Pack it up. Pack it in.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

To be virtuous. To be...

I’m never more aware of my shortcomings as a teacher than when I go to camp. Of course, I didn’t know that until last weekend. I’m pretty sure last weekend was the first time I had been back to camp since August, since I started teaching. And that’s kind of terrifying, when you consider I had visited at least monthly for the four years before that.

I was just so much more relaxed, at ease, more able to joke, to kid, to connect with the campers in a way that I don’t think I can as a teacher, at least not as often.

I don’t really know why they’re different... but they are. They are so distinctly different. Where at school I quickly lose my patience with students talking, at camp I simply move on, or address it calmly. I think I do that at school, too... but after doing it day in and day out for months the effect starts to wear off. It starts taking more, and requests start feeling like threats of missed recess, and you don’t realize how much you hate doing that until you’re back between snow coated trees, repeating over and over again that “No, we can’t do any more melt-a-beads.” But the reaction isn’t frustration; it’s laughter, because it’s comical how many times you’ve been asked.

I don’t think camp and school have to be as different as they seem right now, in these moments where I feel the gap is a distance I dare not try to travel. Today I started out saying, I’m going to try to have patience like I have at camp. It’s 2:20 right now, and I’m sure I failed before lunch was even thought of. It’s going to be harder than I want it to be... most things worth doing are... but I want to start to bridge that gap. I need to.

Thin Mints

There’s nothing quite like sharing a box of Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies with your students.
I think one of the greatest lessons I’ve learned while teaching has been forgiveness. In a way I’m talking about a teacher’s ability to forgive and forget when a student misses an assignment, disrupts class, comes unprepared. But I don’t really consider those offenses things that need forgiven anyway, more skills that need learning. No, what I’m really impressed by every, single day is my students’ ability to forgive me. I’m not perfect, not even close. In fact the number of times I mess up on a given day is embarrassing. Maybe I let my frustration show more than it should, or I check a problem wrong that shouldn’t be. Perhaps I don’t get a whole story when disciplining a problem, or I don’t give directions as clearly as I could. And maybe those aren’t things that call for forgiveness always, either, but their things for which my students are perpetually patient.

Teaching, for me, nourishes the soul. The thousands of questions that bombard me every day, that cause me to acquire a slight twitch in my left eye, are also the things that make me smile, laugh and learn.

A couple of weeks ago the fifth grade had a Valentines Day party. Technically, the fifth grade was required to bring everyone a Valentine, if they brought any, but the Valentines…. lovely. I got a stuffed elephant. Hello!?!? Wonderful.

D(W)riv(t)er's Ed.

"Miss Davis? What can you do with an English degree other than teach?"

Fair question. Sort of.

I told them you can do a lot of things by studying English. You can write. You can edit. You can teach. You can study what other people write. You can critique. You can continue learning forever. I think the real question they were asking, though, was, "Why do we need to learn English." They've certainly asked that before. I told them that every job they will ever have or could ever imagine having will require them to be able to communicate effectively, to write properly, to read carefully. That is why they have to learn English.

I think my students like me. And I know it's not necessarily about whether or not they like me. I know that. But I think they do, and I prefer that they do. I do know, however, that most of them do not like English, do not like learning about English. And regardless of whether or not it should bother me, it does.

I want them to understand, at the very least, why learning how to speak, write and read well is important, why it matters. I want them to value their growing ability to express themselves intelligently. I want them to enjoy learning the way I've come to love learning. Often, though, it's hard for me to make that connection.

I know I often fall into this habit of making my teaching about me, about what I'm experiencing, and that's a little self-righteous. But I know it's not, its just that that's the only perspective I have.

My students are bright. My students are witty. My students can think for themselves. They cannot, however, bring themselves to care about past participles, indenting paragraphs, poetry. I don't know if I blame them. I mean, indentation is pretty thrilling, really... but all the same... they've GOT to learn how to indent. Can I make indentation fun? Can I wow them with past participles? Can I get them on fire for reading Onion John? I don't know. I try.

When you decide you want to teach. It's all rainbows. It's all butterflies, until you realize that rainbows are optical illusions and you're terrified of butterflies. Haha... no... that's a little bit of exaggeration, not quite hyperbole, though. It's wonderful. It's wonderful in a way that it challenges you every single day to try harder. You can always try harder, and, I guess, you have to in order to live up to any of your own ideals. You might be reading this, thinking what a hypocrite I am teaching English. I use and abuse language with reckless abandon. But I've always been under the assumption that once you know language you have some type of license to mess with it a little, to start your sentences with conjunctions, to write fragments, to use a few too many ellipses. I want my students to earn their language licenses.

That's so Magis

The fifth grade had a reading test last week. Part of the test asked questions about a time line. The time line included eight events. One of those events was women gaining voting rights in the United States. The last event was the invention of the television. Simple enough, right? One question on this part of the test read: Would you have been able to watch  news coverage about voting rights for women on your television? Most students answered: No, because the television was not invented yet. However, two students did not. These two both had similar answers, but I enjoyed this one in particular: No, I wasn't even a speck in my parents' eyes. Clever. The fifth graders are clever.

It was technically correct... full credit.

Teaching, it's everything isn't it? You'll never understand it unless you do it. It's something that's not meant for everyone. I think it's meant for me. It's a kind of work that I don't even notice as work, just... being. For me, it's being. And I keep looking back on all of the criticism I had for my teachers growing up, all the times I felt like I was given the shaft because my teachers weren't doing enough for me. All the times during college that I looked at educators throughout the country with such disdain. I wanted them to quit selling their students short. I look back at those feelings I had and laugh... or sigh, whichever seems easier at the time. I didn't know anything. Because you just don't know unless you do it.

There are times now, too, when I look at what I'm doing and say, "Don't sell your students short." But it's not as easy as just saying that. I can work all day, every day to try to offer my students the best education I can. And it seems like my colleagues are doing the same... and, still, there will be things that we miss, things that we cannot explain entirely, students who will not hear everything we say, parents who will not support all the efforts we make. It's really overwhelming when you think about it. Even though I feel like I'm working all day every day, there's still so many times when I want to do more, when I want to do better.

It's times like those that I most remember prayer. It's such an easy thing to forget, even though it's so important. And I pray for a lot of thing, but, especially during those time, I pray that my students are more forgiving than I was, that my students are more open minded than I was, that my students are more caring than I was. Because none of my educators sold me short... not really. They worked their tails off, teaching us what they could with the time and resources they had. Then they had to pray that we had the sense to find the rest out on our own. Most of us did.

This week is Catholic Schools Week, and today is snow day number two of this week. That means we'll be missing our skit shows, which (for my sanity) I hope we make up. The fifth grade has spent too many hours arguing over what we're doing for it to be canceled completely. Since I've started working at a Catholic school, every week, but especially this week, I've been thankful for Catholic schools. I've been much more thankful than I ever was when I went to a Catholic school. Inevitably in a Catholic school there are some things that are off limits for education. Usually these things have to do with inappropriate material. But really, most schools are going to limit that type of material. Growing up, I thought that missing out on those things meant missing out. What I didn't realize were the things I was gaining. For Catholics, Catholic schools offer a type of education and moral guidance that not only isn't taught other places, but also isn't allowed other places. I'm thankful I have this venue to put education in broader terms for families and students who are looking for that.

I Whip My Hair

I’ve always been drawn to the wrong side of the tracks. Maybe it’s the fact that things don’t seem as polished on the wrong side of the tracks, the same way I find an old, tattered book much more interesting and valuable than a new one, or the the way a thin layer of dust on the shelf makes everything feel like home. Maybe it’s the fact that people seem more interesting on the wrong side of the tracks. They’re so much more willing to share their entire stories... because they have fewer reasons to hide anything. Or maybe it’s just the trains. I’ve always loved trains. It’s just that... on the right side of the tracks, there are too many lines to toe, too many appearances to keep up. Don’t confuse what I’m saying with right and wrong. I’m not talking about good and evil. I’m not talking about sin, necessarily. I’m talking about sometimes accidentally hanging a left when you should have gone right.

You see, Isaiah said that Jesus would come from Galilee. And Galilee was the wrong side of the tracks. Jesus couldn’t have come from Galilee... but he did. He became a light in the dark that was all around him.

I like the wrong side of the tracks because it’s darker. On the right side of the tracks there’s so much light. It’s beautiful, but it’s blinding... incessant. On the the wrong side of the tracks you have to work harder to see the light. You have look farther. But once you find it... you’ve never valued the light so much until you’ve been in the dark, the thick, black of nothing. It’s only in the darkness that the light starts to regain its meaning, it’s beauty, it’s necessity. I pray that all of us work to wander to the wrong side of the tracks in our lives, to bring light to the darkness, to help other see.

Shake The Dust

Sometime between screaming at the cows outside of Cozad, Neb., and now I heard singing. I'm always hearing singing.

Our new classes started today. There's so much work to be done. There's so much life to be lived. There's so many songs to be sung. And those things... those things are such beautiful reminders of how much I need to live in this moment, where melting earth and humming wind and booted feet hold everything together.

If I don't live here, I let myself live everywhere else. And I think over and over again about what's next. And I can't stand to think of what's next, because it means that all of this comes to an end. And I hate endings. I don't want this to end. I don't want this moment to stop. The teaching, the learning, the children... they've shook a sleeping part of my soul. And I hate how cheesy that sounds. But it sounds like it is. And that part of my soul is screaming at me to do more...

To love a world that needs loving.

To help a world that needs helping.

To save a world that needs saving.

And that might just save me.