Let me begin. I came to rhyme. Battle me? That's a sin.
Today was the last day I was able to share these House of Pain lyrics with the fifth graders. It sort of became a tradition of mine throughout the school year to start laying down my mad rapping skills as they gathered their books, papers, and assignments at the of the day. They probably didn't notice. Heck, I'm not sure if I even noticed until I found myself doing it for the last time this year.
Tomorrow I'll return to school. I'll put cumulative grades in student files. I'll disconnect my Smart-board. I'll throw sheets over all of my bookcases. I'll take all of the textbooks that I finally know how to use, packing them away in a forest-colored Rubber-maid that will serve as my only connection to my school this summer. I'll remember to feed our class fish, Walter, just as I remember that he's already in a student's home for the summer. And I'll miss him. I'll worry about what I'm going to do with my plants. I'll throw away papers I thought I might need again. I'll gather band supplies, still unsure how I'm going to teach 21 band students in junior high next year.
I'll miss Walter some more.
I'll realize that missing Walter isn't really about missing Walter. It's about missing the fifth grade. It's about missing how every day of the week they would ask if they could have Friday candy. It's about them frantically noticing that I'm looking at the clock, counting the seconds of my time they were wasting, changing their behavior even though I never took away recess time. It's about how they remarked on how great it was to have young teachers when I (lamely) made them raise the roof.
And I will miss them, even for the three months I'm away. I'll miss the fifth graders and how seriously they took their silliness. I'll miss the seventh graders and how seriously they took their seriousness. I'll miss the eighth graders and how they always reacted appropriately to my jokes and comments. And the sixth grade... I'll even miss the sixth grade and how they always made sure I started class at least 5 minutes late (on a good day.)
I thought I'd have some type of intellectual or worldly wisdom to share with you as I ended my first year of teaching. But tonight... tonight I only having pining and mix CD's. I'm happy. I feel good. I think I made it through my first year of teaching as well as I could have, maybe even plus a little. And I'm thankful. After hearing sob story after sob story of how difficult many of my colleagues' first years were, I can't help but be thankful. My year is happy memories. My year is moment after moment of support and love and understanding. And maybe in a few weeks, after more time of reflection, I'll have some type of wisdom to share. But not tonight. Tonight my wisdom's all dried up.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
As I went down in the river to pray...
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the starry crown
Good Lord, show me the way.
Maybe it's something about the flowering dogwoods or the way the night air seems stilted and endless, but I'm drawn back to one year ago. I was graduating. I was anticipating. I was life. And now, ending my first year of teaching. I feel the exact same. Even though I know exactly what next year hold for me, I can't help but feel like I'm on the edge of my life, about to leap into the unknown.
I know that for the last nine months I've kept telling myself that it's too soon to think about what comes next, but it's not. I can't help but think about what comes next. When the other teachers at my school ask me if I'll come back for a third year, I can't help but stew over the next few years of my life. I'm not sure yet. But I know that I need to start thinking about it. I need to start planning. As much as I want to and need to stay in the moment, I have to think ahead.
As I spoke last week with a good friend who went into a program similar to Magis, I couldn't help but be thankful I applied to Magis. He teaches in Florida. I'm sure I would have loved living somewhere else for two years. I hope to one day spend some time outside of Nebraska. But I'm thankful I'm in Nebraska now. I'm thankful that the work I'm doing feels close to home. I'm thankful that teaching at this school feels like cultivating my future as well. Nebraska is home. I'm quite certain that will never change. I think I could joyously explore the rest of the world and still never feel the same comfort and happiness I feel when I'm here.
We have 12 days of school left. It's hard to believe. So many things are hard to believe.
And who shall wear the starry crown
Good Lord, show me the way.
Maybe it's something about the flowering dogwoods or the way the night air seems stilted and endless, but I'm drawn back to one year ago. I was graduating. I was anticipating. I was life. And now, ending my first year of teaching. I feel the exact same. Even though I know exactly what next year hold for me, I can't help but feel like I'm on the edge of my life, about to leap into the unknown.
I know that for the last nine months I've kept telling myself that it's too soon to think about what comes next, but it's not. I can't help but think about what comes next. When the other teachers at my school ask me if I'll come back for a third year, I can't help but stew over the next few years of my life. I'm not sure yet. But I know that I need to start thinking about it. I need to start planning. As much as I want to and need to stay in the moment, I have to think ahead.
As I spoke last week with a good friend who went into a program similar to Magis, I couldn't help but be thankful I applied to Magis. He teaches in Florida. I'm sure I would have loved living somewhere else for two years. I hope to one day spend some time outside of Nebraska. But I'm thankful I'm in Nebraska now. I'm thankful that the work I'm doing feels close to home. I'm thankful that teaching at this school feels like cultivating my future as well. Nebraska is home. I'm quite certain that will never change. I think I could joyously explore the rest of the world and still never feel the same comfort and happiness I feel when I'm here.
We have 12 days of school left. It's hard to believe. So many things are hard to believe.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
It's a cold, and it's a broken...
I just finished (basically) my last large assignment for my first year of graduate school, and it feels great. Honestly, it’s been a pretty superb month so far. For some reason third quarter weighed on me. I felt grumpy a lot. I felt like I was more on edge with my students. I felt all around negative. I’m not sure if it was the impending doom of winter, third quarter drag or something else. But it’s gone. And fourth quarter feels like a cool spring breeze. And I mean that as a simile and as something very real.
And with all of these good vibes flowing, it seems strange to be entering Holy Week, a week of solemnity. But it’s hard to be somber with life bursting forth from everything around you. Maybe that’s what makes it more important to recognize the serious nature of Holy Week.
Maybe that’s something to talk to my students about this week.
And I can’t help but think that some of this feel-good business has to do with the looming summer ahead. I don’t want school to be over. It’s not that I’m tired of school. It’s just that it’s so easy to look back at the summer, to look back at college and kind of yearn for that. I have a great deal of pining for being in college. This doesn’t feel like college, and I don’t think it’s supposed to. It’s kind of something to bridge the gap, and I keep reading that my generation needs that. We think we need that. I think I need that. So, it only seems natural that I pine for living in a dorm for a couple of months, for walking around campus, for procrastinating on homework a little too long. (That paper I mentioned before, the one I’m finished with, it’s not due until April 25. I don’t think I’ve ever finished something so early.)
I guess the only thing left to do is ride this feeling out, to hold it for what it’s worth (and it’s worth a lot), to make the most of the time I have. This week it’s two track meets. Then it’s finishing speeches. Then it’s a band concert (Surfin’ USA.) Then it’s diagramming sentences. Then it’s a couple of tests. Then it’s a couple of field trips. Then it’s all over. And thinking about that just got me a little milky in the eye department, something that I didn’t expect but kind of love.
But now... now it’s sleep.
And with all of these good vibes flowing, it seems strange to be entering Holy Week, a week of solemnity. But it’s hard to be somber with life bursting forth from everything around you. Maybe that’s what makes it more important to recognize the serious nature of Holy Week.
Maybe that’s something to talk to my students about this week.
And I can’t help but think that some of this feel-good business has to do with the looming summer ahead. I don’t want school to be over. It’s not that I’m tired of school. It’s just that it’s so easy to look back at the summer, to look back at college and kind of yearn for that. I have a great deal of pining for being in college. This doesn’t feel like college, and I don’t think it’s supposed to. It’s kind of something to bridge the gap, and I keep reading that my generation needs that. We think we need that. I think I need that. So, it only seems natural that I pine for living in a dorm for a couple of months, for walking around campus, for procrastinating on homework a little too long. (That paper I mentioned before, the one I’m finished with, it’s not due until April 25. I don’t think I’ve ever finished something so early.)
I guess the only thing left to do is ride this feeling out, to hold it for what it’s worth (and it’s worth a lot), to make the most of the time I have. This week it’s two track meets. Then it’s finishing speeches. Then it’s a band concert (Surfin’ USA.) Then it’s diagramming sentences. Then it’s a couple of tests. Then it’s a couple of field trips. Then it’s all over. And thinking about that just got me a little milky in the eye department, something that I didn’t expect but kind of love.
But now... now it’s sleep.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
A pyramid of sheep
Sometimes I forget how to play. Like at recess when I’m walking next to the playground, and I don’t want on the railroad ties. I love railroad ties more than more other things. Or when I get in my car and turn the radio down, because it’s too loud. I don’t believe there’s such a thing as music being played too loud. Or when the wind blows the shades on my window, and for some reason I think that’s enough. But I know that windows have never been enough. And my mind tricks me out of playing.
I think this is because I’m a teacher. I think as a teacher I have to train myself not to play, otherwise I probably wouldn’t get anything done.
Sometimes, though, I spend most of my evening drawing silly pictures on postcards for a second grade class in Georgia and their postcard contest. I draw pictures of a raptor on a motorcycle, a bird king ruling over his snail subjects, a pyramid of sheep, or a hot dog band performing at a wedding reception. Times like that, I’m reminded that I will never forget how to play. Not really. Too much of my twelve-year-old self is always itching to escape.
I think this is because I’m a teacher. I think as a teacher I have to remember how to play, otherwise I probably wouldn’t love what I do so much.
If life was all reminding kids what page we’re on, giving seminars on bullying, spending every day after school reminding students how to do work I’ve already taught them, and chasing down missing assignments, I don’t think any of us (the students or myself) would learn much. Instead, it’s necessary that I throw in some play time. Like shouting random move lines at the track team as they run by me during hills. Like drawing the kids in the after school program pictures of weasels at a disco. Like... like everything.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that there are always going to be days that you forget how to play. It doesn’t matter what job you have or what your profession is. But, as a teacher, there are always going to be days that you remember how to play. And I don’t think you can say that about every job. Some job... sure. But not all of them.
I think this is because I’m a teacher. I think as a teacher I have to train myself not to play, otherwise I probably wouldn’t get anything done.
Sometimes, though, I spend most of my evening drawing silly pictures on postcards for a second grade class in Georgia and their postcard contest. I draw pictures of a raptor on a motorcycle, a bird king ruling over his snail subjects, a pyramid of sheep, or a hot dog band performing at a wedding reception. Times like that, I’m reminded that I will never forget how to play. Not really. Too much of my twelve-year-old self is always itching to escape.
I think this is because I’m a teacher. I think as a teacher I have to remember how to play, otherwise I probably wouldn’t love what I do so much.
If life was all reminding kids what page we’re on, giving seminars on bullying, spending every day after school reminding students how to do work I’ve already taught them, and chasing down missing assignments, I don’t think any of us (the students or myself) would learn much. Instead, it’s necessary that I throw in some play time. Like shouting random move lines at the track team as they run by me during hills. Like drawing the kids in the after school program pictures of weasels at a disco. Like... like everything.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that there are always going to be days that you forget how to play. It doesn’t matter what job you have or what your profession is. But, as a teacher, there are always going to be days that you remember how to play. And I don’t think you can say that about every job. Some job... sure. But not all of them.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Memoirs of a track coach
Well, assistant coach. One might even say an assistant TO the track coach. When our math teacher/athletic director/PE teacher/track coach asked me to help coach track I kind of laughed at the idea. I also reacted right away with, “Probably not.” And days like today remind me why my initial reaction was no. I won’t make it home till seven today, and that’s without working on anything schoolwork related (grading, lesson planning, organizing.) Once I get home I’ll try to plan for tomorrow, work on homework for my research methods class, read the 60 pages of reading I’ve assigned to my classes for tomorrow, and grade papers from my seemingly endless stack of papers. In that way, I’m feeling a bit in over my head. And I laughed because, well, I’ve never been very good at sports, but I’m especially bad at track.
Here I am, though, helping to coach track. I keep track of their times. I haplessly teach a few of them how to throw the discus, conjuring the remaining shreds of memories I have from track my freshman year of high school almost ten years ago.
All of that being said, I’m really thankful I felt guilted into saying yes. (Yeah, it was mostly guilt… at first.) But it’s not guilt anymore. I really enjoy it. I definitely have no idea what I’m doing most of the time, but it’s really nice to take some time out of every afternoon to just relax with the students. Sometimes, I need that time to remind me that they’re human. And sometimes, I need that time to remind them that I’m human, too.
Also, I get a sweatshirt that says coach. Sweet.
Here I am, though, helping to coach track. I keep track of their times. I haplessly teach a few of them how to throw the discus, conjuring the remaining shreds of memories I have from track my freshman year of high school almost ten years ago.
All of that being said, I’m really thankful I felt guilted into saying yes. (Yeah, it was mostly guilt… at first.) But it’s not guilt anymore. I really enjoy it. I definitely have no idea what I’m doing most of the time, but it’s really nice to take some time out of every afternoon to just relax with the students. Sometimes, I need that time to remind me that they’re human. And sometimes, I need that time to remind them that I’m human, too.
Also, I get a sweatshirt that says coach. Sweet.
Da moose, da moose
Today at recess I taught the seventh and eighth graders a bunch of camp songs. They especially enjoyed one about a decomposing moose. Who says I can’t teach science? Thank God for those moments. It’s those moments (and theirs a lot of them) that make up for all the times that teaching seems like it’s too hard, too frustrating, too tiring. I’ve been focusing a little too much on those last three things the last couple of weeks, and I’m thankful that I’ve finally taken the chance to notice all of the things that I find so wonderful.
Like when the band finally plays all the way through “Surfin’ USA.”
Like being the assistant coach of junior high track.
Like one of the sixth graders insisting on calling me Miss Shauvish.
Like taking 33 kids in the after school program roller skating.
Like the fifth graders screaming happy birthday through the wall to disrupt a different class, but I know that no one is in that room.
Like dicey 90’s, PG, Disney movies. (oops)
After a day of class interruptions, late assignments and missed spelling words, it’s important to remember those things.
Like when the band finally plays all the way through “Surfin’ USA.”
Like being the assistant coach of junior high track.
Like one of the sixth graders insisting on calling me Miss Shauvish.
Like taking 33 kids in the after school program roller skating.
Like the fifth graders screaming happy birthday through the wall to disrupt a different class, but I know that no one is in that room.
Like dicey 90’s, PG, Disney movies. (oops)
After a day of class interruptions, late assignments and missed spelling words, it’s important to remember those things.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Peace. Love. Cows.
Last week we had Terra Nova testing, which was moderately stressful to proctor for the first time. However, it was nice to have some time to finish grading and watch the fifth graders show me that they do, indeed, know how to be quiet for an extended period of time.
On the last day of testing, after the last test I was letting the fifth graders read their AR books and work on unfinished homework. I sat as my desk calculating grades, enjoying my last few moments of silence before I'd have to say goodbye to testing for the year. One student opened her desk. Now, technically, she wasn't supposed to be in her desk, so I just watch her for a while. She had a cup of water in her desk and, with a smaller cup, was transferring water to other places throughout her desk. I just watched... baffled. A few other girls in the back row saw me watching and stared in horror, thinking that there was going to be trouble. But I just watched. This went on for several minutes. Finally, I couldn't help it anymore... WHAT?! Was she doing? The girl looked up from her desk, saw I was talking to her, and was seriously offended I thought it was strange she was giving the animals throughout her desk water to drink.
The fifth graders and I are going to need to have a talk about what we do with our desks.
Additionally, one of my fifth grade students has a hooded sweatshirt that simple has a peace sign, a heart and cow.
Peace, love, cows.
Yes, please.
On the last day of testing, after the last test I was letting the fifth graders read their AR books and work on unfinished homework. I sat as my desk calculating grades, enjoying my last few moments of silence before I'd have to say goodbye to testing for the year. One student opened her desk. Now, technically, she wasn't supposed to be in her desk, so I just watch her for a while. She had a cup of water in her desk and, with a smaller cup, was transferring water to other places throughout her desk. I just watched... baffled. A few other girls in the back row saw me watching and stared in horror, thinking that there was going to be trouble. But I just watched. This went on for several minutes. Finally, I couldn't help it anymore... WHAT?! Was she doing? The girl looked up from her desk, saw I was talking to her, and was seriously offended I thought it was strange she was giving the animals throughout her desk water to drink.
The fifth graders and I are going to need to have a talk about what we do with our desks.
Additionally, one of my fifth grade students has a hooded sweatshirt that simple has a peace sign, a heart and cow.
Peace, love, cows.
Yes, please.