decision

Ah, I've bet you've been restless ever since you heard I'd journal my experience of first-year teaching. Boom, I cast my lots today. I'll reveal on down the entry.

Today I borrowed Ron Clark's The Essential 55 and started reading. It's fifty-five rules that he (winner of the 2001 Disney Teacher-of-the-year award) used in his classrooms. So far it's worthwile: good, solid common sense. I like that he's from NC. It's upbeat but not too, too cheesy. And, I'm taking notes on Harry Wong's The First Day of Teaching. And, I've been reading my teacher's manuals. After all my yapping, they're actually pretty good. I liked some the short stories in the LA one and the SS is covering such great material.

I must look ridiculously stupid and ignorant: after having somebody question my ability to teach 7th grade Language Arts and Social Studies (Do you know anything about Africa, Asia and Australia?), I decided to take the mature route (shocking) and say, "I think I can manage." While thinking, Dude, I took some world geography, Africa and nonwestern lit courses and I have lived in Asia. Plus, I'm smart. Therefore, I'm probably as qualified if not more than most people who teach it around here. So, here's the party line on my qualifications to teach 7th grade SS. I'm not defensive or hyper sensitive.

And, I've started exploring ideas to decorate my classroom. My sister suggested age-appropriate learning centers. I really like the idea, but it's going to take a lot of work. Maybe have a sports center (what sports are hot in Nairobe, Sydney, Bangkok, etc? What sports do people play and what sports do they watch?), a fashion center (fabrics, styles (kimonos, hats, etc), a music center (a pentatonic scale is used in Asia and Africa-- not to mention a different philosophy of music), food center (have pictures of dishes, jars of food, recipes), religion center (have different icons from the different religions some Buddhas, Ishtar, Jesus, etc-- maybe prayers from the different religions and different concepts of piety), a pop culture center. Centers on national holidays, Flags, distinct architecture, Languages, pets, names, sayings from other English speaking countries. I love the idea and have kids make connections. Dear reader, if you have any nifty ideas or concerns, please share.

I went to a cloth store to look at international material available. And, I fell in love with the faux fur; I have to do something with the faux fur. And I went to Home Depot and Hobby Lobby tracking down a terrarium. They've sold out. If you know where to find one, lemme know. I think it'd be a lot of fun... and educational to try to grow some international flowers in my class.

And, I got some school marm clothes yesterday-- four deeply discounted washable, cotton blazers. They do ratchet up a notch my wardrobe of khakis, skirts and t shirts. They'll contribute to me standing up straighter.

I'm so excited and overwhelmed.

Oh, for the decision of HOW to journal my splendiferous ideas: I bought 5 notebooks for fifty cents at Target. I'm gonna journal the old-fashioned way. Cheers. So, hopefully this will be one of the last entries with these kind of exciting details. If you made it down this far, WOW. You deserve a candy bar or beer.

P.S. I'm dogsitting two chill small dogs, Maggie and Murphy. They're low energy, low maintenance or maybe I have a calming effect on poodles.

a fate worse than boredom?

I chatted on the phone with my sister tonight. I have to repeat two of her anecdotes:

S's wrapping up her internship in Richmond. As she was setting up her presentation, a guy asked her, "How did you and H decide who would go first?"

"A cage match," she answered. An awkward silence broke into a few chuckles.

Then after S's presentation, while H was setting up hers, the same guy asked her, "So, H, are you going second because you won or lost?"

"There was no cage match," H responds.

***

Then my sister had to go to an orientation for the internship extravaganza weekend. After she wrote to alert them that she may be late due to her presentation and a staff meeting, she received a rude email that it was imperative that she be there at 5:30. So, she busts her butt to get there at 5:30. She's seated at a table at this very important meeting: damn, if a HR officer isn't at the front reading (verbatim) the packet they'd handed the interns. My sister whispers to the person next to her, "I must be in the wrong room, I'm supposed to be at the orientation for literate interns." Apparently, a HR lackey overheard her and gave her the stink eye.

yowsers

Reality has started seeping into my noggin'. Last night some guy asked me what I did-- he surmised that I worked at a church or was studying. I blurted out, "I teach 7th graders." It was very Rain Man of me. Then, he made it out like I was Teresa of Calcutta. Altruism is an element of my motivation, but I really want to teach. I hesitate to say I'm called to teach. But, then again, I'm really hesitant about God talk: it's not like I answered a phone call from one of God's people or had a dream. Can you imagine filling out an app: God wants me to teach Language Arts and Social Studies? That would rock you all the way to the crazy house.

When you are as silly as I am and slow down to think about said "Language Arts", I think "sarcasm" and "on·o·mato·poe·ia". And for Social Studies, I remember sitting with my best friend's grandmother in the shoe section of Belk's in Carolina Place people-watching-- to me that's the definition of Social Studies. When I got the teacher's edition of the text books today, they made me laugh. It's ironic because I hate text books, especially for English and History. Let's have books about books about books; we'll call them meta-books, I mean, text books (as opposed to picture books?). CSL argues that secondary literature stinks. He says why study about Plato when you could study Plato. You study Plato then you read the stinky secondary lit. That's how my how my high school and undergrad course of study was too.

But, I'm getting really excited. Excitement is invading my body as I write; it feels a little weird but I'm not sneezing like when I get a cold. My out of shape synapses sputter but produce. I'm definitely going to keep a journal of my first official year of teaching. I don't know if I'll start a specific blog or a spiral-ring notebook or just bore my nonexistent readers. (This is called suspense, dear reader. It is an aspect of the art of language.)

woohoo

A principal offered me a job today!! Seventh grade social studies and language arts position. I haven't signed a contract, but the chief and I are headed out to the school tomorrow to pick up the books and check out the classroom. And, our favorite neighbor treated us to a celebratory lunch where I gorged myself on deliciousness. Then we went sofa shopping. She wanted me to mark the day with a happy memory; she succeeded.

The principal called around 11am. She sounded excited and made mention of my enthusiasm. It was odd to hear good news-- odd and welcome. I've grown accustomed and appreciative of people calling to say that they've offered the job to someone else; closure's nice. It's been fun to call, text, blog and email friends who've supported me through this surprisingly long ordeal. And, I know I'll be here through next May, which is clarifying too (I presume it's a one year contract).

More importantly, a fellow Pinkling is giving birth to a wee girl as I write. Say prayers of protection and thanksgiving.

campaign o' cheer

Running helps cheer me.

Rain poured down while I ran tonight. I'm about to reveal why I evade the question: what do you think about while you run? My ideas about the rain progressed something like this:
something wet hit me.
It's way humid and hot for 9:30pm.
several wet somethings touched me.
The Beach Boys make happy music.
the sky is gray, but I don't detect "rain clouds" per se, but it is dark.
i think it's rain. it's definitely raining.
Cross Country flashbacks of rain runs.
feels good.
oh, goody, i remembered to be positive.
but not an annoying positive.

The most bizarre conversations I've had have been on long runs. It's an inhibition free zone-- must be all those endorphins and the rhythm. It's a weird, strong bond to have run over 2 hours in a go with someone. I digress.

"News" makes me happy.
Speaking of North Carolinians evading questions, I admit The National Enquirer breaking a story about John Edwards' alleged affair and love child amuses me. So does the counter-story of Hillary Clinton concocting this story to make Obama's VP short list shorter. This story explains the expensive hair cuts. Once an ambulance chaser... Oh, our idea of news and journalism is so skewed. And, this kind of story proves the total irrationality of politics.

Productivity makes me chipper.
I did a lot of stuff today. I problem-solved and worked efficiently. I was even pleasant on my random telephone conversations.

Phone calls and inboxes are harbingers of cheer too. At least tonight they were.

Even this post's lameness entertains me. La ti da. Ha ha. I'm cheery.

lil ole epiphanies

Today brimmed with little epiphanies that had plenty of foreshadowing. The positive about being a dullard is, that contrary to the term, things are rarely dull. I am one of the most easily entertained people on the planet. I wonder if any employers consider that a skill. I have a proclivity for stating the obvious with relish, which amuses my family-- and has been archived in our oral history. Somehow, I find the obvious quite invigorating. You just never know. Anything can be improved with a bit of wit, emphasis on bit.

For instance, I figured out why I enjoy Flannery O'Connor so much: she agrees with me. I share her world-view and core presumptions about life. As I read Mystery and Manners, I understood some deep-seated notions that I've thought and felt without ever bothering to verbalize. It's good to have somebody explain my ideas to me. You know, clarifying and refreshing like Noxema.

My goal for my writing group for the week is: be positive. I chose it for the sheer originality. And, yes, as a matter of fact we are a progressive writing group who deals with the whole writer. Nobody wants to read doomsday prophecies coupled with litanies of self-pity (imagine their spawn). Nobody. So, my goal is to imitate my friend Marcia's focus: God is good. No tears over spilled milk. focus on the things that I can do. Platitudes help attitudes!

october 7, 1999

I was into dialectic long before I matriculated at Regent. You see, I was a pretentious student of Classics with a minor in Creative Writing and a Division I athlete. I was the only varsity athlete in my department in at least fifty years. In fact, I had more than one prof suggest I couldn't handle being an athlete and studying classics. According to him, the soft sciences were a better fit for an athlete-- he said I should switch majors to sociology, psychology or communications if I continued my athletic career. He suggested that I remain a Classics major and train for a marathon, a club sport or anything less time consuming and exhausting than a team. Classics was a rigorous major plus I had to work out at least 30 hours a week training. This situation explains a) my lack of social life and b) creative writing was a wonderful much needed outlet for me and c) proof I've always taken myself a little too seriously. I loved Classics and rowing-- and I loved the idea of being a classics major and wearing my Nike-issued gear too. But, dude, did I ever enjoy writing... and sleeping. My sister would invite me over for dinner. She'd instruct me to take a nap while she cooked; I was always a wee bit ornery from over exertion.

I've always inhabited liminal space: whether it's being a scholarship kid at a boarding school or a varsity athlete in a plato seminar or a well-read poor person. It's good but hard. Friends, running, reading and writing are my sanctuaries from the necessary awkwardness. And knowing, according to my faith, this isn't my home. I'm never figured out my identity-- I was feel and felt it in contrast.

This is an extremely long introduction to a single sentence from my favorite short story I wrote in college and turned in on October 7th of my junior year. I titled the story, "Sappho's Hypothesis"-- pretentious. But, it was all these snippets of women's lives and their passion. I fashioned it on this french novel I'd just read and fragment 16 of Sappho. Anyway, the snippets were a 8 year-old with her bike, a college student with a pair of jeans, a mother with an infant, etc then I stuck in this death scene. Yea. Awkward. But, it was one of the best scenes, and here's the long awaited sentence: "She spent three weeks in a twin bed with white cotton sheets in which she hadn't had a single dream."

I've decided to rework "Sappho's Hypothesis". I still love that sentence-- I could write a short story and use it as the starting point. Most of the stuff I wrote (in college or last week) makes me cringe. But, this sentence is equal to the three or so photos I have of myself where I look really good. There are thousands of unflattering sentences and pictures out there, and there are the occasional ones that work. Here's to persistence, grace and hope.