Almost every morning when I walk into school someone asks me to do something. Usually it's simple like, "Could you get me a sample of some student work?" or "Could you grab the label maker for me?" Sure, no problem. Today, MFP and I were asked to chaperon the 3-8 grade skate party for students who made their magazine sale goals.
As we pulled up to the decrepit building labeled "Roller Skating," in what the mom I was riding with called the "not as nice" part of town, I started to regret the fact that I didn't wear shoes with socks today, but only a little. I laced skates and clipped roller blades as tight as I could. Then I watched (read: cringed) as my students haphazardly made their way around the rink. Just as they started to improve, another mom walked through the door. Socks. She had gone and bought socks for MFP and me. I knew then that there was no getting out of putting on my uncoordinated show. After showing off my sick rollerblading skills for a while, a couples skate started. At first I questioned it, wondering if a couples skate was entirely appropriate for mainly elementary school students, but a quick glance across the rink assured me it wouldn't be a problem. Friends paired up with friends. A few older boys were helping younger students skate across the floor. Everything was platonic, except for two pairs. Two sixth grade boys had paired up with two sixth grade girls. Now, I only had two options. Get in a huff about it, or enjoy the show... and what a show it was.
They skated around until the song ended and lights came back up, then quickly parted. It was, in short, hilarious. Later, as I stood watching students request songs, one of those boys came up to the music booth. "Can I request another couples skate?" Bingo. All of my questions were answered. Of course they wouldn't have simply done a couples skate for a bunch of young kids. It was requested. The man running the music looked at the students and said, "Sorry, I don't think we have time for another couples skate." The young boy turned to leave, crestfallen. Then the worker called him back, "If you want to skate with her that bad, just go grab her hand. No one will notice. Well, hopefully she will, but no one else."
Romance at the skating rink.
In other news, my fifth graders are creating characters for a novel assessment. The winners so far in my book are Rusty Steve, a rusted knight stuck in his armor, and Crotchety the Elf, an angry old elf who eats children. Perfect.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Flow river flow, flow over me
When the fifth graders enter their classroom tomorrow, it will be pandemonium - all the excitement of a panda without the rarity. I moved their desks today. Granted, they’ve been asking me for a new seating arrangement for weeks. They shouldn’t be too surprised, but I’m certain it will be an ordeal.
Our first quarter just ended. As I sit here, I can’t decide if I want to say it went quickly or slowly. I guess it just went. It went at a pace of its own, absent of time, absent of anything, really. Time is strange for me here. It doesn’t seem like one day passing to next, rather, one endless day that goes on like winter. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s just... this is all I have. The completeness of one goal makes everything meld together, and leaving becomes jarring, almost. I feel like I’m not explaining myself very well. Have you ever been so immersed in a book that you’ve read for hours? Not knowing the time? Not really caring to know? Then perhaps the soft buzz of your phone calls you back to reality, or the light becomes so faint that you can hardly read the page. You’ve forgotten phones or light or life even existed. For that period of time, time didn’t exist. It was just you and your book. Being here, doing this, is like being settling down with a good book. While I’m reading, nothing else matters.
I’ve been praying for patience lately, patience in many aspects of my life. But, today, I’m praying for patience at school. I take it too personally when students don’t listen or forget a book or forget an assignment or forget their heads. It’s not that I take those things as personal attacks upon myself. I don’t. Instead, my reaction is personal to myself. It affects my mood. It affects how I respond to other stresses throughout the day. I don’t think I overreact, but the fact that I react at all bothers me, probably more than it should.
Thankfully, tomorrow is Monday, and Mondays are meant for the soul.
St. Monica pray for me.
Our first quarter just ended. As I sit here, I can’t decide if I want to say it went quickly or slowly. I guess it just went. It went at a pace of its own, absent of time, absent of anything, really. Time is strange for me here. It doesn’t seem like one day passing to next, rather, one endless day that goes on like winter. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s just... this is all I have. The completeness of one goal makes everything meld together, and leaving becomes jarring, almost. I feel like I’m not explaining myself very well. Have you ever been so immersed in a book that you’ve read for hours? Not knowing the time? Not really caring to know? Then perhaps the soft buzz of your phone calls you back to reality, or the light becomes so faint that you can hardly read the page. You’ve forgotten phones or light or life even existed. For that period of time, time didn’t exist. It was just you and your book. Being here, doing this, is like being settling down with a good book. While I’m reading, nothing else matters.
I’ve been praying for patience lately, patience in many aspects of my life. But, today, I’m praying for patience at school. I take it too personally when students don’t listen or forget a book or forget an assignment or forget their heads. It’s not that I take those things as personal attacks upon myself. I don’t. Instead, my reaction is personal to myself. It affects my mood. It affects how I respond to other stresses throughout the day. I don’t think I overreact, but the fact that I react at all bothers me, probably more than it should.
Thankfully, tomorrow is Monday, and Mondays are meant for the soul.
St. Monica pray for me.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Fluorescent Orange Toe Nails
The woman sitting across from me at the coffee shop has them, and they’re terrifying.
As I sat in Mass during our diocesan teachers institute, I noticed all of the familiar faces that had helped me grow both intellectually and spiritually during my time in school. It was both comforting and surreal to realize that I was not one of them. I still don’t really feel like I am. It’s strange to lump yourself into a group of people who you’ve always seen as something distinct and separate from yourself. It’s hard to let yourself be something new.
I feel new, though. I feel more and more every day that I’m supposed to be teaching. I guess it’s hard to explain. They just seem of a different place and time.
I started thinking about them more. What had they meant to me during those formative years? How did they rest in my memory. Not all of them made it into my list of “life changers,” but they all had belonged in a similar place in my history. They were all in some way important.
When I decided I wanted to teach, I thought a lot about the lasting memory I might have on students. Since August, though, that’s something that has hardly crossed by mind. And I’m thankful for that. That’s too much pressure to think about day in and day out. I can only focus on what I can do, right now, every day for my students. I can only hope that they’re understanding something. Anything.
Hopefully some of that pressure with ease with time. But for now, it’s necessary, and heavy like friendship. And I need it, because it keeps my head where I need it.
Even if my students don’t revere me as the one that brought them a love of language, they will remember me.
As I sat in Mass during our diocesan teachers institute, I noticed all of the familiar faces that had helped me grow both intellectually and spiritually during my time in school. It was both comforting and surreal to realize that I was not one of them. I still don’t really feel like I am. It’s strange to lump yourself into a group of people who you’ve always seen as something distinct and separate from yourself. It’s hard to let yourself be something new.
I feel new, though. I feel more and more every day that I’m supposed to be teaching. I guess it’s hard to explain. They just seem of a different place and time.
I started thinking about them more. What had they meant to me during those formative years? How did they rest in my memory. Not all of them made it into my list of “life changers,” but they all had belonged in a similar place in my history. They were all in some way important.
When I decided I wanted to teach, I thought a lot about the lasting memory I might have on students. Since August, though, that’s something that has hardly crossed by mind. And I’m thankful for that. That’s too much pressure to think about day in and day out. I can only focus on what I can do, right now, every day for my students. I can only hope that they’re understanding something. Anything.
Hopefully some of that pressure with ease with time. But for now, it’s necessary, and heavy like friendship. And I need it, because it keeps my head where I need it.
Even if my students don’t revere me as the one that brought them a love of language, they will remember me.