This is going to be a short post. Most of my posts over the next month will probably be pretty short. I am still going to try to keep up the at-least weekly posting, but I will be focusing on attempting to get a novel written between November 1st and November 30th.
As I stated in an earlier post, I'm competing in NaNoWriMo this year. I was scared pretty much shitless by the idea when I signed up, but as the start date approaches, I am feeling pretty confident. In large part, that is due to the fact that I downloaded a trial version of the program Scrivener. If you happen to be a writer of pretty much any style or genre, I highly recommend you give it a shot. It has helped me organize and plan my novel in a way that has made this insane task I'm undertaking much more manageable and clear. I now have a general plot arc with summaries of each chapter, character dossiers, and plenty of other background research-type information at my fingertips. It has helped me realize that I have a lot more ideas than I thought I had, which was certainly a welcome surprise. Scrivener's user interface is simple, neat, and fun to use - something that is probably likely to help me stay motivated on days when I just don't feel like writing in November.
On a related note, I went to my first official NaNoWriMo event on Sunday evening. It was a kickoff party at Capital Ale House, and I really enjoyed myself. The people there were strange; many of them were even weirder than me. I guess a contest like this attracts its own unique set of participants, most of whom were a lot of fun. It was strange seeing the people who have done this for a few years, and how confident they felt when other newbies like myself seemed so terrified. The organizers provided notebooks for everyone, and we went around and wrote encouragements or ideas in each other's books. It was fun talking to such a varied group of people and hearing the ideas that all of them had. I expected there to be a lot of young people there, and I was surprised that it seemed like most of the participants were baby-boomer aged. I don't know why, but it kind of made me hopeful to see that creativity doesn't die in older folks - apparently, it's more alive there than anywhere else.
That's it for now. I suppose all that's left is to actually write the damned book. Piece of cake.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
It Doesn't Seem Like That Much Has Changed in the Last 400 Years
This week at school has been the type that convinces me that teaching has to be one of the greatest professions a person could ever possibly have.
When I decided to get into this line of work, I did it because I wanted to be a coach and because I wanted to sit around and talk about literature all day. There has been less discussion of books than I imagined when I signed on - the fact is that most of my students don't understand a lot of what they read the first time through, which makes deeper discussion about meaning difficult - but I did find an unexpected joy as I really got down to do the work of teaching.
Most of the kids I teach are fairly low-level students. They don't understand a lot of what they read, they are generally unmotivated by either grades or the pursuit of knowledge, and a lot of them are just flat-out lazy. Thinking about teaching a group like this could be mildly depressing, but it's not all bad. No matter what we are doing, there always seems to be at least one kid who is interested. Usually there are a few in scattered pockets across the classroom. These pockets, though they may shift from day to day or week to week, are who I choose to focus on. It's inspiring and gratifying to see a student really connect with a piece of literature: they feel good about themselves for the positive encouragement they hear when I assure them that yes, that is pretty much exactly what the author was saying. Watching a student really understand a difficult concept (it sounds sort of funny, but you really can SEE someone understand something, I promise) brings hope for the future. I figure that if I can find and enlighten those students who open themselves up to be enlightened each day, everyone will gain at least some small shred of literary knowledge during their time in my room. Sometimes it's hard to feel like I'm leaving the majority of students behind, but I try to imagine the impact I'm having with the ones who are getting something rather than focusing on what the ones who are asleep or zoned out are missing.
This is how I mentally and emotionally deal with the frustrations I encounter every day, and make no mistake, it can be very frustrating. But then there are weeks like this one, when everything comes together and for a moment you see what is really possible in all of these students and in the universe. Instead of looking for hints of light in a room of darkness, you are overwhelmed with the brightness that comes at you from all directions.
On a day that started with my students complaining that poetry is stupid and insisting that they will never need to know any of this, they were dumbstruck by the beauty of Pablo Neruda's words. The boy who volunteered to read his "Sonnet 89" looked as though he were about to cry when he finished. The entire group not only understood the poet's words, but really felt them.
When we read John Donne's "Holy Sonnet 10", my classes engaged in an energetic debate about the nature of death with a degree of intellectualism that I didn't realize many of them were capable of. They brought up their own fears of the hereafter, and recognized the paradox of realizing that there is nothing to be afraid of and their inability to let fear go.
A creative writing project which asked students to write poems using conceits ended with some of the best poetry created by young people that I've seen. One student, a 6'5" bohemoth headed to Virginia Tech on a football scholarship, wrote a tragic and beautiful poem about his mother being struck blind that left half of my class in tears.
When we read the seduction poems of Andrew Marvell, Robert Herrick, and John Suckling, my students were eager to discuss each of these men and their writing. I don't think I saw a single students asleep or not paying attention all day. Like much great literature, the poems we read focus on men's attempts to get women to sleep with them; after reading the poems and discussing their arguments, one girl said, "it doesn't seem like that much has changed in the last 400 years!" I agreed with her and we all laughed about it.
I love that my students are connecting with literature in a way that is meaningful to them. I love that they are interested when they get in the room. I love that I feel like everyone in the room is really getting something out of what we are doing, and not just the few who feel good that day. I don't expect every week to be like this - teenagers really do have very emotionally taxing lives, and it's almost ridiculous to expect them to care about everything every day - but when so many great days are strung together in this way, it makes me know for sure that I am doing the right thing with my life.
When I decided to get into this line of work, I did it because I wanted to be a coach and because I wanted to sit around and talk about literature all day. There has been less discussion of books than I imagined when I signed on - the fact is that most of my students don't understand a lot of what they read the first time through, which makes deeper discussion about meaning difficult - but I did find an unexpected joy as I really got down to do the work of teaching.
Most of the kids I teach are fairly low-level students. They don't understand a lot of what they read, they are generally unmotivated by either grades or the pursuit of knowledge, and a lot of them are just flat-out lazy. Thinking about teaching a group like this could be mildly depressing, but it's not all bad. No matter what we are doing, there always seems to be at least one kid who is interested. Usually there are a few in scattered pockets across the classroom. These pockets, though they may shift from day to day or week to week, are who I choose to focus on. It's inspiring and gratifying to see a student really connect with a piece of literature: they feel good about themselves for the positive encouragement they hear when I assure them that yes, that is pretty much exactly what the author was saying. Watching a student really understand a difficult concept (it sounds sort of funny, but you really can SEE someone understand something, I promise) brings hope for the future. I figure that if I can find and enlighten those students who open themselves up to be enlightened each day, everyone will gain at least some small shred of literary knowledge during their time in my room. Sometimes it's hard to feel like I'm leaving the majority of students behind, but I try to imagine the impact I'm having with the ones who are getting something rather than focusing on what the ones who are asleep or zoned out are missing.
This is how I mentally and emotionally deal with the frustrations I encounter every day, and make no mistake, it can be very frustrating. But then there are weeks like this one, when everything comes together and for a moment you see what is really possible in all of these students and in the universe. Instead of looking for hints of light in a room of darkness, you are overwhelmed with the brightness that comes at you from all directions.
On a day that started with my students complaining that poetry is stupid and insisting that they will never need to know any of this, they were dumbstruck by the beauty of Pablo Neruda's words. The boy who volunteered to read his "Sonnet 89" looked as though he were about to cry when he finished. The entire group not only understood the poet's words, but really felt them.
When we read John Donne's "Holy Sonnet 10", my classes engaged in an energetic debate about the nature of death with a degree of intellectualism that I didn't realize many of them were capable of. They brought up their own fears of the hereafter, and recognized the paradox of realizing that there is nothing to be afraid of and their inability to let fear go.
A creative writing project which asked students to write poems using conceits ended with some of the best poetry created by young people that I've seen. One student, a 6'5" bohemoth headed to Virginia Tech on a football scholarship, wrote a tragic and beautiful poem about his mother being struck blind that left half of my class in tears.
When we read the seduction poems of Andrew Marvell, Robert Herrick, and John Suckling, my students were eager to discuss each of these men and their writing. I don't think I saw a single students asleep or not paying attention all day. Like much great literature, the poems we read focus on men's attempts to get women to sleep with them; after reading the poems and discussing their arguments, one girl said, "it doesn't seem like that much has changed in the last 400 years!" I agreed with her and we all laughed about it.
I love that my students are connecting with literature in a way that is meaningful to them. I love that they are interested when they get in the room. I love that I feel like everyone in the room is really getting something out of what we are doing, and not just the few who feel good that day. I don't expect every week to be like this - teenagers really do have very emotionally taxing lives, and it's almost ridiculous to expect them to care about everything every day - but when so many great days are strung together in this way, it makes me know for sure that I am doing the right thing with my life.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
NaNoWriMo
November is National Novel Writing Month, as decided by the good people at the NaNoWriMo offices. I first heard about the contest, which encourages participants to write a 50,00 word novel in 30 days, a couple of years ago. The younger sister of a friend had participated a couple of times, and she told me about her adventures in insanely fast book-writing. I was immediately intrigued - I used advice from the website to help my middle school students craft short stories during my student teaching just a few weeks later, and I based my entire curriculum around the website when I taught creative writing last year. I flirted with the idea of undertaking what is probably an act of near-lunacy last November, but honestly was just too scared to do it. November is when wrestling season starts, and when my life become exponentially busier, I rationalized.
But I just signed up for an account at the website. I entered myself in this year's contest. I am committed to finishing a book.
I have never been much for New Year's resolutions. I actually can't remember ever making one before this year, but last January I declared that 2010 would be the year of novel-writing. I did about 30 pages of character sketches, background writing, outlining, and general preparation, but only wrote about 10 pages of actual story.
So November is here, my last chance to finish a book this year, and I am determined to get it done. It's time to "nut up or shut up," as the fella says. I love to write. It's why I started this blog. I would love to get a book published and make some extra money, but my probably-quixotic quest is more about the fact that I feel like I have to actually DO something creative in my life. Finish something of my own rather than just be an appreciator or a scholar or a critic. I feel like a writer, even though I haven't really done all that much writing in my life. This is my chance to earn that feeling.
I'm sure my book is going to be pretty terrible, at least on November 30th. Hopefully I can turn it into something that someone might actually want to read, but even if no one ever does, I'm excited at the prospect of doing something.
I'm anxious and giddy and fearful and curious to see what next month brings. 50,000 words is an awful lot. Nearly 2,000 words a day. I'm sure I will be exhausted and at times discouraged, but I hope I can keep up the resolve to actually get this thing done. I think I can. I've done things in my life that seemed impossible at the time, and I have always been glad that I completed such tasks. It's been a long time since I did something really difficult, and I'm looking forward to the challenge.
But I just signed up for an account at the website. I entered myself in this year's contest. I am committed to finishing a book.
I have never been much for New Year's resolutions. I actually can't remember ever making one before this year, but last January I declared that 2010 would be the year of novel-writing. I did about 30 pages of character sketches, background writing, outlining, and general preparation, but only wrote about 10 pages of actual story.
So November is here, my last chance to finish a book this year, and I am determined to get it done. It's time to "nut up or shut up," as the fella says. I love to write. It's why I started this blog. I would love to get a book published and make some extra money, but my probably-quixotic quest is more about the fact that I feel like I have to actually DO something creative in my life. Finish something of my own rather than just be an appreciator or a scholar or a critic. I feel like a writer, even though I haven't really done all that much writing in my life. This is my chance to earn that feeling.
I'm sure my book is going to be pretty terrible, at least on November 30th. Hopefully I can turn it into something that someone might actually want to read, but even if no one ever does, I'm excited at the prospect of doing something.
I'm anxious and giddy and fearful and curious to see what next month brings. 50,000 words is an awful lot. Nearly 2,000 words a day. I'm sure I will be exhausted and at times discouraged, but I hope I can keep up the resolve to actually get this thing done. I think I can. I've done things in my life that seemed impossible at the time, and I have always been glad that I completed such tasks. It's been a long time since I did something really difficult, and I'm looking forward to the challenge.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Dribble, Dribble, Backspin, Dribble, Shoot
I don't have a very scientific mind, but I do enjoy reading about science when it's explained in a way that doesn't require an exceptional knowledge of math.
This is especially true of quantum mechanics. I know I don't possess the background knowledge or intelligence to gain a really authentic understanding or appreciation of what is happening in the world of physics, but everything I hear about what is happening in the discipline just seems so cool. Scientists have done a number of very interesting experiments that deal with light's ability to be both wave and particle; they have turned oxygen into a solid by focusing light through diamonds; they have manufactured gold (albeit out of platinum - not a good business plan, want-to-be alchemists); and they have made the same object appear in two places at the same time. Not two copies of the same object - the same object!
I suppose my first introduction to quantum physics was by way of an old thought experiment - the famous Schroedinger's Cat. If you are unfamiliar, the basic idea is this: if you were to put a cat in a box with a timed-release poison, until the moment you open the box to check on the cat, he exists simultaneously in two diametrically opposed states. He is both alive and dead at the same time.
When my dad first told me about this experiment in 8th grade, I didn't understand it, but I thought it was a really neat idea. To be able to be two totally oppossite things at once was such a totally novel and strange and subversive idea to my cliquish middle school mind. I still don't think I totally understand how Schroedinger's theory works in all its intricacies, but the more I learn and the more I think about it, the cooler it seems to me. It hints at the possibility or multiple worlds. I have images flash through my mind of Doctor Who and Sliders and Quantum Leap.
I think I also like the implications it has on Free Will. I'm not sure if I believe in Free Will or not, but I really want to (how's that for a paradox?) - the idea that, for even just a split second, multiple worlds exist seems to indicate a nexus of those worlds at each moment we make a choice. By choosing Option A instead of Option B, I am choosing World A instead of World B. The more I learn about the world of quantum, the more intertwined it seems the strands of science and philosophy become.
I'm sure that mixing up the ideas behind the two is a dangerous enterprise - in fact, This American Life recently broadcast an episode on the very subject. It's just too tempting not to. Even the name of this blog comes from a probably-misinterpreted law of physics (a story for another post!). When I hear about these rules of governance that affect the world I live in, I want to look at them through the lens of the type of thought that makes sense to me.
As far back as I can remember, I have always been very superstitious - very observant and respectful of ritual, especially when it comes to sports. This was more easily explainable when I still believed in God and the supernatural, but as a humanist, it became rather difficult to justify. Nevertheless, when I sit in a certain position and The Mets do well, I can't bring myself to move, no matter how uncomfortable I am. I learned to deal with cramps silently, because I was unwilling to sacrifice a rally to stretch for relief. I remember an entire two season span when I had to leave the room for every one of Roger Cedeno's at-bats, because he always struck out whenever I watched.
I wore the same pair of ratty orange shorts under my pants in every football game I ever played in; one time my mom tried to throw them away, and I had to search through the trash to get them back. I had the same foul-line routine for every freethrow I ever took, and the same pre-match warmup for every bout I ever wrestled. Now that I'm done competing myself, I have the same routine I go through with my wrestlers when they take the mat. I'm eager to pinpoint rituals that work and adhere to them religiously, whether it's wearing the same shirt to every JMU game or listening to the same song before every wrestling tournament. I am aware that my adherance to such habits is irrational and borderline obsessive-compulsive, but I simply can't bring myself to forgo the ritual - if my team lost, I would be saddled with the guilty knowledge that it was entirely my fault.
When I heard about the scientific principle called action at a distance, I felt a sense of justice and relief. It was a strange reaction, given that I can't recall anyone ever mocking me for my adherance to superstition. I guess I just enjoyed telling my rational mind to shove it. The basic idea behind action at a distance is that two objects or events, without any measurable connection and in entirely separate locations, can act upon each other in meaningful and profound ways. If you shoot two electrons away from each other at the speed of light, actions you take on one of the electrons are mirrored by the other - poke one and both react. It's crazy and I'm not sure that anyone understands why that happens - I certainly don't - but hearing that immediately brought to mind images of me sitting in my bed in 1999, in incredibly uncomfortable positions because the Mets were on a hot streak. The things I do matter!
This world works in ways not only mysterious, but also bizarre. The little bit I know about Superstring Theory makes it seem like a piece of bad short fiction out of one of those 1950s Sci-Fi magazines, but it also seems to be the most likely candidate to explain how our universe really works, and lots of very,very smart people back it with their full support. Every advancement in modern science seems to point towards things being connected in a deeply important way that makes physical separation seem trivial. "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together" has always sounded intellectually and spiritually right, but it also now looks to be factually correct. That kind of connection is the kind of thing that makes me want to throw my hands in the air and dance everywhere I go, and it also makes me want to sit down and think until my brain melts. I can't claim to know much of anything about how the universe works, but I do know that it's a large and beautiful and unknowably complex thing that never ceases to amaze me.
This is especially true of quantum mechanics. I know I don't possess the background knowledge or intelligence to gain a really authentic understanding or appreciation of what is happening in the world of physics, but everything I hear about what is happening in the discipline just seems so cool. Scientists have done a number of very interesting experiments that deal with light's ability to be both wave and particle; they have turned oxygen into a solid by focusing light through diamonds; they have manufactured gold (albeit out of platinum - not a good business plan, want-to-be alchemists); and they have made the same object appear in two places at the same time. Not two copies of the same object - the same object!
I suppose my first introduction to quantum physics was by way of an old thought experiment - the famous Schroedinger's Cat. If you are unfamiliar, the basic idea is this: if you were to put a cat in a box with a timed-release poison, until the moment you open the box to check on the cat, he exists simultaneously in two diametrically opposed states. He is both alive and dead at the same time.
When my dad first told me about this experiment in 8th grade, I didn't understand it, but I thought it was a really neat idea. To be able to be two totally oppossite things at once was such a totally novel and strange and subversive idea to my cliquish middle school mind. I still don't think I totally understand how Schroedinger's theory works in all its intricacies, but the more I learn and the more I think about it, the cooler it seems to me. It hints at the possibility or multiple worlds. I have images flash through my mind of Doctor Who and Sliders and Quantum Leap.
I think I also like the implications it has on Free Will. I'm not sure if I believe in Free Will or not, but I really want to (how's that for a paradox?) - the idea that, for even just a split second, multiple worlds exist seems to indicate a nexus of those worlds at each moment we make a choice. By choosing Option A instead of Option B, I am choosing World A instead of World B. The more I learn about the world of quantum, the more intertwined it seems the strands of science and philosophy become.
I'm sure that mixing up the ideas behind the two is a dangerous enterprise - in fact, This American Life recently broadcast an episode on the very subject. It's just too tempting not to. Even the name of this blog comes from a probably-misinterpreted law of physics (a story for another post!). When I hear about these rules of governance that affect the world I live in, I want to look at them through the lens of the type of thought that makes sense to me.
As far back as I can remember, I have always been very superstitious - very observant and respectful of ritual, especially when it comes to sports. This was more easily explainable when I still believed in God and the supernatural, but as a humanist, it became rather difficult to justify. Nevertheless, when I sit in a certain position and The Mets do well, I can't bring myself to move, no matter how uncomfortable I am. I learned to deal with cramps silently, because I was unwilling to sacrifice a rally to stretch for relief. I remember an entire two season span when I had to leave the room for every one of Roger Cedeno's at-bats, because he always struck out whenever I watched.
I wore the same pair of ratty orange shorts under my pants in every football game I ever played in; one time my mom tried to throw them away, and I had to search through the trash to get them back. I had the same foul-line routine for every freethrow I ever took, and the same pre-match warmup for every bout I ever wrestled. Now that I'm done competing myself, I have the same routine I go through with my wrestlers when they take the mat. I'm eager to pinpoint rituals that work and adhere to them religiously, whether it's wearing the same shirt to every JMU game or listening to the same song before every wrestling tournament. I am aware that my adherance to such habits is irrational and borderline obsessive-compulsive, but I simply can't bring myself to forgo the ritual - if my team lost, I would be saddled with the guilty knowledge that it was entirely my fault.
When I heard about the scientific principle called action at a distance, I felt a sense of justice and relief. It was a strange reaction, given that I can't recall anyone ever mocking me for my adherance to superstition. I guess I just enjoyed telling my rational mind to shove it. The basic idea behind action at a distance is that two objects or events, without any measurable connection and in entirely separate locations, can act upon each other in meaningful and profound ways. If you shoot two electrons away from each other at the speed of light, actions you take on one of the electrons are mirrored by the other - poke one and both react. It's crazy and I'm not sure that anyone understands why that happens - I certainly don't - but hearing that immediately brought to mind images of me sitting in my bed in 1999, in incredibly uncomfortable positions because the Mets were on a hot streak. The things I do matter!
This world works in ways not only mysterious, but also bizarre. The little bit I know about Superstring Theory makes it seem like a piece of bad short fiction out of one of those 1950s Sci-Fi magazines, but it also seems to be the most likely candidate to explain how our universe really works, and lots of very,very smart people back it with their full support. Every advancement in modern science seems to point towards things being connected in a deeply important way that makes physical separation seem trivial. "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together" has always sounded intellectually and spiritually right, but it also now looks to be factually correct. That kind of connection is the kind of thing that makes me want to throw my hands in the air and dance everywhere I go, and it also makes me want to sit down and think until my brain melts. I can't claim to know much of anything about how the universe works, but I do know that it's a large and beautiful and unknowably complex thing that never ceases to amaze me.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Hardest Thing about Teaching
I recently found out that one of my favorite students from last year (let's call her Karen here) is pregnant.
Some of my kids this year were talking about how they never see one of their friends anymore, since he dropped out, got his GED, and started working. I like to try to get to know my students as much as I can, and so I asked them more about the situation.
"Ever since he knocked up his girlfriend, Karen Jones, he ain't been around."
As soon as I heard the name, my heart sank a little. Karen was by no means the brightest student in my class, but she was a really sweet girl, she worked hard, and I liked her a lot. In fact, she was one of the people I was most looking forward to seeing at graduation, and the one I was most disappointed with not running into. Now I know why she wasn't there.
It's not that I think Karen will be a bad mother; honestly, if any 18 year old girl is capable of being a good mother, Karen is probably the most likely candidate. She is likely to have the support of her family, she is compassionate and interested, and she is a genuinely good person interested in the welfare of the world. I am just sad for her and all the things that I feel that she will now probably be forced to miss out on in her life. She showed some interest in traveling - she asked me about places I'd been and places I wanted to go, asked what kinds of things you can do and learn abroad. It seems unlikely that an unwed teenage mom with a boyfriend with a GED will get to see much of the U.S., let alone Europe or Asia. Her chances of going to college and enriching herself through education seem slim. I also got the impression that Karen was a little bit more sophisticated and cosmopolitan than many of her classmates, and I had hopes that she would be able live a life that satisfied that part of her. While it's not set in stone, I kind of get the feeling that where she is now will kind of be her life from here on out. I'm glad that her boyfriend has not abandoned her and is fulfilling his responsibilities and taking ownership, but I also feel bad for him. I don't really know the kid, but I think it's probably safe to say that "be a father" wasn't on his list of things to do before turning 18.
I've wondered if it would be appropriate for me to contact my former student and say something to her. Like I said, she was definitely one of my favorites, and I want to make sure that she's doing alright. I could imagine her not dealing with the stresses of pregnancy and the prospect of the rest of her life so well. But honestly, I wouldn't know what to say. First of all, I haven't talked to the girl in 7 months. More importantly, it's not like there is anything I can really do - What I want to do is express sympathy, but that doesn't really seem appropriate. Maybe she is excited at the prospect of being a mom, and even if she isn't, it certainly won't help anything for me to tell her that I'm sorry this thing happened to her and that her life may as well be over. I'm sure that's too cynical a view - there is plenty of time left in her young life to enjoy many things in this world, but she won't have the opportunities that she might have had otherwise. I feel like any effort I might make to reach out would be at best patronizing, and at worst implying that her pregnancy is some sort of curse.
The thing I really love about my job is also turning out to be something that will probably be really hard in my life. I have the pleasure of meeting and getting to know all of these really great kids. They become a part of my life, and hopefully I become a part of theirs. It's gratifying to hear a student say that something I did in class influenced his or her life. It feels wonderful.
But this situation also highlights the fact that after a short time, these kids are gone from my life, just as I am gone from theirs. I would love to keep in touch with all of them, but the fact is I have trouble remembering the names of kids I taught less than two years ago. Of course, some stick out - there are students like Karen that I will probably remember for the rest of my life, but even with those students, I may never have any contact with them again. Memories are great, but it's difficult to realize that most of these great people I work with every day are just fleeting parts of my life.
I genuinely like my students; even the ones that are a pain in the ass in class have positive qualities, and nearly all of them are people that I really enjoy getting to know. I dislike the fact that in 5 years I probably won't have a clue what is going on in most of their lives. Of course, it would be entirely unreasonable to expect that I would be a big part of every kid's life for the rest of his life, but that's kind of what a part of me wishes sometimes. I look back and remember my teachers, and I wonder how many of them remember me. I wonder if they want to remember me. If it would feel good to know what all of their former students are up to, or if it would just be too overwhelming to try to keep up with that amount of information. Practicality limits what we can know, but I think that I would love to be able to keep tabs on 20 years of students, and continue to have personal relationships with all of them.
I hope Karen is doing alright now, I hope that she does alright in the future, and that all of my students have long and fulfilling lives. I want the best for every single one of them, because I get to know them in a way so much more personal than I ever thought that I would. I hope that some of them decide to stay in touch, that I continue to have such an interest in their development, and that they can remember something that I taught them. I hope they remember that I cared about them when they were in my room, and that they know I keep caring about them after they leave. I hope that my students live lives that influence others to do good, and that they feel as fulfilled by whatever they choose to do as I do by teaching.
Some of my kids this year were talking about how they never see one of their friends anymore, since he dropped out, got his GED, and started working. I like to try to get to know my students as much as I can, and so I asked them more about the situation.
"Ever since he knocked up his girlfriend, Karen Jones, he ain't been around."
As soon as I heard the name, my heart sank a little. Karen was by no means the brightest student in my class, but she was a really sweet girl, she worked hard, and I liked her a lot. In fact, she was one of the people I was most looking forward to seeing at graduation, and the one I was most disappointed with not running into. Now I know why she wasn't there.
It's not that I think Karen will be a bad mother; honestly, if any 18 year old girl is capable of being a good mother, Karen is probably the most likely candidate. She is likely to have the support of her family, she is compassionate and interested, and she is a genuinely good person interested in the welfare of the world. I am just sad for her and all the things that I feel that she will now probably be forced to miss out on in her life. She showed some interest in traveling - she asked me about places I'd been and places I wanted to go, asked what kinds of things you can do and learn abroad. It seems unlikely that an unwed teenage mom with a boyfriend with a GED will get to see much of the U.S., let alone Europe or Asia. Her chances of going to college and enriching herself through education seem slim. I also got the impression that Karen was a little bit more sophisticated and cosmopolitan than many of her classmates, and I had hopes that she would be able live a life that satisfied that part of her. While it's not set in stone, I kind of get the feeling that where she is now will kind of be her life from here on out. I'm glad that her boyfriend has not abandoned her and is fulfilling his responsibilities and taking ownership, but I also feel bad for him. I don't really know the kid, but I think it's probably safe to say that "be a father" wasn't on his list of things to do before turning 18.
I've wondered if it would be appropriate for me to contact my former student and say something to her. Like I said, she was definitely one of my favorites, and I want to make sure that she's doing alright. I could imagine her not dealing with the stresses of pregnancy and the prospect of the rest of her life so well. But honestly, I wouldn't know what to say. First of all, I haven't talked to the girl in 7 months. More importantly, it's not like there is anything I can really do - What I want to do is express sympathy, but that doesn't really seem appropriate. Maybe she is excited at the prospect of being a mom, and even if she isn't, it certainly won't help anything for me to tell her that I'm sorry this thing happened to her and that her life may as well be over. I'm sure that's too cynical a view - there is plenty of time left in her young life to enjoy many things in this world, but she won't have the opportunities that she might have had otherwise. I feel like any effort I might make to reach out would be at best patronizing, and at worst implying that her pregnancy is some sort of curse.
The thing I really love about my job is also turning out to be something that will probably be really hard in my life. I have the pleasure of meeting and getting to know all of these really great kids. They become a part of my life, and hopefully I become a part of theirs. It's gratifying to hear a student say that something I did in class influenced his or her life. It feels wonderful.
But this situation also highlights the fact that after a short time, these kids are gone from my life, just as I am gone from theirs. I would love to keep in touch with all of them, but the fact is I have trouble remembering the names of kids I taught less than two years ago. Of course, some stick out - there are students like Karen that I will probably remember for the rest of my life, but even with those students, I may never have any contact with them again. Memories are great, but it's difficult to realize that most of these great people I work with every day are just fleeting parts of my life.
I genuinely like my students; even the ones that are a pain in the ass in class have positive qualities, and nearly all of them are people that I really enjoy getting to know. I dislike the fact that in 5 years I probably won't have a clue what is going on in most of their lives. Of course, it would be entirely unreasonable to expect that I would be a big part of every kid's life for the rest of his life, but that's kind of what a part of me wishes sometimes. I look back and remember my teachers, and I wonder how many of them remember me. I wonder if they want to remember me. If it would feel good to know what all of their former students are up to, or if it would just be too overwhelming to try to keep up with that amount of information. Practicality limits what we can know, but I think that I would love to be able to keep tabs on 20 years of students, and continue to have personal relationships with all of them.
I hope Karen is doing alright now, I hope that she does alright in the future, and that all of my students have long and fulfilling lives. I want the best for every single one of them, because I get to know them in a way so much more personal than I ever thought that I would. I hope that some of them decide to stay in touch, that I continue to have such an interest in their development, and that they can remember something that I taught them. I hope they remember that I cared about them when they were in my room, and that they know I keep caring about them after they leave. I hope that my students live lives that influence others to do good, and that they feel as fulfilled by whatever they choose to do as I do by teaching.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Greatest Hits, Volume 1
I spent some time today going through the archives of a blog I used to contribute to with some folks I graduated with. It was meant as sort of a support group for new teachers - it was great, and I really enjoyed reading about all the insanity that the people in our profession deal with on a daily basis. I'm a little bummed that it's died down, but I guess now that we are a bit more experienced, we might not need the support as much.
Anyway, I wanted to share one of the posts I wrote for that site here. It is, without a doubt, my strangest teacher story to date. Part of me kind of wants something else this batshit crazy to come along and rival it, but I'm terrified of what that could be.
So I now present, in all its glory:
Anyway, I wanted to share one of the posts I wrote for that site here. It is, without a doubt, my strangest teacher story to date. Part of me kind of wants something else this batshit crazy to come along and rival it, but I'm terrified of what that could be.
So I now present, in all its glory:
The Rat Incident
Working with 9th graders, you sort of begin to expect outlandish things. Students shout out at each other across the room like vikings in a mead hall; they try to escape from the classroom, squirming through a barely open door like a cat slipping under a fence; God help you if a bee flies in through an open window - you might as well be in the middle of Tokyo as Godzilla approaches.
In my short month and a half working with freshmen, I have seen mayhem. I see mayhem everyday, I expect mayhem. That could not prepare me for The Rat Incident.
I don't know how these students get out of class so easily, but everyday my class is visited by escapees from other teachers. This usually plays out with my pushing them out into the hallway and closing the door in the wayward student's face. On this particular Thursday, though, things went a little differently.
I was enjoying the relative quiet of my classroom sounding only about as loud as a 747's engine room, as opposed to the inside-the-space-shuttle's-rocket-chamber sound to which I am accustomed, as my students were working on writing a memoir. All of that changed when my class received a visitor.
"Yo, Ike, you want some of these fries?" the mystery student asked, handing Isaiah a styrofoam takeout container.
"Hell yes, motherflipper!" said Isaiah, taking the container from his friend, using the parlance of the student told not to swear in class.
As I was getting up to remove the interloper, I was distracted by Isaiah's jumping and screaming, as if he had just heard a gunshot.
Well, Isaiah screamed and jumped like I would have if I heard a gunshot, but since my students are usually the ones perpetrating the shootings around here, they might react differently.
By the time I got to Isaiah, the gift-giver was gone, running off down the hall. When I looked in the box, I immediately understood what had so shocked my student. In the styrofoam container was a large, dead rat caught in one of those sticky traps that gets the rat's fur so matted and tangled that there is no hope of ever removing it from its tiny cardboard coffin.
"Ugh, that's disgusting, Isaiah. Go throw it away. Outside."
Isaiah is the type of student who doesn't like to be told what to do, and so even a reasonable request, such as throwing away the disease-ridden corpse of a dead rodent, can become a source of disagreement.
I saw a dead rat and a room full of squeamish 14 year old girls. Isaiah saw a dead rat and a room full of squeamish 14 year old girls. And a chance.
This is when things started to get out of hand. Isaiah started chasing the girls around the room with the rat. Girls were jumping on desks, screaming in voices so loud and shrill that they would drown out air raid sirens. I had 12 girls rushing from one side of the room to the other, knocking over desks and each other, all in pursuit of a safety that did not exist. A place where their classmate would not follow. Luckily, we only had about 5 minutes left in school, and so it was time for students to go to their lockers and get their things ready to go to the bus. This was a perfect way to get Isaiah and the rat out of my classroom, and to a trashcan.
Taking this opportunity, I allowed everyone into the hall and directed Isaiah to a trashcan. Unfortunately, he took this opportunity to chase around those girls who he was not able to terrorize in class. He even chased a teacher around with it.
It was about this time that Isaiah had an absolutely brilliant idea:
"Hey, I should go get Mr. C with this."
Mr. C is our principal, and he does not like bullshit.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Isaiah."
"Naw, man. It'd be funny. I should go get Mr. C."
"Yeah, Isaiah. You're right, go get Mr. C."
Good life decisions are not Isaiah's strong point.
"So I can go? Yes!"
Isaiah ran out the door to the buses and the waiting principal. Maybe I won't have to see him for a day or two.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Believing in the Resolute Urgency of Now
Last week was my first week back to school, and it was exhausting. Regular readers of this blog may have noticed the lack of posts recently, a direct by-product of the return of students into my life. Several times in the last 10 days, I had ideas for posts, or resolved that I would write something today, but then I fell asleep on the couch instead.
As a result of this exhaustion, I decided that this weekend would be filled with glorious nothing.
Then I woke up on Saturday morning. As I lay in bed, awake, but not really ready to get up, I started perusing Facebook on my phone. I saw update after update of friends from JMU who had made the trek to Blacksburg for the David vs Goliath game of James Madison vs Virginia Tech, and I started to feel a little bit of regret for opting not to go. At that very moment, the phone started to ring. Seeing that it was my friend Jenny, I answered in typical fashion:
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"
The reply was what I expected, but not in the voice I expected.
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK THIS IS?"
I did. It was not Jenny, but our friend Travis's mom. She proceeded to harangue me for not being at Tech for the weekend, and then passed the phone off to yet another friend, who told me I should come to the game. I looked at the clock. It was 9:30 - I had just enough time to make it to Blacksburg for the 1:30 kickoff if I left immediately and drove fast.
I thought for a second about my plans of laying on the couch all day to recuperate from the rough week, but I knew I didn't really have time to contemplate my decision. If I was going to go, I had to go now. I went with my gut and said I'd be there as soon as I could. Getting that phone call in the middle of second-guessing my decision to stay home felt something like providence, so I just went with it.
If you pay attention to college football, you've probably guessed that I am extremely happy with the decision I made. JMU beat VT 21-16 in the biggest upset in this young college football season, and my beloved alma mater gained some attention in the national spotlight for beating one of the top teams in all of football. More than that, I got to spend unexpected time with friends, run into many people I haven't seen since college, and share an historic moment in our school's history with all of them, and many others.
This may be true with your university as well, but the sense of community among JMU students and alumni seems extraordinary to me. I feel such a bond with people I barely know when we each express our love for our home in Harrisonburg. Many outsiders have expressed wonder at how strange it is that almost all JMU students love their school SO much; I don't know if I can really explain, but there does seem to be some sort of magic that we feel. Dukes are without a doubt the happiest, friendliest, most positive people I know. It was special, and I feel incredibly blessed to have been able to share in one of the most inspiring moments in our school's history with a group of like-minded people.
It would have been easier for me to decline the pleas of my friends (and my friends' parents) for me to high-tail it across the state to go to the game. It would have been a lot easier to lay on the couch all day and maybe watch the game on TV. It would have been easier, and it would have been the logical decision, but it also would have been the wrong decision.
I don't know why I keep needing to remind myself that life needs to be lived in the moment, that planning things out too much is silly. My very first tattoo reads "Believe in the resolute urgency of now", a reminder to myself to accept things as they come and not worry about left-brained things like logic and practicality. The universe is full of amazing experiences just waiting to be had, and every time I allow myself to take advantage of the opportunities presented to me, I am thankful that I did. I think most of the greatest days of my life were unplanned - the results of whimsy and whims. I am thankful that Travis's mom drunk-dialed me at 9:30 on a Saturday morning, I am thankful that Emily took the phone from her and asked me to come to the game, and I am thankful that I heeded the advice that I had put under my skin and did something kind of stupid and totally fun.
Go Dukes!
As a result of this exhaustion, I decided that this weekend would be filled with glorious nothing.
Then I woke up on Saturday morning. As I lay in bed, awake, but not really ready to get up, I started perusing Facebook on my phone. I saw update after update of friends from JMU who had made the trek to Blacksburg for the David vs Goliath game of James Madison vs Virginia Tech, and I started to feel a little bit of regret for opting not to go. At that very moment, the phone started to ring. Seeing that it was my friend Jenny, I answered in typical fashion:
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"
The reply was what I expected, but not in the voice I expected.
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK THIS IS?"
I did. It was not Jenny, but our friend Travis's mom. She proceeded to harangue me for not being at Tech for the weekend, and then passed the phone off to yet another friend, who told me I should come to the game. I looked at the clock. It was 9:30 - I had just enough time to make it to Blacksburg for the 1:30 kickoff if I left immediately and drove fast.
I thought for a second about my plans of laying on the couch all day to recuperate from the rough week, but I knew I didn't really have time to contemplate my decision. If I was going to go, I had to go now. I went with my gut and said I'd be there as soon as I could. Getting that phone call in the middle of second-guessing my decision to stay home felt something like providence, so I just went with it.
If you pay attention to college football, you've probably guessed that I am extremely happy with the decision I made. JMU beat VT 21-16 in the biggest upset in this young college football season, and my beloved alma mater gained some attention in the national spotlight for beating one of the top teams in all of football. More than that, I got to spend unexpected time with friends, run into many people I haven't seen since college, and share an historic moment in our school's history with all of them, and many others.
This may be true with your university as well, but the sense of community among JMU students and alumni seems extraordinary to me. I feel such a bond with people I barely know when we each express our love for our home in Harrisonburg. Many outsiders have expressed wonder at how strange it is that almost all JMU students love their school SO much; I don't know if I can really explain, but there does seem to be some sort of magic that we feel. Dukes are without a doubt the happiest, friendliest, most positive people I know. It was special, and I feel incredibly blessed to have been able to share in one of the most inspiring moments in our school's history with a group of like-minded people.
It would have been easier for me to decline the pleas of my friends (and my friends' parents) for me to high-tail it across the state to go to the game. It would have been a lot easier to lay on the couch all day and maybe watch the game on TV. It would have been easier, and it would have been the logical decision, but it also would have been the wrong decision.
I don't know why I keep needing to remind myself that life needs to be lived in the moment, that planning things out too much is silly. My very first tattoo reads "Believe in the resolute urgency of now", a reminder to myself to accept things as they come and not worry about left-brained things like logic and practicality. The universe is full of amazing experiences just waiting to be had, and every time I allow myself to take advantage of the opportunities presented to me, I am thankful that I did. I think most of the greatest days of my life were unplanned - the results of whimsy and whims. I am thankful that Travis's mom drunk-dialed me at 9:30 on a Saturday morning, I am thankful that Emily took the phone from her and asked me to come to the game, and I am thankful that I heeded the advice that I had put under my skin and did something kind of stupid and totally fun.
Go Dukes!
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