speaking), I do believe in integration and that these black students are capable of the same things as Northern black students or even Southern white students, and I refuse to give in to stereotypes. How many times must I hear a white person say, “Our [meaning Southern] blacks are different than your [meaning everywhere else] blacks,” or a black person say, “You’ve got to hit these black children. You can’t talk to them like you do white children.” How long can I resist such a bombardment?
Friday was the first day that I have heard even a murmur among my students about my race. One of my students chose Friday, of all days, to mention to me that some students complain about me among themselves, using the appellation, “She white. She white.” All attempts I made that day to talk about Martin Luther King and his incredible legacy fell completely flat. I have never managed to inspire one of those breakthrough, hot-button conversations about which all teachers, and especially TFA teachers, dream. And I have yet to see any of my students act with any degree of passion. And this, regardless of any other achievement, will be my biggest failing.
I am not without hope. I have only realized, in light of MLK Day, that the undertaking is far greater than I have ever really anticipated. Per my tradition, I will watch footage of “I Have a Dream” tomorrow. But for better and for worse, it will never be the same.
Monday, January 4, 2010
SNOW DAY!!!
This post, I know, is LONG overdue. I really have no excuse, because I have slowly reclaimed some time for myself outside of teaching. Perhaps I will say that I did not want to use my newfound freedom dwelling on teaching yet again.... :)
In any case, today is a SNOW DAY!!! I kid you not, we have about a quarter-inch of snow, and Clarksdale, MS has officially shut down. Currently, I am sitting at my dining room table watching the overly-cautious Mississippi drivers creep by. As someone who had to literally dig out my car from several feet of snow last winter, I find such hesitation comical. But to be fair, Clarksdale has no snow ploughs, no salt trucks, and no perceived strategies for combating the very rare snowfall. I will give them their sluggishness if they keep the snow days coming. :)
In small, almost indistinguishable increments, my teaching days are getting better. My students are learning at every point of importance: they practice the reading strategies and recognize the parts of a sentence; they remember to say thank you to the lunch ladies and know exactly what I mean when I say, "Is that the correct way to ask permission?" Whenever my students hear the words, "Shut up," they automatically respond, "We do not use those words!" When I start to write on the board, I smile at the sound of rustling paper as my students scramble to get out their notes without prompting. And most importantly to me, I have found myself enjoying some time with my students. I have smiled, I have laughed, and I have joked. I can turn my back with every confidence that when I turn back around, they will still be working silently. Silence gets their attention faster than yelling, so that when I really do yell, it makes a huge impression. My students beg me to practice spelling words with them in the lunch line, and they ask hopefully, "Are we going to have time to practice the parts of sentence before we go to Unified Arts?" More and more, they are a true joy, which makes teaching exponentially easier and more rewarding.
But since this is not a perfect world, I now have to admit the above optimism comes with a huge "but." All of the above really only applies to one class. Ironically, the one amazing class is the terrible non-homeroom class with which I perpetually struggled at the beginning of the year. Remember when I could not do a thing with these students? When my co-teacher offered to switch the schedule so that I would have her homeroom for a smaller part of the day? It doesn't seem all that long ago that I dreaded switching classes, that the worst part of the day was the middle when I had the other third grade class. Now, I can't wait to switch classes, and I do not celebrate the end of the day when I have to take my homeroom back again. While the one class has improved so substantially, the other class has gotten progressively worse. Their behavior is out of control, and it shows in the grades of even my top students. They clown constantly, they hit and steal and cheat, they are bored for all types of learning, and the bad attitudes of some would rival even the worst of American teenagers.
It all came to a head a week before Thanksgiving when the constant picking between the boys in my homeroom escalated unacceptably. My special education child got hit in the face with a rubber band, leaving a two-inch welt across his right cheekbone. It was the last twenty minutes of the day when all chaos ensues, and my principal was out of town. Even though I knew this child's own behavior was largely the cause of the rubber band incident, I was very angry with the boy who did it, and I planned to make an example out of him. I sent him to a notorious disciplinarian in the school to have him punished, but in the meantime, the parent of the "victim" showed up...early as usual. I explained the situation to her and asked her to stay for a moment longer so that I could dismiss the rest of the students. She agreed, and in the general rush of the day's end, I forgot all about it. I went about my dismissal activities until I was interrupted by an older woman, who started screaming in front of my class about the injustice of the rubber band incident. I quickly figured out that this woman was the boy's grandmother, whom I had never met or even seen before. My initial thought was, "Excellent. Let this irate woman serve as a lesson to my class." The lesson ended, however, when she turned to her grandson and screamed at him to "beat the s***" out of the boy responsible. I asked her to leave, which she did, but then her fury turned on me. Her insults rained down in front of my students, other students, other teachers, and a few members of our maintenance staff. She had to be pulled away from the situation, which ended with her yelling, "Just because you are white don't mean I won't kick your a**!"
I was completely devastated by the incident, and really wished I could pick up and abandon such a hopeless culture at that very instant. How I could teach people who really thought they could treat a teacher that way? Just because I'm white??! Seriously? To this woman, one single sentence of racism was enough to nullify every hour and every day of honest hard work I was pouring into these students, and for a little while I agreed with her. I wanted to tell her, "If you do not think that my mission to educate your grandson is worthwhile, then I would be more than happy to catch a flight home. I can go and teach in an area that actually cares!"
But by the next day, I understood the lesson that I was supposed to learn from the situation. In the aftermath, students wrote me letters of support and love. The student who had attempted to get moved out of my class the week before brought me a handwritten page from Psalm 23 ("The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…"). Another gave me a page of quotes and explanation from Martin Luther King, Jr., and several begged their fellow classmates to behave: “We HAVE to be nice to Ms. Cook today!” My day was full of other teachers, assistants, and staff members stopping by to check on me and to make sure that I was ok, and to articulate their indignation at such an incident. Without exception, each person expressed disbelief and anger towards the grandmother, and encouragement and support towards me.
Well, one notable exception: my principal has yet to talk to me about the occurrence. At first, I felt angered and betrayed by this glaring oversight, but now I understand the difficult position in which she finds herself. My school district has made it routine to relent under parental pressure, and my impression of administration so far is that most of them are predominantly motivated and directed by a persistent fear of reprimand from someone higher up, a parent, or the Mississippi Department of Education. It makes for a whole slew of people who are constantly hunching their shoulders in anticipation of that inevitable blow, and who are sadly less effective as a result.
Regardless, I have experienced an outpouring of love and encouragement that has actually made the experience worthwhile. I know that I am appreciated and accepted, and even if this grandparent never gave me the chance to show it to her, the community knows and respects what I am here to do. It is not my intention to terrorize black children just because I am white or because I am in a position of power; I have come to give these students all I have to offer. I have presented them with my head and my heart, but I cannot possibly expect all of them to accept it with gratitude and goodwill. And besides, any opportunity for me to develop a thicker skin is a welcome occurrence, albeit tremendously uncomfortable at first.
Coming back from Christmas break, a fellow TFA teacher asked me if I was excited to return to teaching, and even now I struggle to choose an answer. A sizeable part of me dislikes the daily turmoil and struggle, and I resent the persistent obstacles we face in the Delta. It is impossible for me to imagine an American sub-culture even more fundamentally opposed to my beliefs and values, or a group of people even more resistant to a quality education. Those realizations make each day a battle rather than an opportunity for progress, a chore rather than an enlightening or entertaining experience.
But I also know myself well enough to understand that I am still my own harshest critic; I have no doubt that my students and I have made significant progress. I just want them to achieve even more. And I also know that I embody the quip, “Wherever you go, go with all your heart.” I don’t quit. I don’t give in. When I signed up to do TFA, I committed to all the challenges, setbacks, surprises, and rewards such an adventure promised, even if I didn’t fully comprehend the extent at first. Even if I am not perfectly happy, even if I do not jump out of bed every morning with frenzied excitement, and even if I struggle with the concept that so much of my success depends upon the whims of 54 children, I know that I am doing the right thing for the right reasons. This is my responsibility, and I do not shy away from what has been entrusted to me. If it is a choice between forever standing on the ledge, enjoying the view and basking in the suspended weight of my duties, or jumping into the abyss, not quite knowing what to expect but taking the risk of hardship in exchange for the possibility of reward, then I will always choose to jump. I will always choose to plunge ahead rather than to wait for something better or easier to come along. This wouldn’t be worthwhile if it wasn’t also hard. The Staple’s easy button is a fallacy that is great for marketing, but a terrible idea when choosing a personal mantra.
So I suppose my answer is, yes. I am excited to return to Clarksdale and to teaching. The limbo of the Christmas holidays was nice for a while, but standing on the ledge and enjoying the weightlessness must come to an end. I must move on, and whether they like it or not, my students are going to make the journey with me.
In any case, today is a SNOW DAY!!! I kid you not, we have about a quarter-inch of snow, and Clarksdale, MS has officially shut down. Currently, I am sitting at my dining room table watching the overly-cautious Mississippi drivers creep by. As someone who had to literally dig out my car from several feet of snow last winter, I find such hesitation comical. But to be fair, Clarksdale has no snow ploughs, no salt trucks, and no perceived strategies for combating the very rare snowfall. I will give them their sluggishness if they keep the snow days coming. :)
In small, almost indistinguishable increments, my teaching days are getting better. My students are learning at every point of importance: they practice the reading strategies and recognize the parts of a sentence; they remember to say thank you to the lunch ladies and know exactly what I mean when I say, "Is that the correct way to ask permission?" Whenever my students hear the words, "Shut up," they automatically respond, "We do not use those words!" When I start to write on the board, I smile at the sound of rustling paper as my students scramble to get out their notes without prompting. And most importantly to me, I have found myself enjoying some time with my students. I have smiled, I have laughed, and I have joked. I can turn my back with every confidence that when I turn back around, they will still be working silently. Silence gets their attention faster than yelling, so that when I really do yell, it makes a huge impression. My students beg me to practice spelling words with them in the lunch line, and they ask hopefully, "Are we going to have time to practice the parts of sentence before we go to Unified Arts?" More and more, they are a true joy, which makes teaching exponentially easier and more rewarding.
But since this is not a perfect world, I now have to admit the above optimism comes with a huge "but." All of the above really only applies to one class. Ironically, the one amazing class is the terrible non-homeroom class with which I perpetually struggled at the beginning of the year. Remember when I could not do a thing with these students? When my co-teacher offered to switch the schedule so that I would have her homeroom for a smaller part of the day? It doesn't seem all that long ago that I dreaded switching classes, that the worst part of the day was the middle when I had the other third grade class. Now, I can't wait to switch classes, and I do not celebrate the end of the day when I have to take my homeroom back again. While the one class has improved so substantially, the other class has gotten progressively worse. Their behavior is out of control, and it shows in the grades of even my top students. They clown constantly, they hit and steal and cheat, they are bored for all types of learning, and the bad attitudes of some would rival even the worst of American teenagers.
It all came to a head a week before Thanksgiving when the constant picking between the boys in my homeroom escalated unacceptably. My special education child got hit in the face with a rubber band, leaving a two-inch welt across his right cheekbone. It was the last twenty minutes of the day when all chaos ensues, and my principal was out of town. Even though I knew this child's own behavior was largely the cause of the rubber band incident, I was very angry with the boy who did it, and I planned to make an example out of him. I sent him to a notorious disciplinarian in the school to have him punished, but in the meantime, the parent of the "victim" showed up...early as usual. I explained the situation to her and asked her to stay for a moment longer so that I could dismiss the rest of the students. She agreed, and in the general rush of the day's end, I forgot all about it. I went about my dismissal activities until I was interrupted by an older woman, who started screaming in front of my class about the injustice of the rubber band incident. I quickly figured out that this woman was the boy's grandmother, whom I had never met or even seen before. My initial thought was, "Excellent. Let this irate woman serve as a lesson to my class." The lesson ended, however, when she turned to her grandson and screamed at him to "beat the s***" out of the boy responsible. I asked her to leave, which she did, but then her fury turned on me. Her insults rained down in front of my students, other students, other teachers, and a few members of our maintenance staff. She had to be pulled away from the situation, which ended with her yelling, "Just because you are white don't mean I won't kick your a**!"
I was completely devastated by the incident, and really wished I could pick up and abandon such a hopeless culture at that very instant. How I could teach people who really thought they could treat a teacher that way? Just because I'm white??! Seriously? To this woman, one single sentence of racism was enough to nullify every hour and every day of honest hard work I was pouring into these students, and for a little while I agreed with her. I wanted to tell her, "If you do not think that my mission to educate your grandson is worthwhile, then I would be more than happy to catch a flight home. I can go and teach in an area that actually cares!"
But by the next day, I understood the lesson that I was supposed to learn from the situation. In the aftermath, students wrote me letters of support and love. The student who had attempted to get moved out of my class the week before brought me a handwritten page from Psalm 23 ("The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…"). Another gave me a page of quotes and explanation from Martin Luther King, Jr., and several begged their fellow classmates to behave: “We HAVE to be nice to Ms. Cook today!” My day was full of other teachers, assistants, and staff members stopping by to check on me and to make sure that I was ok, and to articulate their indignation at such an incident. Without exception, each person expressed disbelief and anger towards the grandmother, and encouragement and support towards me.
Well, one notable exception: my principal has yet to talk to me about the occurrence. At first, I felt angered and betrayed by this glaring oversight, but now I understand the difficult position in which she finds herself. My school district has made it routine to relent under parental pressure, and my impression of administration so far is that most of them are predominantly motivated and directed by a persistent fear of reprimand from someone higher up, a parent, or the Mississippi Department of Education. It makes for a whole slew of people who are constantly hunching their shoulders in anticipation of that inevitable blow, and who are sadly less effective as a result.
Regardless, I have experienced an outpouring of love and encouragement that has actually made the experience worthwhile. I know that I am appreciated and accepted, and even if this grandparent never gave me the chance to show it to her, the community knows and respects what I am here to do. It is not my intention to terrorize black children just because I am white or because I am in a position of power; I have come to give these students all I have to offer. I have presented them with my head and my heart, but I cannot possibly expect all of them to accept it with gratitude and goodwill. And besides, any opportunity for me to develop a thicker skin is a welcome occurrence, albeit tremendously uncomfortable at first.
Coming back from Christmas break, a fellow TFA teacher asked me if I was excited to return to teaching, and even now I struggle to choose an answer. A sizeable part of me dislikes the daily turmoil and struggle, and I resent the persistent obstacles we face in the Delta. It is impossible for me to imagine an American sub-culture even more fundamentally opposed to my beliefs and values, or a group of people even more resistant to a quality education. Those realizations make each day a battle rather than an opportunity for progress, a chore rather than an enlightening or entertaining experience.
But I also know myself well enough to understand that I am still my own harshest critic; I have no doubt that my students and I have made significant progress. I just want them to achieve even more. And I also know that I embody the quip, “Wherever you go, go with all your heart.” I don’t quit. I don’t give in. When I signed up to do TFA, I committed to all the challenges, setbacks, surprises, and rewards such an adventure promised, even if I didn’t fully comprehend the extent at first. Even if I am not perfectly happy, even if I do not jump out of bed every morning with frenzied excitement, and even if I struggle with the concept that so much of my success depends upon the whims of 54 children, I know that I am doing the right thing for the right reasons. This is my responsibility, and I do not shy away from what has been entrusted to me. If it is a choice between forever standing on the ledge, enjoying the view and basking in the suspended weight of my duties, or jumping into the abyss, not quite knowing what to expect but taking the risk of hardship in exchange for the possibility of reward, then I will always choose to jump. I will always choose to plunge ahead rather than to wait for something better or easier to come along. This wouldn’t be worthwhile if it wasn’t also hard. The Staple’s easy button is a fallacy that is great for marketing, but a terrible idea when choosing a personal mantra.
So I suppose my answer is, yes. I am excited to return to Clarksdale and to teaching. The limbo of the Christmas holidays was nice for a while, but standing on the ledge and enjoying the weightlessness must come to an end. I must move on, and whether they like it or not, my students are going to make the journey with me.
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