Carrying my load of four French books, two binders, two spiral bound notebooks, two planners, one pencil bag, five folders, a lunch bag, a water bottle, and a travel mug, I barely stop to see the sunrise. The other day when I was running late, much like today, one of my friends was also running late. She stood at the door, holding it open for me and said, "You are going to be so happy you got yourself up this morning! Look at the sky!" I turned and I saw the most beautiful assortment of puffy purple cotton against the pale pink backdrop as the sun's rays filtered through the atmosphere. If I had been on time that morning, I would have missed it.
This morning, I was also running late. When you wake up in the morning and you remember you were supposed to have written a test for one of your classes that day, you know it is going to be a rough day. There was no cotton candy in the sky nor were there diamonds... I did not even bother to look. I was on a mission and the itinerary did not include star gazing.
This is what happened to me this morning (Yesterday, I had spent time in Cincinnati at a TPRS (Teaching Proficiency through Reading and Storytelling) conference with my supervising teacher and it was great! I felt empowered and a little cocky when I left the windowless room off of I-75. Sadly, that empowerment lasted for about 12 hours, if that.):
I went into the classroom, guns blazing this morning as I eagerly used the method with the students. It did not go exactly as I had planned, but it wasn't horrible either. I gathered my things, shook off the nagging feeling of failure and drove to the high school for the rest of the day. Finding the sub report and the paperwork from yesterday took more time than I expected and then I had to print the test that I made this morning. I encountered another problem: I had saved the wrong document file type. Story of life, oui?
While I was waiting for some version of Microsoft Word Viewer to download, I looked at my student roster to see who was already counted absent for the day. It was at this moment that I realized that the boy who was the subject of my last entry had dropped the class. My heart plummeted to my toes. What could I have done? How could I have convinced him to stay? I know it is not my fault and there are many factors that influenced his decision, but it was hard to recover from. He had won a special place in my heart but now my life has lost contact with his. He is no longer one of "my kids."
My supervising teacher said that she was not surprised and that most kids in alternative school drop regular classes because they have an attendance problem anyways. I had to restrain my eyebrows from vaulting past my hair line. After teaching for as long as she has, maybe I will feel the same way, but I still feel like a failure and I did not do something he needed me to do. That is one of the worst feelings I've experienced while student teaching. I wanted so badly to pour into this student and now he is out of my classroom. Just goes to show you that I don't have things figured out.
I am getting used to not knowing what is going to happen or where I will be going. It's easier to avoid the long term plans and expectations because they will change anyways. Not having those expectations will decrease the hurt and you'll be spared. I wish I could truly learn this lesson. I think I'm getting pretty close, thanks to the vagueness of my life at this time.
I was telling a friend today that I am in a constant foggy state-of-mind. Things are not clear and I do not know what to do. Some mornings, when there are no magnificent sunrises, a fog settles into the towns and cornfields. It cocoons me on my drive to school and I feel a connection. Yes, as strange as it sounds, fog has become a dear friend. No one can see further than anyone else into what is going to come up on the road. If someone tries and turns on their brights, they only make it worse. I've tried for too long to put the brights on and the backlash of the beams still makes my eyes ache. Now, I feel comfortable in the fog and the idea of being able to see for miles makes me uncomfortable. What if there is something I don't want to see?
As a future educator, I realize that every teacher has down days. I had one. I'm hoping that tomorrow will not mirror this one. I am more than willing to let this one slip into the time line of my life. I don't like the taste of defeat. It's too bitter to get rid of easily and it hurts as it goes down to my toes. I suppose the key is in recovery and dealing with it again and again.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Collisions
Your first take of this word is probably one of tension, conflict, and some kind of reverberating force that causes ripples in the surrounding area. Well, that is exactly what I mean it to be.
Nothing you do is separate and isolated. Every single thing that is done affects another. I wrote a story about something called "The Butterfly Effect" for a math class in my freshman year of college. While I was writing it, it seemed like I had to fabricate some large plot in order for there to be one pivotal moment. The reality is, though, every moment is a pivotal moment. Every choice you make is pivotal. Your choice makes the difference when the collision comes and the impact it has.
Let me give you an example. There is a young man on his way to class. His sweatpants are sagging well below his belt line and his over-sized hoodie makes him appear to have more flesh on his bones than his face portrays. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he makes eye contact with you through heavy-lidded eyes. He has nothing for class. You know this because his hands are in his pockets and there is no backpack or bag to be seen. You could glare at him, because he knows that he should have the proper materials for class, when he asks if he needs his book today... Or, you could say, "Sure, I'll watch your lyrics for you while you go get your book, although I'm going to have to count you as tardy. Pull up your pants while you're there, please." And when he comes back, exclaim that you are glad the book is here and you hope to see it when he comes in the room the first time.
Of course, you can't allow him to go every day to get his book because he should now to bring supplies to class, but just imagine if you had not allowed him to get his book and you had stared at him when he asked you to watch his lyrics. His hood would have crept up his neck to the back of his head and you would have lost him. It comes down to this: Do I let the stereotype that most teachers see influence how I treat him? Or do I chose to see him? Even when I know he is talking about dropping French? However I chose, I affect him. However I talk about him to others affects them and him. You are affected by hearing about him... maybe not a lot, but you are.
You cannot prevent collisions. You cannot prevent affecting people when you make choices. These things happen. Your responsibility is to take these into account when you interact with those around you. Don't be so self-absorbed or self-pitying to say that no one is affected by you. You are not God nor are you invisible and insignificant. Take the bigger perspective and look outside of yourself. Try actually seeing the people around you. It could be convicting or enlightening. Again, you have that choice. Make it.
Nothing you do is separate and isolated. Every single thing that is done affects another. I wrote a story about something called "The Butterfly Effect" for a math class in my freshman year of college. While I was writing it, it seemed like I had to fabricate some large plot in order for there to be one pivotal moment. The reality is, though, every moment is a pivotal moment. Every choice you make is pivotal. Your choice makes the difference when the collision comes and the impact it has.
Let me give you an example. There is a young man on his way to class. His sweatpants are sagging well below his belt line and his over-sized hoodie makes him appear to have more flesh on his bones than his face portrays. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he makes eye contact with you through heavy-lidded eyes. He has nothing for class. You know this because his hands are in his pockets and there is no backpack or bag to be seen. You could glare at him, because he knows that he should have the proper materials for class, when he asks if he needs his book today... Or, you could say, "Sure, I'll watch your lyrics for you while you go get your book, although I'm going to have to count you as tardy. Pull up your pants while you're there, please." And when he comes back, exclaim that you are glad the book is here and you hope to see it when he comes in the room the first time.
Of course, you can't allow him to go every day to get his book because he should now to bring supplies to class, but just imagine if you had not allowed him to get his book and you had stared at him when he asked you to watch his lyrics. His hood would have crept up his neck to the back of his head and you would have lost him. It comes down to this: Do I let the stereotype that most teachers see influence how I treat him? Or do I chose to see him? Even when I know he is talking about dropping French? However I chose, I affect him. However I talk about him to others affects them and him. You are affected by hearing about him... maybe not a lot, but you are.
You cannot prevent collisions. You cannot prevent affecting people when you make choices. These things happen. Your responsibility is to take these into account when you interact with those around you. Don't be so self-absorbed or self-pitying to say that no one is affected by you. You are not God nor are you invisible and insignificant. Take the bigger perspective and look outside of yourself. Try actually seeing the people around you. It could be convicting or enlightening. Again, you have that choice. Make it.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
And the sky wept
Even if the droplets don't come from the sky, the idea of rain is inspiring... It creates an excited hum which runs through my veins and makes my fingers feel like they could connect with my brain to say something. Not just anything, but something meaningful. I'm sure some people feel that way... They might even grab a cup of tea or coffee, just to coax their fingers into cooperating and creating this aura of intellectual goodness.
I don't make those promises, but I do understand the didactic thrill of rain. So many people find solace in "curling up with a good book and a cup of tea" or doing some other comforting indoor activity. Today, I found myself grading and creating quizzes for my poor students, or should I say victims. I was not completely without the comforts of rainy days, though, so do not get out the world's smallest violins yet. My good friends, The Count of Monte Cristo and Ratatouille, were wonderful companions and the pièce de résistance to a partial overcast and rainy Saturday. Considering my movie choices, one would think I missed France or something.
Maybe it's the rain, maybe it's the constant rhythm of entering grades into a gradebook, but I was reminded today of how it felt to sacrifice an entire day to academia. It was different than previous collegiate Saturdays, though. Instead of cramming facts into my head about chemistry or some other class that was "related to my major," I was grading papers and figuring out what to do with the students who have been entrusted to me. The thought was thrilling. No offense to my fellow college-age friends, but I would not want to trade places with anyone. Yes, grading and planning take up a lot of time. In the end, it isn't so bad. I am not memorizing formulas or absorbing four chapters of psychological jargon. I'm using what little creative juices I have to educate a handful of students about France and the French language. What a great excuse to dabble in my favorite things... French literature, French music, the current events in France, and mastering the French language.
I know there are days when educators feel as if they have signed up for the wrong trip. In my short experience, I have felt this way, too. The best cure, though, is the day when you know you were born for this and you know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this is a huge part of becoming who you are meant to be. The good days will outshine the bad, if you let them. There are reasons why light is so much stronger than darkness, we just forget and let ourselves dwell on the dysfunctional and the broken. That is probably one of the reasons why people love rain... We can identify with nature in it's grayness and we desire to sequester ourselves into overstuffed chairs with blankets and worn stories. It is here that we feel comfortable and justified in our state of melancholy. You forget about the things that make you laugh and you grasp for the things that hurt you the most, because the pain seems fitting when the sky appears to be crying.
We all know that the sky doesn't cry. Obviously. But after you've taken off your yellow raincoat and set your rubber boots aside, I would venture to guess that you start to think about what made you sad, or who gave you a scar, physically or emotionally. I think it's human nature to want to feel miserable. It is so hard for us to relish in the good moments. As a student teacher, it is hard to let the good moments have more weight than the moments when plans backfire or our flaws have been pointed out. The key is to realize that if we were perfect already, there would be no need for college or student teaching. Where could we go if we knew everything and we were perfect educators?
My point, in so many words, is this: the sky can weep, as we weep, but there is a time for everything. When the rain is gone, we have to realize that as life moves, there is a direction and a goal which will be seen through to the end, despite life's complications. Let the rain come and I will let myself work through memories and failures, but I will proceed when the clouds abate and I am reminded of His faithfulness with the array of colors that arch across the sky. I am human and I will learn to thrive.
I don't make those promises, but I do understand the didactic thrill of rain. So many people find solace in "curling up with a good book and a cup of tea" or doing some other comforting indoor activity. Today, I found myself grading and creating quizzes for my poor students, or should I say victims. I was not completely without the comforts of rainy days, though, so do not get out the world's smallest violins yet. My good friends, The Count of Monte Cristo and Ratatouille, were wonderful companions and the pièce de résistance to a partial overcast and rainy Saturday. Considering my movie choices, one would think I missed France or something.
Maybe it's the rain, maybe it's the constant rhythm of entering grades into a gradebook, but I was reminded today of how it felt to sacrifice an entire day to academia. It was different than previous collegiate Saturdays, though. Instead of cramming facts into my head about chemistry or some other class that was "related to my major," I was grading papers and figuring out what to do with the students who have been entrusted to me. The thought was thrilling. No offense to my fellow college-age friends, but I would not want to trade places with anyone. Yes, grading and planning take up a lot of time. In the end, it isn't so bad. I am not memorizing formulas or absorbing four chapters of psychological jargon. I'm using what little creative juices I have to educate a handful of students about France and the French language. What a great excuse to dabble in my favorite things... French literature, French music, the current events in France, and mastering the French language.
I know there are days when educators feel as if they have signed up for the wrong trip. In my short experience, I have felt this way, too. The best cure, though, is the day when you know you were born for this and you know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this is a huge part of becoming who you are meant to be. The good days will outshine the bad, if you let them. There are reasons why light is so much stronger than darkness, we just forget and let ourselves dwell on the dysfunctional and the broken. That is probably one of the reasons why people love rain... We can identify with nature in it's grayness and we desire to sequester ourselves into overstuffed chairs with blankets and worn stories. It is here that we feel comfortable and justified in our state of melancholy. You forget about the things that make you laugh and you grasp for the things that hurt you the most, because the pain seems fitting when the sky appears to be crying.
We all know that the sky doesn't cry. Obviously. But after you've taken off your yellow raincoat and set your rubber boots aside, I would venture to guess that you start to think about what made you sad, or who gave you a scar, physically or emotionally. I think it's human nature to want to feel miserable. It is so hard for us to relish in the good moments. As a student teacher, it is hard to let the good moments have more weight than the moments when plans backfire or our flaws have been pointed out. The key is to realize that if we were perfect already, there would be no need for college or student teaching. Where could we go if we knew everything and we were perfect educators?
My point, in so many words, is this: the sky can weep, as we weep, but there is a time for everything. When the rain is gone, we have to realize that as life moves, there is a direction and a goal which will be seen through to the end, despite life's complications. Let the rain come and I will let myself work through memories and failures, but I will proceed when the clouds abate and I am reminded of His faithfulness with the array of colors that arch across the sky. I am human and I will learn to thrive.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
It becomes clearer as the fog rolls in
When I first moved in to this apartment, I was excited to enter into a world I where I had never traveled: Student teaching. While I thought I would be tense and uncertain during my first week in the middle school and high school, I became eager to "get my feet wet." Well, they got wet. In more ways than one.
Don't let anyone ever tell you that teaching is easy. When I was a high school student, I would slouch into my desk and raise an eyebrow at the professional educator at the front of the room who sometimes wore a tie as he tried to press more information into my ears. The poor man did not know that my mind was already humming with judgment and there was no way I would afford him space. Now I'm on the other side. I am the "professional educator" at the front of the room, although I do not wear ties. The students still slouch in their desks, but I feel removed from them. It has only been 4 to 7 years since I was in their situation, yet I cannot identify with that world anymore. I have planned quite a few lesson plans, thanks to Taylor University's requirements, and I have learned that students cannot be squeezed into my schedule. I've tried. Whether you like it or not, reviewing something they learned yesterday will take 10 minutes, not 5 minutes. For them, knowing verb forms means being able to look at their books while filling out a sheet of paper. Boy, was I naive to think that I could whip these kids into shape...
Driving home has become a bit of a therapy session. I should probably recline my seat during Gas City rush-hour traffic and get the full effect. This is the time when I think about the students who are struggling and the moments during the day when I looked at the chalkboard and prayed to the yellowing ceiling, "Dear God...I'm teaching." There are times when I feel as if I don't belong. There are other times when I know this is what I was born to do. Moments of the latter happen more than the former. Good sign, right?
Now, when I drive to school at 6:45am, the sun does not greet me by trying to pierce the back of my head through my eyes through the reflection in the rearview mirror. Oh no. Now there are heavy fogs that glide across the small ponds and valleys, which disappear as the sun rises. The cornfields have lost their youthful green for the stalks of scarecrows. With autumn approaching, the world is slowing down. The bustle of summer vacations and projects is over. Finished. (Or finishing up, for some of you.) Now comes routine and her companion, the pumpkin spice latte. Yes. I did just advertise for Starbucks. I am settling in to my student teaching and I am almost done with my first week of having complete control of all the classes. One down, two to go. That should be clear enough, right?
Well, small problem. Things are no where near as clear as that. I do not have a second placement for my student teaching, so I do not know where I will be in a month. I do not know what I will do after I graduate, where I will go, etc. When I called my parents after the second week of student teaching to tell them about my life and the rough adjustment to keep my personal life completely separate from teaching, they calmly said, "Welcome to the adult world."
That's is just what this is... a welcome to another world, completely different than the ones before it yet building off of the foundation of past worlds. It is here that I will learn how to juggle friendships and workloads. It is here that I will learn how to budget food money more closely. It is also here that I will be broken and seek healing. My God is good, though, and I have faith that he will complete all that he has set out for me. All of these worlds will make sense, but they do not have to make sense right now.
Don't let anyone ever tell you that teaching is easy. When I was a high school student, I would slouch into my desk and raise an eyebrow at the professional educator at the front of the room who sometimes wore a tie as he tried to press more information into my ears. The poor man did not know that my mind was already humming with judgment and there was no way I would afford him space. Now I'm on the other side. I am the "professional educator" at the front of the room, although I do not wear ties. The students still slouch in their desks, but I feel removed from them. It has only been 4 to 7 years since I was in their situation, yet I cannot identify with that world anymore. I have planned quite a few lesson plans, thanks to Taylor University's requirements, and I have learned that students cannot be squeezed into my schedule. I've tried. Whether you like it or not, reviewing something they learned yesterday will take 10 minutes, not 5 minutes. For them, knowing verb forms means being able to look at their books while filling out a sheet of paper. Boy, was I naive to think that I could whip these kids into shape...
Driving home has become a bit of a therapy session. I should probably recline my seat during Gas City rush-hour traffic and get the full effect. This is the time when I think about the students who are struggling and the moments during the day when I looked at the chalkboard and prayed to the yellowing ceiling, "Dear God...I'm teaching." There are times when I feel as if I don't belong. There are other times when I know this is what I was born to do. Moments of the latter happen more than the former. Good sign, right?
Now, when I drive to school at 6:45am, the sun does not greet me by trying to pierce the back of my head through my eyes through the reflection in the rearview mirror. Oh no. Now there are heavy fogs that glide across the small ponds and valleys, which disappear as the sun rises. The cornfields have lost their youthful green for the stalks of scarecrows. With autumn approaching, the world is slowing down. The bustle of summer vacations and projects is over. Finished. (Or finishing up, for some of you.) Now comes routine and her companion, the pumpkin spice latte. Yes. I did just advertise for Starbucks. I am settling in to my student teaching and I am almost done with my first week of having complete control of all the classes. One down, two to go. That should be clear enough, right?
Well, small problem. Things are no where near as clear as that. I do not have a second placement for my student teaching, so I do not know where I will be in a month. I do not know what I will do after I graduate, where I will go, etc. When I called my parents after the second week of student teaching to tell them about my life and the rough adjustment to keep my personal life completely separate from teaching, they calmly said, "Welcome to the adult world."
That's is just what this is... a welcome to another world, completely different than the ones before it yet building off of the foundation of past worlds. It is here that I will learn how to juggle friendships and workloads. It is here that I will learn how to budget food money more closely. It is also here that I will be broken and seek healing. My God is good, though, and I have faith that he will complete all that he has set out for me. All of these worlds will make sense, but they do not have to make sense right now.
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