Hi. I made you a list to read. This is a list of Things That Are Annoying Me Today:
1) I slept from 8:30-6:15 and I have been exhausted all day. THESE MATHEMATICS DO NOT ADD UP.
2) I dread teaching my 4th period. I really do. I like 60% of the kids, and the other 40%...I really just want to strangle. Well, no, not really, but sometimes I get really scared that I'll snap and just go "AHHHHHHH! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Today I was trying to wrap up class and these four kids converged in the back and WOULD NOT stop talking. And not only would they not stop talking, but they would not stop talking in SPANISH and I couldn't get a word in edgewise so I just stood there and stared at them. Very pointedly. Until they looked up at me AND CONTINUED TO TALK and I said, "Seriously? You're going to keep talking even though I'm up here staring at you like 'Shut up'?" AND THEY KEPT TALKING. So help me God, my sanity is in danger.
3) My advisor was supposed to come watch me teach the aforementioned 4th period today and he just DIDN'T SHOW UP! Have I mentioned that I am having anxiety attacks about teaching my 4th period? And that my advisor will likely only observe me teaching it once? And that I'd really just LIKE TO GET THAT OVER WITH? Except that I can't! Because he didn't show up!
3b) I emailed my advisor and was very "Hey, you didn't show, hope everything's okay, let me know when you want to come in." The email I get in response says: "See you tomorrow!" No explanation! No apology! No APPROXIMATE TIME OF ARRIVAL! STFU DUDE! I emailed him back to let him know that I only teach one class, from 9:52-10:42 tomorrow, and that if he comes in the afternoon, activities will be going on and there won't be anything to observe. $20 says he screws it up.
4) My cooperating teacher's after-school advice on how to tame 4th period? STALL! Oh great! I'm supposed to make them listen to me by RAMBLING ON AIMLESSLY. Hooray for American education.
5) The books I ordered to be sent to my branch of the library still aren't here and I really could use some escapist leisure reading right now.
6) I have to take the APT in less than a month and I can't get motivated to make flash cards to save my life.
7) I don't know what I'm going to do with my American Lit kids once we finish the unit on Malcolm X. I was GOING to do a unit on "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg but that seems to convoluted and frankly, I don't know my students would handle lines like, "Holy are the cocks of the grandfathers of Kansas." HELP THANX.
8) I have had bad dreams about my old restaurant job TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW. No offense, cafe people, but when I wake up in a cold sweat because I can't remember how Aloha works...that's messed up.
9) It's really cold here.
10) There were no good magazines at the gym.
11) I am 90% sure that fresh figs are finally out of season.
13 October 2009
04 October 2009
Sick Day
For only the third time in my adult working life, I have called in sick. The first occasion was when I was in Yosemite, and a friend was in the hospital two hours away (in lovely Fresno) with a compound fracture and I thought I might not get a chance to see him before he went back to Virginia. The second occasion was when I got the flu in March 2008 and was so achy that I actually cried--more than once!--because it hurt my butt to sit on it.
This third time is kind of lame. I have a cold.
I get sick around this time every year. When I look back on my life, I can clearly remember the circumstances of getting sick every October, because 1) I rarely get sick, and 2) it is seriously an annual occurrence almost to the day. During my sophomore year of college, getting sick coincided with Greek Week and I stupidly figured that a bunch of alcohol in my bloodstream would kill all the germs (wrong), so I kept going to parties all week until finally I fell asleep. At the bar. At 8:00 p.m. on a Saturday night. A trip to the doctor's office showed that a cold had evolved in to a sinus infection AND a DOUBLE ear infection--awesome! (Dumb.) During my senior year of high school, getting sick coincided with the ADPi 5k and it rained and I was so pissed that I had to be sick, standing in the rain, holding a sign that directed people along the route.
This year, being sick coincided with a dinner party that I'd been planning for over a month. Yesterday I woke up with what was obviously going to be A Bad Cold. And last night I had friends over to eat lasagna and swap good books and drink wine and talk about life. After all this planning and anticipation, I wasn't about to let a (bad) cold get in the way! Oh no! So I ate lasagna and gave out a few books and definitely drank too much wine (because clearly I am kind of dumb) and talked about life.
And then I woke up this morning sounding a lot like Barry White.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't let A Bad Cold stop me from going to school. The guilt! The shame! The falling-behind-ness! But this morning when I got up, I took my temperature, and I had a fever. And the cardinal rule for this kind of situation, according to my mother, is You Can't Stay Home From School Unless You Have A Fever. And I did! I had a fever! Which doesn't normally happen when I get colds!
This is as good a time as any to point out that I have a resting body temperature of 97.7--almost a full degree below the "norm" of 98.6. The implications of this are HUGE. For example, if my temperature is 99, that's like other people having a fever of 100! Which is a fever NO DOUBT! When I think of all the times over the years when I was sick and my mom would take my temperature and it would be 98.6 and she wouldn't let me stay home because it was "normal" when in fact it was NOT--I was instead running a low-grade fever--I really could just cry. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DAYTIME TV I WAS ROBBED OF!??!
So. I had a fever. And I called my mom, to 1) ask her what I should do, which was really 2) getting her to justify that I was okay in staying home from school tomorrow, because 3) she's got the strictest standards for that kind of stuff. My mom said what I thought she would--that I should stay home from school. That I had a fever! That meant I could stay home! And even if I DIDN'T have a fever--I should still stay home! To rest up! Because being a teacher is hard work!
Now, here's the rub: having your mom tell you that you're sick and can stay home from school just isn't the same at 25 as it was at 12. At 12, even though you feel like garbage and you're snotting everywhere and your throat has the surface quality of a belt sander--you don't have to go to school! You can stay home and watch Nick Jr. and Sally Jesse Raphael and sleep in your mom's waterbed and eat all the ice cream and then blame it on your brother later! But at 25, you just feel guilty. I waited until 4:00 to call my cooperating teachers to let them know I won't be coming in (after taking my temperature and making sure that I still had The Necessary Fever) because I wanted to see if napping would make a difference. Both teachers were totally understanding--hey, people get sick, I can cover you, no problemo--but I still feel like a schmuck, like I ought to suck it up and go in. Except that I know that if I do, 1) I might still be contagious and give people my sick! 2) it will take me all of this week and most of the next to really "get better, and 3) I will be totally miserable and ineffective. The idea of teaching my 6th period tomorrow makes me want to die.
I know my husband is totally going to give me an eye roll later for staying home (earlier, he was all, "you're an adult and you can do what you want, but I really think you shouldn't stay home tomorrow") but I think it is the best idea. So I'll be here, camped out with my lotion-y tissues and my lo-cal orange juice, and I'll write some lesson plans and all will be okay in the world.
In other news--as of today, my husband and I have been together for 3 years. He says it doesn't count as an anniversary anymore, no not really, because we're married now and the dating anniversary is now a moot point. I say, can it. Because I made a pumpkin-and-chocolate-chip cake that I'm about to cover in cream cheese frosting, and if there's one thing that cream cheese frosting screams, it's THANKS FOR PUTTING UP WITH ME FOR OVER 1000 DAYS!
This third time is kind of lame. I have a cold.
I get sick around this time every year. When I look back on my life, I can clearly remember the circumstances of getting sick every October, because 1) I rarely get sick, and 2) it is seriously an annual occurrence almost to the day. During my sophomore year of college, getting sick coincided with Greek Week and I stupidly figured that a bunch of alcohol in my bloodstream would kill all the germs (wrong), so I kept going to parties all week until finally I fell asleep. At the bar. At 8:00 p.m. on a Saturday night. A trip to the doctor's office showed that a cold had evolved in to a sinus infection AND a DOUBLE ear infection--awesome! (Dumb.) During my senior year of high school, getting sick coincided with the ADPi 5k and it rained and I was so pissed that I had to be sick, standing in the rain, holding a sign that directed people along the route.
This year, being sick coincided with a dinner party that I'd been planning for over a month. Yesterday I woke up with what was obviously going to be A Bad Cold. And last night I had friends over to eat lasagna and swap good books and drink wine and talk about life. After all this planning and anticipation, I wasn't about to let a (bad) cold get in the way! Oh no! So I ate lasagna and gave out a few books and definitely drank too much wine (because clearly I am kind of dumb) and talked about life.
And then I woke up this morning sounding a lot like Barry White.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't let A Bad Cold stop me from going to school. The guilt! The shame! The falling-behind-ness! But this morning when I got up, I took my temperature, and I had a fever. And the cardinal rule for this kind of situation, according to my mother, is You Can't Stay Home From School Unless You Have A Fever. And I did! I had a fever! Which doesn't normally happen when I get colds!
This is as good a time as any to point out that I have a resting body temperature of 97.7--almost a full degree below the "norm" of 98.6. The implications of this are HUGE. For example, if my temperature is 99, that's like other people having a fever of 100! Which is a fever NO DOUBT! When I think of all the times over the years when I was sick and my mom would take my temperature and it would be 98.6 and she wouldn't let me stay home because it was "normal" when in fact it was NOT--I was instead running a low-grade fever--I really could just cry. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DAYTIME TV I WAS ROBBED OF!??!
So. I had a fever. And I called my mom, to 1) ask her what I should do, which was really 2) getting her to justify that I was okay in staying home from school tomorrow, because 3) she's got the strictest standards for that kind of stuff. My mom said what I thought she would--that I should stay home from school. That I had a fever! That meant I could stay home! And even if I DIDN'T have a fever--I should still stay home! To rest up! Because being a teacher is hard work!
Now, here's the rub: having your mom tell you that you're sick and can stay home from school just isn't the same at 25 as it was at 12. At 12, even though you feel like garbage and you're snotting everywhere and your throat has the surface quality of a belt sander--you don't have to go to school! You can stay home and watch Nick Jr. and Sally Jesse Raphael and sleep in your mom's waterbed and eat all the ice cream and then blame it on your brother later! But at 25, you just feel guilty. I waited until 4:00 to call my cooperating teachers to let them know I won't be coming in (after taking my temperature and making sure that I still had The Necessary Fever) because I wanted to see if napping would make a difference. Both teachers were totally understanding--hey, people get sick, I can cover you, no problemo--but I still feel like a schmuck, like I ought to suck it up and go in. Except that I know that if I do, 1) I might still be contagious and give people my sick! 2) it will take me all of this week and most of the next to really "get better, and 3) I will be totally miserable and ineffective. The idea of teaching my 6th period tomorrow makes me want to die.
I know my husband is totally going to give me an eye roll later for staying home (earlier, he was all, "you're an adult and you can do what you want, but I really think you shouldn't stay home tomorrow") but I think it is the best idea. So I'll be here, camped out with my lotion-y tissues and my lo-cal orange juice, and I'll write some lesson plans and all will be okay in the world.
In other news--as of today, my husband and I have been together for 3 years. He says it doesn't count as an anniversary anymore, no not really, because we're married now and the dating anniversary is now a moot point. I say, can it. Because I made a pumpkin-and-chocolate-chip cake that I'm about to cover in cream cheese frosting, and if there's one thing that cream cheese frosting screams, it's THANKS FOR PUTTING UP WITH ME FOR OVER 1000 DAYS!
25 September 2009
Technological Advances
This entry is coming to you in the coolest of cool ways. Because I am writing it on my brand-spankin'-new iPhone. I admit, I was a skeptic. "Who needs to be that connected?" I said.
The correct answer: me. I need to be that connected.
In other news, the trip to Chinatown went great. I had carefully, lovingly made this scavenger hunt for the kids. I looked at signs and went into stores and paid close attention to my surroundings. And what happened? We got down there, and the kids started stopping any Asian person in sight and asking them questions off the list. This was mostly funny, because there is really nothing like hearing one of the
say, "Hey yo! Do you know how much it costs for onepound of dried sea cucumber?"
It took some explaining to get them to realize that not every Chinese person knows every single thing about Chinatown. That, in fact, some of the Asian people they were talking to were probably tourists, too.
Also, yesterday during my seminar, my adviser took the tome to congratulate me on doing a great job teaching while he was visiting me. He said that if I keep up the enthusiasm I have now, I will make a wonderful teacher. I kind of felt like saying, "Dude. I am only that spastic because I feel like I have no idea what the hell I'm doing 90% of the time."
This just strikes me as further proof that if you ACT like you know
what you're doing, people will tend to believe that you really do.
The correct answer: me. I need to be that connected.
In other news, the trip to Chinatown went great. I had carefully, lovingly made this scavenger hunt for the kids. I looked at signs and went into stores and paid close attention to my surroundings. And what happened? We got down there, and the kids started stopping any Asian person in sight and asking them questions off the list. This was mostly funny, because there is really nothing like hearing one of the
say, "Hey yo! Do you know how much it costs for onepound of dried sea cucumber?"
It took some explaining to get them to realize that not every Chinese person knows every single thing about Chinatown. That, in fact, some of the Asian people they were talking to were probably tourists, too.
Also, yesterday during my seminar, my adviser took the tome to congratulate me on doing a great job teaching while he was visiting me. He said that if I keep up the enthusiasm I have now, I will make a wonderful teacher. I kind of felt like saying, "Dude. I am only that spastic because I feel like I have no idea what the hell I'm doing 90% of the time."
This just strikes me as further proof that if you ACT like you know
what you're doing, people will tend to believe that you really do.
22 September 2009
Real Simple
Again with the lists. I have people over on a spontaneous basis, making dinner and playing chess; so sue me.
1) This is now my second week of teaching, and it is going MUCH more smoothly. I think that my kids are now used to me--and, more importantly, I'm now used to my kids. I can anticipate who's going to fall asleep without my noticing, who's going to volunteer answers, and who won't have their homework. Like G.I. Joe said: "KNOWING IS HALF THE BATTLE!"
2) Yesterday I was trying to help a student with her classwork, pointing something out on her paper, and she totally recoiled and said, "YOUR HANDS IS UGLY!" She's not wrong. I've got some ugly monkey paws. I felt a little better when she followed that up with, "...but my hands is ugly too."
3) I was observed by my university adviser for the first time yesterday. This is something that is going to happen 4 times (so 3 more) over the course of my student teaching. Highlights include:
a) Me being super-annoyed because he showed up 20 MINUTES EARLY, thus cutting into my lunch because teachers and students were fluttering around while I tried to eat my salad, telling me that someone was waiting! For me! Upstairs! GO FIND HIM NOW! Dude, I gave you a schedule. Try to follow it.
b) Me being super-annoyed because 6th period was supposed to start at 1:05, and when it didn't start at 1:05 because students hadn't been dismissed from lunch, my adviser gave me Big Eyes and TAPPED HIS WATCH and said, "Time for 6th period, Katherine!" in this ridiculously cheery voice, like I was Alice and he was the Cheshire Cat. Dude, I'm happy for 6th period to start but I'VE GOT NO STUDENTS.
c) Me being super-annoyed because I TOTALLY SAW that he was taking copious notes, but he left before the period was over so that I couldn't talk to him, and I have yet to receive an email. This means I will have to stay EVEN LONGER after my seminar on Thursday. This is only okay because
4) I have an unexpected 3-day weekend! Friday is professional development. My school is going to be doing intensive course descriptions / curriculum overhaul using their new curriculum system, Understanding By Design. I've asked for a UBD workbook, but I apparently can't have one. My cooperating teacher said I could come if I wanted to, but suggested that I probably wouldn't want to, on pain of severe boredom. Hey, that's cool. No school on Friday for me!
5) I'm taking over my third and final class on Monday, and I'm nervous. Mostly because I'll be going through that one-plus-week-of-hell transitionary period again. The 4th period World Lit class is a HANDFUL, to say the least. I love them--they're ridiculously smart--but they are NEEDY PERSONALITIES. Take a room of 24 kids and have every one of them saying at the same time, "Look at me! LOOK AT ME! Help me with my work! Isn't this funny! Let me tell you a story about marijuana! LOOK AT ME!" and it gets difficult to get much of anything done. I think this will be my biggest challenge.
6) I'm taking my first field trip to Chinatown on Thursday, to coordinate with our unit on The Good Earth. 3 chaperones + 30 students + 1 bus + 1 scavenger hunt + Chinatown = hopefully, less chaos than I am anticipating.
7) Figs are still in season.
8) I am debating heading out of town for the Columbus Day weekend. Michigan? Cincinnati? Suggestions?
1) This is now my second week of teaching, and it is going MUCH more smoothly. I think that my kids are now used to me--and, more importantly, I'm now used to my kids. I can anticipate who's going to fall asleep without my noticing, who's going to volunteer answers, and who won't have their homework. Like G.I. Joe said: "KNOWING IS HALF THE BATTLE!"
2) Yesterday I was trying to help a student with her classwork, pointing something out on her paper, and she totally recoiled and said, "YOUR HANDS IS UGLY!" She's not wrong. I've got some ugly monkey paws. I felt a little better when she followed that up with, "...but my hands is ugly too."
3) I was observed by my university adviser for the first time yesterday. This is something that is going to happen 4 times (so 3 more) over the course of my student teaching. Highlights include:
a) Me being super-annoyed because he showed up 20 MINUTES EARLY, thus cutting into my lunch because teachers and students were fluttering around while I tried to eat my salad, telling me that someone was waiting! For me! Upstairs! GO FIND HIM NOW! Dude, I gave you a schedule. Try to follow it.
b) Me being super-annoyed because 6th period was supposed to start at 1:05, and when it didn't start at 1:05 because students hadn't been dismissed from lunch, my adviser gave me Big Eyes and TAPPED HIS WATCH and said, "Time for 6th period, Katherine!" in this ridiculously cheery voice, like I was Alice and he was the Cheshire Cat. Dude, I'm happy for 6th period to start but I'VE GOT NO STUDENTS.
c) Me being super-annoyed because I TOTALLY SAW that he was taking copious notes, but he left before the period was over so that I couldn't talk to him, and I have yet to receive an email. This means I will have to stay EVEN LONGER after my seminar on Thursday. This is only okay because
4) I have an unexpected 3-day weekend! Friday is professional development. My school is going to be doing intensive course descriptions / curriculum overhaul using their new curriculum system, Understanding By Design. I've asked for a UBD workbook, but I apparently can't have one. My cooperating teacher said I could come if I wanted to, but suggested that I probably wouldn't want to, on pain of severe boredom. Hey, that's cool. No school on Friday for me!
5) I'm taking over my third and final class on Monday, and I'm nervous. Mostly because I'll be going through that one-plus-week-of-hell transitionary period again. The 4th period World Lit class is a HANDFUL, to say the least. I love them--they're ridiculously smart--but they are NEEDY PERSONALITIES. Take a room of 24 kids and have every one of them saying at the same time, "Look at me! LOOK AT ME! Help me with my work! Isn't this funny! Let me tell you a story about marijuana! LOOK AT ME!" and it gets difficult to get much of anything done. I think this will be my biggest challenge.
6) I'm taking my first field trip to Chinatown on Thursday, to coordinate with our unit on The Good Earth. 3 chaperones + 30 students + 1 bus + 1 scavenger hunt + Chinatown = hopefully, less chaos than I am anticipating.
7) Figs are still in season.
8) I am debating heading out of town for the Columbus Day weekend. Michigan? Cincinnati? Suggestions?
19 September 2009
Race Relations
WARNING: This blog post includes gratuitous profanity, used in a journalistic manner. I just tell it like I heard it, yo; I can't help the vernacular.
Thus far, Fridays have been pretty whacked-out days. The first week of school was orientation; the second week, we had orientation hoopla; the third week's Friday was 9/11, the remembrance of which you may recall from an earlier post.
This past Friday (Friday #4, for those of you keeping a running tally) was a normal-enough one at the outset. Then, during lunch, my cooperating teacher came over to me and told me that the kids would be getting together for a short assembly about gun violence in this city. Okay, fine; that seems straightforward enough. These kids already know all about gun violence here--realistically, they're probably some of the people perpetrating gun violence in this town.
Now, if you live here in this city (or any other large city in this country, for that matter), maybe you've seen these people. They're the kind of shiftless-looking dudes hanging out at bus stops and train stations with dirty sneakers, trying to sell you a newspaper for $2. Except that these people are NOT HOMELESS, no they are not! Rather, they work for an organization (called Revolutionarie, I think?) that calls attention to police brutality against civilians. Most importantly, at present, they are drumming up support for Anti-Police Brutality Day on October 22 (mark your calendars! wear black to show solidarity! Steve Byrne circa 2003, I AM LOOKING AT YOU).
Yeah--these guys. These guys are the presenters for this assembly.
It becomes rapidly apparent that in no way is this going to be a "short assembly." These Revolutionarie guys have arrived bearing two massive posters covered in short profiles of civilians who have been killed by police in this city over the past 18-20 months. Upon the unveiling of these posters, one female student commences to TOTALLY FREAK OUT. Her cousin is one of the profiles on the poster; he was 16 when he was shot and killed on July 2, 2009, as she stood next to him in an alley.
Any discussion about police brutality toward minorities in poorer sections of the city is going to inevitably lead to one thing: a discussion of race. Forget talking about police, forget gang activity. Forget racial profiling, even. What began has a query for support by the Revolutionarie dudes turned into a shouting match of Why White People Are Out To Get Us in the hands of my students.
I was sitting in the front row, twisting around in my seat, trying to keep up with who was talking and what they had to say. I sat there and mashed my lips together as I heard my students--the same kids that I say "Good morning" to every day, the same kids that I help with late work--say things like "Fuck all the white people!" and "I fucking hate white people!" and "I'd kill all the white people if I could!" and "Every single fucking white person is a fucking racist!"
The whole thing kind of went down in flames. Kids were feeding off of one another's rage, and the teaching staff did little to keep things under control.
So, I sat there. And I listened. And I wanted to cry, a little bit.
I wake up every day and go to that school, where I am obviously, painfully The Young White Teacher Lady Who Knows Nothing About The Ghetto. The color of my skin, and the life that I have led, and the cruelties that both of these things have protected me from, regularly make me say or do or question things that leave my students shaking their heads. "Miz Kate," they say, "how can you NOT KNOW what 'shadiddy' means? How is it that you are 25 and you don't know where to buy a crack pipe?"
Race is such an uncomfortable, gross issue, and it's even worse when you sit in a room full of people where you are irreparably The Other and listen to people you genuinely like count the reasons why they hate you, hate what you stand for, hate your kindness and hate your help. Hate you for condescending; hate you for ignoring them. Hate you for what people you're definitely not related to did to people they probably ARE related to, over 200 years ago. Hate you for being in the room, hate you hate you HATE YOU in case you didn't catch it the first time.
As if, since some white people act like racists now, and many white people acted like racists in the past, it is okay to be racist in return. As if shouting about it is going to solve anything.
It made me think of my junior year of high school, when the race riots were going on in Cincinnati. We heard about them around lunchtime in our suburban high school, and the frisson in the hallways was very much one of "Yeah! Let's go riot! Let's go flip some cars and throw some shit!" That feeling lasted until word got out that the cops had progressed from crowd control to beanbag guns and tear gas. After that, we were frightened down to our little white-kid cores. Being hit with a beanbag?! Shot from a cannon-like mechanism?! That would hurt! No rioting for us!
My students are not afraid of beanbag guns. They are not afraid of tear gas. They are not afraid to stand up in a room full of their peers and mentors and spout their racist ideas at the top of their lungs.
They are not afraid, once the room clears and life returns to normal, to come over to me in the hallway between classes and say, "Miz Kate, I'm sorry that you had to hear me say 'ig'nant bitch' at the end of what I said. It was really low-class."
Man oh man oh man.
Thus far, Fridays have been pretty whacked-out days. The first week of school was orientation; the second week, we had orientation hoopla; the third week's Friday was 9/11, the remembrance of which you may recall from an earlier post.
This past Friday (Friday #4, for those of you keeping a running tally) was a normal-enough one at the outset. Then, during lunch, my cooperating teacher came over to me and told me that the kids would be getting together for a short assembly about gun violence in this city. Okay, fine; that seems straightforward enough. These kids already know all about gun violence here--realistically, they're probably some of the people perpetrating gun violence in this town.
Now, if you live here in this city (or any other large city in this country, for that matter), maybe you've seen these people. They're the kind of shiftless-looking dudes hanging out at bus stops and train stations with dirty sneakers, trying to sell you a newspaper for $2. Except that these people are NOT HOMELESS, no they are not! Rather, they work for an organization (called Revolutionarie, I think?) that calls attention to police brutality against civilians. Most importantly, at present, they are drumming up support for Anti-Police Brutality Day on October 22 (mark your calendars! wear black to show solidarity! Steve Byrne circa 2003, I AM LOOKING AT YOU).
Yeah--these guys. These guys are the presenters for this assembly.
It becomes rapidly apparent that in no way is this going to be a "short assembly." These Revolutionarie guys have arrived bearing two massive posters covered in short profiles of civilians who have been killed by police in this city over the past 18-20 months. Upon the unveiling of these posters, one female student commences to TOTALLY FREAK OUT. Her cousin is one of the profiles on the poster; he was 16 when he was shot and killed on July 2, 2009, as she stood next to him in an alley.
Any discussion about police brutality toward minorities in poorer sections of the city is going to inevitably lead to one thing: a discussion of race. Forget talking about police, forget gang activity. Forget racial profiling, even. What began has a query for support by the Revolutionarie dudes turned into a shouting match of Why White People Are Out To Get Us in the hands of my students.
I was sitting in the front row, twisting around in my seat, trying to keep up with who was talking and what they had to say. I sat there and mashed my lips together as I heard my students--the same kids that I say "Good morning" to every day, the same kids that I help with late work--say things like "Fuck all the white people!" and "I fucking hate white people!" and "I'd kill all the white people if I could!" and "Every single fucking white person is a fucking racist!"
The whole thing kind of went down in flames. Kids were feeding off of one another's rage, and the teaching staff did little to keep things under control.
So, I sat there. And I listened. And I wanted to cry, a little bit.
I wake up every day and go to that school, where I am obviously, painfully The Young White Teacher Lady Who Knows Nothing About The Ghetto. The color of my skin, and the life that I have led, and the cruelties that both of these things have protected me from, regularly make me say or do or question things that leave my students shaking their heads. "Miz Kate," they say, "how can you NOT KNOW what 'shadiddy' means? How is it that you are 25 and you don't know where to buy a crack pipe?"
Race is such an uncomfortable, gross issue, and it's even worse when you sit in a room full of people where you are irreparably The Other and listen to people you genuinely like count the reasons why they hate you, hate what you stand for, hate your kindness and hate your help. Hate you for condescending; hate you for ignoring them. Hate you for what people you're definitely not related to did to people they probably ARE related to, over 200 years ago. Hate you for being in the room, hate you hate you HATE YOU in case you didn't catch it the first time.
As if, since some white people act like racists now, and many white people acted like racists in the past, it is okay to be racist in return. As if shouting about it is going to solve anything.
It made me think of my junior year of high school, when the race riots were going on in Cincinnati. We heard about them around lunchtime in our suburban high school, and the frisson in the hallways was very much one of "Yeah! Let's go riot! Let's go flip some cars and throw some shit!" That feeling lasted until word got out that the cops had progressed from crowd control to beanbag guns and tear gas. After that, we were frightened down to our little white-kid cores. Being hit with a beanbag?! Shot from a cannon-like mechanism?! That would hurt! No rioting for us!
My students are not afraid of beanbag guns. They are not afraid of tear gas. They are not afraid to stand up in a room full of their peers and mentors and spout their racist ideas at the top of their lungs.
They are not afraid, once the room clears and life returns to normal, to come over to me in the hallway between classes and say, "Miz Kate, I'm sorry that you had to hear me say 'ig'nant bitch' at the end of what I said. It was really low-class."
Man oh man oh man.
17 September 2009
Fell on Black Days
Has the honeymoon period ended? "So soon!" you say. Yes, friends, the age of difficulty and disillusionment may be upon us.
I have two cooperating teachers. One, I like a lot and I wish she'd give me constructive criticism (so far, all I've been told is "be more mean!") and I wish she'd be more present in the classroom to see how I'm doing, but she's in and out and altogether not around. The other--she's just okay, I guess, she means well--but she is THERE ALL THE TIME and constantly interrupting my instruction to tell the class about how what we're reading relates to her home country in Africa in these 10-minute tangents, and my students are very "we don't care."
There are 13 students enrolled in my 6th period class. Today, four showed up. And one left early. TO MAKE THINGS EVEN BETTER, the student who asked to leave early didn't even ask me--she asked my cooperating teacher. Who said yes. Without consulting me or telling me what was going on. Consequently, I couldn't collect that student's homework.
IT GETS BETTER.
I have no desk, or place to put my crap. I mentioned this, right? As a result, I feel like I'm constantly disorganized because there is no place for me to put my stuff when I'm teaching. Today, my university advisor suggested that I keep my belongings in the department office and I almost started laughing because DEPARTMENT OFFICE? We don't even have a teacher's lounge!
Also, whose great idea was it to have students read a 400-page novel about agrarian China in the early 20th century??? It is day one of reading the novel and my kids are already bored to tears. The book gets better once you get into it--and I told them as much--but they seem unconvinced. I can't blame them. I know that a great teacher can make even the dullest material come alive, blah blah blah and all that other Dead Poets Society crap--but throw me a frickin' bone here! I'm new at this! Don't make me teach something that students are immediately finding to be boring and irrelevant and obscure!
Today, I had a student say, "When can we read something else?" And I almost, but didn't, say, "In another 390 pages." But it's true; I doubt my coordinating teacher would appreciate it if I switched gears completely mid-stream. Because I'd much rather teach Things Fall Apart or Night or some other piece of shorter, more accessible World Literature, and instead I am mired in the fields of China for the rest of my forseeable life.
Hoo boy. Okay.
So. Let's look at the bright side:
1) I still love my students.
2) It's Thursday, and I had my seminar, and then came home to my wonderful husband making spaghetti sauce from scratch.
3) Tomorrow is Friday.
4) Figs are still in season.
I have two cooperating teachers. One, I like a lot and I wish she'd give me constructive criticism (so far, all I've been told is "be more mean!") and I wish she'd be more present in the classroom to see how I'm doing, but she's in and out and altogether not around. The other--she's just okay, I guess, she means well--but she is THERE ALL THE TIME and constantly interrupting my instruction to tell the class about how what we're reading relates to her home country in Africa in these 10-minute tangents, and my students are very "we don't care."
There are 13 students enrolled in my 6th period class. Today, four showed up. And one left early. TO MAKE THINGS EVEN BETTER, the student who asked to leave early didn't even ask me--she asked my cooperating teacher. Who said yes. Without consulting me or telling me what was going on. Consequently, I couldn't collect that student's homework.
IT GETS BETTER.
I have no desk, or place to put my crap. I mentioned this, right? As a result, I feel like I'm constantly disorganized because there is no place for me to put my stuff when I'm teaching. Today, my university advisor suggested that I keep my belongings in the department office and I almost started laughing because DEPARTMENT OFFICE? We don't even have a teacher's lounge!
Also, whose great idea was it to have students read a 400-page novel about agrarian China in the early 20th century??? It is day one of reading the novel and my kids are already bored to tears. The book gets better once you get into it--and I told them as much--but they seem unconvinced. I can't blame them. I know that a great teacher can make even the dullest material come alive, blah blah blah and all that other Dead Poets Society crap--but throw me a frickin' bone here! I'm new at this! Don't make me teach something that students are immediately finding to be boring and irrelevant and obscure!
Today, I had a student say, "When can we read something else?" And I almost, but didn't, say, "In another 390 pages." But it's true; I doubt my coordinating teacher would appreciate it if I switched gears completely mid-stream. Because I'd much rather teach Things Fall Apart or Night or some other piece of shorter, more accessible World Literature, and instead I am mired in the fields of China for the rest of my forseeable life.
Hoo boy. Okay.
So. Let's look at the bright side:
1) I still love my students.
2) It's Thursday, and I had my seminar, and then came home to my wonderful husband making spaghetti sauce from scratch.
3) Tomorrow is Friday.
4) Figs are still in season.
15 September 2009
Best conversation of my student teaching career thus far:
Juice (no, his name is not actually Juice, but if you call him anything BUT Juice, he will ignore you): Miz Kate, what's opium?
Me: Opium is a really strong drug. Like heroin.
Juice: Will that shit fuck you up?
Me: Yes. That shit will fuck you up.
So I'm two days in, teaching my own classes. I've taught one double bell of World Lit, and one bell of American Lit, and so far, so good. Though I do have the following conclusions:
1) No matter how foolproof and awesome and engaging you think your lesson plan is, you will get in front of the class and actually have to teach it, expect them to do your carefully-planned activities and do the readings that you so lovingly selected, and you will think: Oh my god, what was I thinking, this whole lesson is a TERRIBLE idea! At this point, you are stuck, and you have no choice to do what you've planned to do. And it will probably be pretty much fine. I had a professor once who told our class that we would be wonderful teachers if, at the end of the year, we looked back on the things/way we taught at the beginning of the school year and cringed. Uh, yeah...is it appropriate to cringe at the end of the day?
2) Observing is not the same as teaching. "Your kids" will think you are totally cool when you are just the casual observer, offering comments and extra help. But it's a totally different thing once they are finally your kids--when you're the one writing hall passes and collecting homework and giving grades. Students who were congenial and talkative will suddenly become sullen and skeptical. You will have to win them over. Again. I've decided it's nothing personal. Also, see #1.
3) Your library card is your friend. Your best friend (unless it wasn't already--in which case, FOR SHAME!). It is because of my library card that I was able to locate, reserve, and have shipped to my local branch in a timely fashion the documentary on Jim Crow laws that's currently in my bag, ready to go for tomorrow. Approximate time spent on searching, procuring, and screening: 20 min. Most excellent.
4) Your accordion folder is your second-best friend. The problem with being a student teacher is that there's no place to put your stuff. As in, you have no desk, no filing cabinet, no closet space. Everything you bring with you, you take home again, and vice-versa. Having to organize handouts, homework (graded and non-graded), late work, ongoing assignments, etc. for three (or four) classes is virtually impossible without an accordion folder. If you find of or know of some other, more ingenious way of organizing, please tell me. For now, I want to give my accordion folder a hug for being so awesome.
5) I will be distraught when fresh figs are no longer in season. Not related to teaching, but totally cool.
6) I have been careful to give my students space to warm up to me; I am a minority in my school, in that I am one of two white women who work there, and one of three white women who are there on a regular basis. I didn't want to crowd them, or be boisterous, or seem nosy or overbearing. Now, on week four, they're finally starting to warm up to me, I think. I guess they had to sniff me out a little, see what I was about. Today on the bus, I ended up sitting near two of my students. We didn't talk about anything earth-shattering--cars and cell phones, hello high school--but it was nice to feel like they weren't going to ignore me after we made eye contact.
7) I love my job. I do. I guess it's not my "job," but it's what I do every day that takes up the bulk of my time, so it's a job even though I'm not getting paid. This is the first time in a long time (since, to be exact, I was working at a hotel with my husband and had a crush on him and looked forward to going to work so that I could be around him) that I've looked forward to going to work. Today I realized that I'm already well into week 4 out of 15 and I got really sad. In week 4! Maybe by week 15 I'll be sick of everything...but for now? I love what I'm doing, my students are (almost) all incredibly rockstar, I've got good lessons going, I'm staying balanced.
I can definitely, definitely do this for 30 years.
Juice (no, his name is not actually Juice, but if you call him anything BUT Juice, he will ignore you): Miz Kate, what's opium?
Me: Opium is a really strong drug. Like heroin.
Juice: Will that shit fuck you up?
Me: Yes. That shit will fuck you up.
So I'm two days in, teaching my own classes. I've taught one double bell of World Lit, and one bell of American Lit, and so far, so good. Though I do have the following conclusions:
1) No matter how foolproof and awesome and engaging you think your lesson plan is, you will get in front of the class and actually have to teach it, expect them to do your carefully-planned activities and do the readings that you so lovingly selected, and you will think: Oh my god, what was I thinking, this whole lesson is a TERRIBLE idea! At this point, you are stuck, and you have no choice to do what you've planned to do. And it will probably be pretty much fine. I had a professor once who told our class that we would be wonderful teachers if, at the end of the year, we looked back on the things/way we taught at the beginning of the school year and cringed. Uh, yeah...is it appropriate to cringe at the end of the day?
2) Observing is not the same as teaching. "Your kids" will think you are totally cool when you are just the casual observer, offering comments and extra help. But it's a totally different thing once they are finally your kids--when you're the one writing hall passes and collecting homework and giving grades. Students who were congenial and talkative will suddenly become sullen and skeptical. You will have to win them over. Again. I've decided it's nothing personal. Also, see #1.
3) Your library card is your friend. Your best friend (unless it wasn't already--in which case, FOR SHAME!). It is because of my library card that I was able to locate, reserve, and have shipped to my local branch in a timely fashion the documentary on Jim Crow laws that's currently in my bag, ready to go for tomorrow. Approximate time spent on searching, procuring, and screening: 20 min. Most excellent.
4) Your accordion folder is your second-best friend. The problem with being a student teacher is that there's no place to put your stuff. As in, you have no desk, no filing cabinet, no closet space. Everything you bring with you, you take home again, and vice-versa. Having to organize handouts, homework (graded and non-graded), late work, ongoing assignments, etc. for three (or four) classes is virtually impossible without an accordion folder. If you find of or know of some other, more ingenious way of organizing, please tell me. For now, I want to give my accordion folder a hug for being so awesome.
5) I will be distraught when fresh figs are no longer in season. Not related to teaching, but totally cool.
6) I have been careful to give my students space to warm up to me; I am a minority in my school, in that I am one of two white women who work there, and one of three white women who are there on a regular basis. I didn't want to crowd them, or be boisterous, or seem nosy or overbearing. Now, on week four, they're finally starting to warm up to me, I think. I guess they had to sniff me out a little, see what I was about. Today on the bus, I ended up sitting near two of my students. We didn't talk about anything earth-shattering--cars and cell phones, hello high school--but it was nice to feel like they weren't going to ignore me after we made eye contact.
7) I love my job. I do. I guess it's not my "job," but it's what I do every day that takes up the bulk of my time, so it's a job even though I'm not getting paid. This is the first time in a long time (since, to be exact, I was working at a hotel with my husband and had a crush on him and looked forward to going to work so that I could be around him) that I've looked forward to going to work. Today I realized that I'm already well into week 4 out of 15 and I got really sad. In week 4! Maybe by week 15 I'll be sick of everything...but for now? I love what I'm doing, my students are (almost) all incredibly rockstar, I've got good lessons going, I'm staying balanced.
I can definitely, definitely do this for 30 years.
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