Am I Done Yet?

So, the final writing assignment and what to even write? I am so drained yet so stressed I don’t even know how to function anymore. So maybe the constant feeling I have been hiding inside of me is best to write about?

The Job Search…

The most terrifying experience of my life. The constant reminder of everyone around me saying, “don’t stress” and “you’ll get a job don’t worry.” But it is so easy to say that when you’re the one who already has a job, or don’t have to get their first “big girl job.” This stress that is sitting inside of me and eating at me daily is starting to make me sick. I literally have had a headache for the past two weeks thinking about how I haven’t even been thought about in an offer for a job, yet the others in the cohort are being offered jobs and plenty of interviews. So, the real question is what’s wrong with me? Am I not suppose to be a teacher after all?

All these unanswered questions that I fear will never get an answer along with never getting a job. So, what to do? I guess just breathe, finish school, walk at graduation, and pray. I’ve never been so scared to graduate and most importantly fail. Because if I don’t get a job I will feel like the biggest failure of them all. This whole first year teacher thing could literally cause a mental breakdown.. which is quickly on its way and I don’t know how to stop it.

So, for now I will continue to make myself sick and pray until I find out I failed or made it out alive like everyone else. But the overall looming question…. AM I DONE YET?

Leaving the Nest

At the beginning of July 2017, a young owl named Eliza was brought into this crazy, loud, fast-paced world. As she opened her large eyes and looked around, she was paralyzed with fear. How the heck could she survive? She had no idea what to expect. There were so many responsibilities ahead that she felt she would never be prepared to handle.

Luckily, Eliza was given a friend named Tracy that was more than prepared to take her under her wing. Tracy would teach her how to hoot, how to flap her wings, and prepare her to fly. Eliza enjoyed how closely Tracy looked after her. Her friend was always there to coach her and tell her what to do.

As Eliza’s confidence grew, Tracy began to panic and became stricter on allowing Eliza to take flight whenever she wanted. The older bird was worried that Eliza was not ready, and she was even sad to see that the young owl no longer needed her anymore.

Towards the end of their eighth month together, Eliza was showing Tracy a few new tricks she learned at school. She was excited to implement these new strategies into her flight when Tracy yanked her back into the nest. Tracy reprimands Eliza, and tells her that the only right way to fly is the way Tracy taught her.

Eliza was upset. She thought Tracy would be impressed with her new-found independence and confidence in the sky, but instead, Eliza felt like she was being held back from who she really wanted to be. It was then that Eliza new the only way she could reach her full potential would be for her to leave the nest, and create a home of her own.

The young owl will always respect and appreciate her sweet friend, Tracy. There are many lessons that Eliza will carry with her forever. But, there comes a time when one nest become too small for two independent, strong-willed birds. Eliza takes off–her black and gold feathers glistening in the light ahead–with a heart full of gratitude for her past, as well as readiness and confidence to take on the future.

The Final Countdown!

Cue the music! Insert some cheesy rock from eighties, and let’s do this! (Listen for my air guitar to the only song I know from the band, Europe, “The Final Countdown.”)

Thirty days. Yep…less than thirty days left before this whirlwind of college is officially over (for now). I find myself dreaming of a moment of stress-free days that include lounging by a pool, sipping on tropical drinks, and reading a book of my choice.

SCREECH!! The needle on the record comes to a painful screeching halt.

“Does that mean all of my stress will disappear like a bad eighties hairband?” I wondered.

“Could it be just an Aqua-Net-induced haze?” I thought to myself.

Going through a yearlong clinical experience of student teaching can certainly be qualified as stressful. Ironically, the stress begins even before you step one foot onto a high school campus. It begins when you anxiously await the email from the placement office to tell you which school you have been placed in. Let me digress for a minute…

The university asks you to complete forms online to indicate your preference of schools that you would like to be considered for placement. You see many counties listed in and out of the metro area. You get excited that you can actually select a district close to your home to ease the commute process. You make your selections by district and by school. Then, hit submit. Voilà! A sense of relief comes over your body as you envision teaching at the school of your choice—perhaps your Alma Mater or the school you wish you had been able to attend.

Relief is replaced by excitement as you know that you have selected at least four schools that you would be happy with if placed at any of them. Now, the waiting game begins.

March passes with no contact from the placement office.

April follows suit.

May arrives and you begin to hear chatter that some students have been notified of their placements. You check your email feverishly. Nothing.

May drags on. Still nothing.

Your professors tell you that the placement office is having trouble getting enough spots for the number of students needing placement and that notifications may not be finished until June or July. (Insert more stress here!)

 

You briefly regain your composure. Then, the email arrives. You open it and learn that the school you have been placed in is not one that you had selected. In fact, it’s not even in the county that you selected. You text your cohorts and learn that they also have been placed in what seems to be random schools. Once you realize that your placement is only a thirty-minute commute and some of your friends have an hour or more, then you find some peace with it. You gain an even greater sense of peace as you find out that some students are still awaiting placements.

Summer begins to wind down and you report to pre-planning. You meet your new collaborating teacher and get excited.

“It’s real! It’s really happening! All of these education classes and temporary stints at other schools are finally over and I’m going to be teaching at a high school.”

In pre-planning, your collaborating teacher tells you what her expectations are, and they sound daunting. You are up for the challenge. Then, you learn that the materials used in previous years are not being used this semester because the county has adopted a new textbook that is required to be used—exactly as written—this semester. This means you will be writing ALL NEW LESSON PLANS.

After a brief gasp, you decide to take this in stride.

You spend the next several days drafting lesson plans in the English Education format for the first few weeks of classes so that you will be adequately prepared.

Your new students arrive. Everything seems good—really good. You teach the first lesson and realize that all of your hard work and practice has paid off. It feels good to be (somewhat) in charge of the classroom and the learning. The week continues and you start to feel a sense of calm come over your body.

Then, your email dings. It’s from your university. Your three new syllabi for the semester have arrived in your inbox. As you open each 10 to 14-page syllabus, that sense of calm rapidly leaves your body.

(Don’t even get me started about the online classes during YCE!)

Cue the music again. This time, it’s R.E.M. on blast singing, “It’s the end of the world as we know it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

~ can i breath now? ~

Despite the fact that I took over the last three class periods of the day during the two weeks before spring break while my CT’s wife waited indefinitely to give birth to their second child, I must say I am jumping out of my skin in wait for my own classroom. The dream student teaching year might have been one where a classroom was completely and totally mine, with the guidance of the lead teacher ever flowing as an energy of support for my ever-growing, research-minded practice. That one class would be mine to plan, mine to assess, and mine to research with my very young, energetic practice. But that’s not exactly how it turned out.

Day one of student teaching, as I walk through the hallways with the assistance of a well-regarded veteran teacher, a strong, proud woman. I turn the corner to my CT (whom I recognized from facebook searches). My heart jumps up my throat and straight into my mouth:

Oh my UG why are my eyes so wide right now? I feel a heart attack coming. Swallow and breath. I’m sure there’s a logical reason for why he didn’t answer your email for so long. Just calm–

“HI! Are you Mr. Sea?” My sweaty palm reaches out to greet him as I struggle to hold all of my belongings so I can take notes in my first faculty meeting. I somehow manage, I hope, to wipe my hand on something before shoving it over to him to shake.

Is this him? Oh god, he’s already angry with me. What did I do? His face is like he doesn’t want me to be here oh GOD WHY IS HIS MOUTH SO DRAWN DOWN HE HATES ME AND WE…we don’t even know each other yet. Calm down.

“Hi, there!” Turns from friend. “CC, isn’t it?”

Okay, I don’t think he’s hate-ful, but he might just hate me. That’s good. CALM DOWN OH MY GOD.

“Yes sir, I am! It’s so nice to meet you!”

I honestly can’t remember if we ever shook hands. For some reason, I feel like he didn’t see mine, but that might be me projecting. Probably so. But then again, I might have began to reach out, but then quickly shot my hand up in a waving, spastic gesture out of intimidation, which is most likely what actually occurred.

We walk into the meeting and sit in the front rows of the theater. Coach Sea gets his phone out and begins snap chatting. I smile and feel relaxed by his nonchalant attitude. Other teachers seated look much more stern and either bitter, tired, anxious, or generally excited. The coaches all seem to have the same easy-going, loud, joking attitude, and they sit together. I stick out like a sore thumb.

Oh my god I hate my hair like this. Well, at least I look like I’m trying to play the part. All these people look amazing! Oh my gosh I’m a teacher! Am I? Oh look, there’s B (a fellow student teacher)!

In this meeting, I took notes for my CT while he played on his phone. Seventeen years a teacher and two years a retired football coach. He seemed delighted that I was taking care of things. At the end of the day, he decided we could be friends because I left my cup in the room with liquid in it and forgot it, which meant I was a good enough person to be around.

Throughout the first semester, I spent time really getting to know my kids. My CT showed his love for the kids through his down-to-earth, yet stern and stable, interactions with them. But he was so tired. And so ready to coach track in the Spring, where he would be truly happy.

Oftentimes, Coach Sea would confide in me about his issues with the atmosphere of our high school:

“You can have the classroom when I’m gone. It’s all yours. I might not even make it through this year.”

“CC, I got to tell you, I’m just ready for new problems.”

“CC, the students here are so likable. But they’re just not into school. Which, I mean, I wasn’t either, but I need them to be.”

“I mean, CC, you sign a contract because you have a wife and two kids”                       – A conversation held after trying to see if he still wanted me to take his position

I took in a lot of bitterness this year. My CT and I have a more than amicable relationship, don’t get me wrong–but there was a point where I really didn’t know if I could take it anymore.

“Like what is the point, CC? What is the point if the school doesn’t even care?”

“Okay, that sounds great, CC, but let’s do this thing instead which takes way less work on both ends even though it doesn’t fulfill the objectives you were going for. What are objectives?” (I might have paraphrased)

I stopped taking my antidepressant without the permission of my psychologist (whom I stopped visiting a little abruptly) in October after loosing my job as a group exercise instructor. I wasn’t completely thinking things through the way I should have been, and I wanted to blame the medication, though I’m not sure why I thought my boss had accepted my vacation and wouldn’t have an issue with me being gone that long despite the fact I taught 7 classes at least every week. I wanted to know that I could handle all of this on my own, without the assistance of lab serotonin, which by the way, can really mess up your sleep cycle; however, I would not recommend stopping it nearly cold turkey, especially if you’re the only one you’re listening to, because if you were prescribed it in the first place, it’s probably because you’re at least a little self degrading and maybe don’t always have your best interest as much in mind as you think. Don’t stop seeing your doctor, kids. But if yours also makes you feel like a load of honky, then stop seeing them, and see another one. Especially if your family history is full of alcoholics, people who have committed suicide, and at least one of your parents has severe manic depression. Just a little advice.

As the year progressed into January, the month of complete devotion into February, 5 weeks of non-stop collaboration with my burnt-out, kind hearted but tired CT whom I would much rather just be buds with, I got pretty down.

Kids filed in for first period; I welcomed my laptop to all the other options I had for my life. It began with deciding to go to a smaller school, one where the administration might even know my name. A home school–all ran by women who don’t have any openings, so never mind then. A private school, maybe one where I can teach a religions course without having to be a proponent of any particular cult belief. Or…maybe just tutoring. Yeah, I don’t want to become tired and sad. I’ve seen what it does to people. Maybe I should just be a tutor or a librarian, like Coach wants to be. Because what’s the point of being a teacher if I can’t teach how I want and all my students want to do is exactly what they’re told? What’s the use of leading a group of students that have no interest in their education, especially when I put it in their hands like I’m supposed to? I’m done. I’m done I’m done I’m done.

Like I said, things got a little bleak.

Thankfully, when winter subsided, so did all the bleakness. I was forced into learning more about myself than I have ever had the audacity to do.

I turned down a job after accepting the position because it wasn’t teaching, and that’s what it took for me to accept my fate. I love helping other people develop their metacognitive skill. That’s why I love to teach. I love seeing people grow and become deep thinkers, empathetic and bold and strong. And my students never did anything wrong. Well, at least, I know I was slipping through the cracks, and that’s why I was seeing the negative.

Now when my CT feels down, I have to push that energy away while still being supportive. Now when the negative thoughts try to take over my thinking, I remember that I am not that wave or that wall of self doubt–and I don’t have to give into it. I am stronger than that. I am braver than that. I write sticky notes of encouragement on my laptop. I write to explore my current state of confidence because I know now that I need to. I wouldn’t have ever known myself quite so much without the hell that has been this year.

And then again, this year has been absolute heaven.

I didn’t know I could influence so many people so positively just by helping them think.

So, I can’t wait to say “it’s mine” when I walk into my room and make all my own plans and focus on loving my students and myself, but I can also really dig this present moment.

I’ve never had a more introspective year in my life. Now, when I walk into a faculty meeting, I’ll know for certain that I belong.

 

 

Above it All

Wednesday, a student walked into class and put on a red hat. I didn’t notice when he put the hat on, but while the students were working on their journals, one of his friends at their table called me over and asked, “Annabell, do you like his hat?” I looked at the hat, only to see that it read, Make America Great Again. I walked away without saying anything. My CT told them that she was very disappointed in them. After class, one of the students came up to me and apologized, saying he didn’t mean to offend me. After that, the student who was wearing the hat came up to me and asked, “Does this hat offend you?” I told him yes; explaining that I come from one of the shithole countries Trump referred to, I’m black, and I’m a woman. The crazy thing is, when Trump made his comment about “shithole countries,” we talked about it as a class. It’s not like they didn’t know or weren’t aware of what the hat symbolizes. He apologized, saying that he doesn’t support Trump, that it was just a joke. I told him I didn’t find it funny. He said he was sorry and didn’t mean to offend me. I accepted his apology and went about my day. The very next day, another student from a different class period came in with the same hat on. The thing about this kid is that I know for a fact he’s racist. (This has been confirmed by my CT several times) Once I noticed he had the hat on, I went up to my CT and told her that I’m not dealing with the hat joke again; especially not from him. After class, I went to the bathroom and cried for a solid 10 minutes. It appears that the student who first wore the hat to class had been passing it around to his friends, because another student walked into 5th period wearing it and passing it around to his peers; laughing hysterically.

During lunch, one of the teachers sat down to eat with me and like people normally do, asked how I was and how my day was going. I got teary eyed and he asked me if I was okay. I told him no. He asked why and then asked if I wanted to talk about. I don’t normally talk about how I feel, but I was clearly emotionally and didn’t mind talking through the situation with him. I told him about the hat and as I was about to explain why I was offended by it, he told me there was no need to explain why the hat would be offensive to me. He told me he was furious and asked what he could do to help. He then apologized on the students’ behalf and said if I needed anything, to talk to him or hide out in his classroom. Talking to him made me feel better, because he shared with me how the students would sometimes say racial derogatory comments against him as well, and that he hates that I had to deal with it too. I felt better talking to him but was of course still emotional.

Throughout the day I debated texting Dr. Davidson to tell her what happened and asked what my options were if I didn’t come back, but I knew what she would say, “You can’t let this get to you.” “You’re stronger than this.” “Let this be a teaching moment for you.” “I don’t think you have a choice but to stay.” I doubt she would’ve said that I don’t have a choice but to stay, but if she had, she would’ve been correct. I already bought my plane ticket to leave on April 5^th, I have two more observations to do with my CT, one more to do with her, and I have to complete my required hours in my placement. No matter what, I couldn’t go home so I decided to deal with it.

At the end of the day, my CT came up to me and said she had a “talk” with the student who originally brought the hat to school. To be honest I was disappointed in the way she handled the situation. She told me that, “because of the culture he comes from, he didn’t understand my reasons for why I was offended.” She said that he didn’t, “see it from my perspective.” And that the students only really saw it as a “joke.” She then proceeded to tell me that this was a “learning experience” for me and the students. That I could make this a teaching moment for them. She also said this would let them see me vulnerable. She then askedme if I wanted to take disciplinary action against the students or make it a learning opportunity for them or do both. She told me she “had my back” but not once in my conversation with her did I feel that way. It was as if she was making excuses for their behavior. That because they’re rich they don’t have a moral compass to understand how something like this would be offensive to someone like me. As if the student who originally brought the hat to class couldn’t possibly understand that sharing it with his friends, all while knowing why it offended me, was okay. If I’m completely honestly, I didn’t feel any better after talking to my CT.

While my CT was telling me about her “chat” with the student, the other student teacher who came abroad with me, Clementine, walked in and heard some of the conversation. On our walk home, she asked what happened and I explained the situation to her. She, like the teacher I spoke with during lunch was upset. She advised me to talk to Ashley, the IF, or someone else. I told her I wasn’t going back tomorrow (Friday) and just needed to take a day to step back and collect myself. When we got home, I went to my room and cried myself to sleep. I didn’t eat dinner that night and I guess my host mom was asking what was wrong with me because Clementine told her that something happened with me and my students and for her to ask me. She came up to my room and asked what happened and I told her (obviously not the full story because of my lack of Spanish.) Anyway, she told me that I had to go back the next day because if I didn’t, the students would win, and I am stronger than that, I have a beautiful heart, and that my skin color doesn’t matter. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have gone back. Talking to her made me feel a little better, and I had decided to make something good out of a terrible situation…lemons to lemonade and all.

So, with the help of my childhood friend from the states, I came up with a “lesson” about what’s been going on since Trump’s election, how hate crimes have drastically risen, and that making America great again doesn’t mean good for me; given the 246 years of slavery, the 89 years of segregation, the remnants of discrimination and racism still present today. The lesson was meant for the two classes where the hat was brought in. I wanted the lesson to teach them how the hat, although it is just a hat, symbolizes the hatred that plagues the United States. I felt that this was the best way for me to address the situation; to not attack the students, but to teach them to be cautious of how certain things can be offensive and why.

I walked into class Friday morning, in a better mood than I was the day before. My CT asked what they were doing today, and I explained it to her and she completely shut the whole thing down. Her reasoning was that her teacher intern had to teach my lesson plans. I then told her that he was still teaching my lesson plans. Her response was that, “yeah, but we have to keep the students on the same track.” She then proceeded to tell me that, “It was only two students who had interaction with the hat.” Which I later explained to her was not the case.

We went outside and talked about the whole thing. She sat down and asked me, “How do you feel?” I told her I felt embarrassed, disappointed, and heartbroken. I explained to her how I felt she made excuses for the students’ behavior. I explained to her why I was offended. Throughout the conversation, she was trying to get me to see the situation from the perspective of the student who purchased the hat. That he didn’t mean anything by it, and that if I wasn’t there, she still believed the hat would’ve made its way into the school. I told her I didn’t agree with that, which opened up a conversation on how the situation would’ve played out if I were in the states and a student brought in this particular hat. I then explained to her that hats aren’t allowed in schools in the states, but even if they were, another student, teacher, administrator, or even the bus driver would have said something to the student before they got into my classroom with the hat on.

When I began to explain to her how the students in 5^thperiod were passing the hat around, she explained to me that the reason she didn’t take it away was because it was a hot day, and the UV Rays were the highest they’ve ever been, so the students needed the hat to protect them from the sun. (No other students in the class had a hat on.) She ended the conversation saying that if we take the words off the hat and just look at them, “We all want to make America great and at the end of the day, the hat is just a hat.” At that point, I left it alone. She didn’t understand where I was coming from, nor did she understand why. I knew the hat was just a hat. That’s not what upset me. She didn’t get it and when I told her she didn’t, she asked me to explain it to her. But I just told her that I couldn’t; which was true. If a person cannot look at this situation and see whyand howI would be affected, there’s nothing I can say to make them see it.

Later that day, Clementine’s CT, Joselin, asked if I could tell her what happened, and I did. She, like Clementine and the teacher I spoke with the day before, understood. In fact, she was legitimately livid. She too apologized on behalf of the students and told me that this was not what Colegio Menor believes in. She then asked me what disciplinary actions were taken against the students and I told her what my CT told me, “They’re working on it.” This wasn’t enough for her and she asked if she could verify to make sure that the administration was aware of what happened. I told her yes, thanked her, and left.

I’d be lying if I told you this situation hasn’t tainted my experience here. Throughout my time here, I’ve experienced subtle racism from some of the people. It’s in the way they look at me, or the guards’ puzzled faces when I tell them I work here, or how one of my students still doesn’t make eye contact with me when I talk to him. I now wonder what my experience student teaching abroad would have been like had I gone to Trinidad and Tobago. I can’t help but think I probably would have felt like less of an outsider. I probably would’ve been happier. I probably would have not have gone through this situation. But you live, you learn, you grow. Through it all, I’m still thankful for having been here, because it showed me that I have the strength and courage of my ancestors and even after this, ‘still I rise.’

Everyone Sleeps

Life is a beautifully wonderful thing. There are so many little aspects that make it so.  Like the change in season from Winter to Spring when you walk outside and suddenly notice that the flowery fragrant air is profoundly more delicious than the overpriced department store perfume that sits on your dresser. When the air is so crisp and new that you take a deep breath, as deep as you possibly can, but find yourself disappointed in the limited capacity of your lungs because all you want to do it breathe it in until the cool feeling in your lungs reaches the tips of your fingers and your toes. In moments like those it feels as if time has frozen and nothing else exists except for you, and the flowers, and the crisp, new air. Moments like those are dreamy, weightless, almost if you are momentarily sleeping.

Like I said, life is beautifully wonderful. But let’s be honest, it’s also incredibly hard.

In February, as  Spring semester finally settled in, the wave of responsibilities and struggled that exist in my life seemed to be growing larger and more daunting by the day. I was struggling to manage them and keep my head. Then one day,  as they always do, all of the responsibilities and struggles seemed to come crashing down on me at once. My mind was in a constant state of angst and stress. I barely slept, ate when needed (often due to the prompting and reminders of loved ones) and worked through the personal struggles and required work. Endlessly, tirelessly, worked

My saving grace was undoubtedly my students. The simple fact that every day I was able to walk into my school and teach from 8:30 am to 3:30 pm, that was my motivation. Just make it into the building and you’ll be fine, is a phrase that I repeated to myself on a weekly, if not daily, basis for awhile. Why? This may be difficult to explain but I will try my best. Simply put, it felt like sleeping.

I remember one day specifically, as I walked into the building, my mind going a mile a minute, I heard a small voice chirp “Good morning, Ms. Turk!” from down a hallway. I turned towards the direction of the voice and saw a small group of my students cluttered around the door to their first-period class, waiting for Mr. Connors to open the door. That was all it took, the buzzing in my mind completely stopped and I was calm. Throughout the remainder of the day, I realized this pattern.

-Gathering supplies and preparing for the day, no students – Buzzing
-The first student walks into my classroom, followed by the rest of my kids and the lesson begins – No buzzing
-Lunch in the break-room, no students – Buzzing
-Lunch bell dings and the hallway is full of rowdy students, class resumes – No Buzzing
-Students leave my last period and planning begins – Buzzing
-Final bell rings and students drop by to chat – No Buzzing

In the moments, that are filled with my students, when I am able to do what I truly love, I am at perfect peace and nothing else matters. It feels as if I am sleeping.

Just this past week, it dawned on me that this feeling was not only being experienced by me. As my students and I dove into an enthralling  Socratic Seminar on Fitzgerald’s renown novel The Great Gatsby,  the discussion was so in depth and the students were so engaged that we all lost track of time. So much so that when the bell rang, signifying that third block had come to an end, a few students were so startled that they jumped. From the rest of the class, I heard a mixture of “Wait, what? There’s no way that was an hour and a half!” and “I can’t believe that went by so fast.” From the dull roar of my students, I heard one of my girls say, “What just happened? Is this real life? Wow, I feel like I just woke up from a nap or something!” then a murmured, “Ugh I don’t want to go to Chem”. That’s when it hit me, I had just created that dream-like state of engagement for my students. The kind that I encounter every day when I’m with them. The type of environment where they too forget about the struggles that await them for a brief ninety minutes, as they, dare I say it…love what they are doing.

That has now become my goal, every day. To create an environment in my classroom that is so engaging and relevant to my students that they have a taste of what I experience every day as I do what I truly love. My goal is to create a classroom where everyone sleeps.

I need to graduate. I need to grade journals. I need to do my professional reading. I have work at 4. I need a job. I need to write 10 cover letters. Wow, I have 2,000 emails. I need to take graduation pictures. I need my cap and gown. I have class at 5. I need to do my laundry. I need to make my bed. Table 24 needs ketchup. I need to go to the store. I need to do my online work. I need to read my bible. I need to greet that 12 – top. I need to get my oil changed. I need to send out graduation announcements. I need to charge my phone. I need to submit my applications. I need to journal. I need a vacation. I need to clean my room. I need to cut my hair. I need to submit resumes. I need to schedule an observation. I need to pay that ticket. I need gas. I need to do that lesson plan. I need to find an apartment. I need to pack a lunch. I need to buy a graduation dress. I need to give my online class an….. HONEST evaluation of the course. I need to pay my deposit for Hawaii. I need to grade reflections. I need to see my friends. I need to prepare for this graduation party. I need to graduate.

The thoughts of an exhausted student teacher as she stands at the drink station making 3 waters, one with no ice, 2 with lemon, and a coke. She stares down at the coffee she longs to finish, but knows it will have to wait. They say you shouldn’t work your senior year… They were right. She leans over to her favorite manager and whispers, “I love you guys but I can’t wait to only have one job.”

28 days, 8 hours, 3 minutes, 8 seconds until graduation …. Not that she’s counting.

The exhausted student teacher goes on autopilot as she carries the drink tray out, and she goes back to her own thoughts: I’ve reached a point where I get to celebrate this triumph. I have come to love the sound of Ms. (insert last name because this blog is anonymous). I can graduate and stop serving tables.

Though I’ll never stop learning… I am excited to take a break from being a student. I’m ready to teach. I’m ready for my to-do list to exclude the college related, job finding related, and server related tasks.

Notes of the narrator to the reader: {Just look back at that to – do list… without the underlined tasks it’s way more do – able}

Debbie and Amanda are at table 44, “We’re going to miss you serving us, but you’re going to be a great teacher you know.” The student teacher / server smiles at them, and she knows she’ll miss it too… but it can’t come fast enough. She debates whether or not to tell another funny story from third block, while also wondering if she already told them that one. “I’ll miss it too, but I can come eat with you instead of serve you. I can tell you about my crazy day with the crazy teenagers.” She replies.

Maybe she’ll kind of miss this place, but man she can’t wait to spend her days in the classroom.

28 days, 7 hours, 58 minutes, 15 seconds …. 14, 13, 12

The Teaching Sixth Sense

 

I am going to preface this last post by saying I am switching up the way I write this one. Instead of writing this post in third person, I have decided it will look best in first person. With that being said, let me begin to tell you about the teaching sixth sense.

I am not exactly sure when the teaching sixth sense completely takes over your body, but it inevitably will. I first realized I had acquired the teaching sixth sense when I was at the mall. Due to the fact that it was a weekend, I was looking like a bum. When I walked in the mall, I immediately felt my teaching sixth sense tingling. It was as if I could smell there were students in the mall. I shook off the thought of seeing a student and continued to walk the mall. Right when I started to doubt that my teaching sixth sense was real, it happened. I saw a student. Not only did I see a student, I saw a student shopping for clothing that was most definitely not dress code. Immediately, I smacked my roommate and informed her we had to leave at that very second. She quickly said, “Lol are you serious?! We just got here! There’s no way we’re leaving!” My roommate did not understand the severity of the situation.

As I rushed out of the store, my roommate reluctant followed. Right when I thought I was in the clear, it happened again. BOOM! Just like that, I ran into another student. Luckily, this one was just working at the mall, but it was still uncomfortable. I swear there truly aren’t words to explain how uncomfortable it is to see a student outside of the classroom. After the second student citing, I decided it was time to call it a day. I sadly walked out of the mall and accepted that my life was never going to be as carefree as it once was.

From that day on, my teaching sixth sense has only gotten stronger. I can always sense when I am about to run into a student in public. I can hear students talking from across the room, even when I don’t want to hear what they’re talking about. I can see students with the eyes in the back of my head. Lastly, I can hear a rushing freshman barreling around the corner miles before I’m about to turn a corner.

Although I was skeptical about the teaching sixth sense, it is in fact real. And word on the street is that it only gets stronger with time!

What if someone wants crescent rolls?

I hope you’ll accept this brief invitation to join me for Christmas dinner at my granparent’s house. I promise you won’t be the only unrelated guest. You see, I have one of those families that takes in anyone who wants or needs to be there. This philosophy extends to twice-removed-family, friends, occasional strangers, and absolutely any stray animal (we don’t care if we’re late or have to risk getting run over–that dog is coming home with us). So, join us. You’ll walk in a stranger and leave with ten new Facebook friends, too much personal knowledge of those new friends, a twenty-pound plate of leftovers, and a stocking with your name on it.

My Grandmama is the voice of welcome behind these invitations, and it shouldn’t surprise you that she’s an educator. She has dedicated her entire life to making sure that the people she loves (especially her students and grandchildren) have every opportunity to be happy and successful. Long before differentiation became a trendy education term, she mastered it.

I’ve always been comforted by the understanding that my Grandmama in many ways teaches her family the way she taught her students. She taught me to love reading, and then she read aloud to me when Red Badge of Courage threatened to beat that love out of me. She doesn’t make us raise our hands at dinner, but she does make us stop to appreciate life’s teachable moments. So I can’t say it surprised me when, over a conversation about Christmas dinner with my roommate, I realized that my Grandmama differentiates for her family — right down to the menu.

Last Christmas, I stood in the kitchen with Grandmama and my dad (and probably ten other people) as we stole tastes and made the final preparations for our meal. The small kitchen somehow functions like Mary Poppin’s purse: the more people and food and laughter we cram in, the more room we have. With warm dishes on well-loved trivets concealing every inch of counter space, our menu included (but was not limited to) the following:chicken-n-dumplins, chilli, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, squash casserole (because carbs are a vegetable on Christmas), brocoli salad, regular salad, probably pasta salad, honey ham, country ham, rolls, biscuits, etc. This is not to mention the table of appetizers and desserts downstairs.

Our excitement for the feast that was about to send us all into Christmas comas was interrupted by Grandmama’s sudden,

“Oh no! I forgot to make the crescent rolls!”

My dad, trying to at least partially conceal his amusement, looks around and reassures her, “Momma, we’ve got regular rolls, biscuits, and crackers; I think we’ve got plenty of bread.”

“But what if someone wants crescent rolls?”

With soft chuckles of understanding, none of us protest further. We pull out the cookie-sheet, and dinner is served while the crescent rolls turn brown and perfectly flakey in the oven. Sure enough, between the initial carnage and my brother’s three trips back to the kitchen in the next few hours, the crescent rolls are gone by the end of the day.

Did someone at Grandmama’s house really need crescent rolls? The weight we all gain each Christmas suggests not. But Grandmama made damn sure that there was something at Christmas dinner for everyone to love.

That, my friends, is why it takes me so long to write lesson plans. I may already have the engaging short story, the guided notes, the group activity, the chalk-talk, the journal, and the funny video to seal it all together,

but what if someone needs the graphic organizer?

I am genetically predispositioned (thanks, Grandmama) to not rest until I am sure that each student has had multiple opportunities to understand, and perhaps even enjoy, my lessons. Sure, planning takes a while, and my students may end up throwing away empty graphic organizers. But I never know which piece of material will change the way they understand literature, so I prepare them all.

I can save the biscuits for leftovers if no one wants them today; go ahead and make the crescent rolls.

True Teachers Teach Anywhere

I’ve gone back and forth, struggling with whether or not I’m good enough to be a teacher, whether or not I want to be a teacher, whether or not I know what I’m doing at all. The amount of self-doubt I’ve felt is, at times, overwhelming. And I was just waiting for a sign, any sign, to tell me if these steps I’m taking are the right ones.

Then, I had a sudden realization. If there was a “sign,” then it was this one, and it was around much longer than I’d suspected; it was around before I even decided to transition into this major. True Teachers Teach Anywhere.

My entire life, I have taken advantage of moments where I could teach something to someone. In elementary school, I was a leader of small groups because I learned quickly and finished work early. So, teachers would put me in charge of teaching and helping other students. In middle school, I was a peer mentor, teaching students “life lessons,” rather than academic lessons. In high school, I tutored various friends in different subjects. In university, I’m a writing tutor and have been paid by students to edit papers and by other adults to edit books. It’s always been there; I just didn’t know that the universe placed this sign in my life years before I would need it.

While on spring break, I was in Las Vegas, enjoying some freedom and forgetting about all my responsibilities. But when I found out that my sister had multiple assignments missing (her mother loves to pull her out of school, which is why my father takes care of her on weekdays), I chose to put my teacher cap back on. We spent days working on science, history, language arts, math. And then, when my dad’s girlfriend needed to submit documents for a custody hearing, I took the time to read through each document, and she asked me to teach her, not just correct her work, so she could do this on her own in the future. We spent hours discussing comma usage, sentence structure, and inessential clauses. When we were done, I headed to bed.

I laid in my bed for an hour, feeling really good about all the help I gave my sister and my dad’s girlfriend. And that’s when I realized that the feeling I got, right then, is the same feeling I get when I leave the classroom everyday. It hit me; I’ve always been a teacher. I have always taken the opportunity, no matter what, to teach others. I am a teacher, so why would I spend so much time questioning something I’m already doing? True Teachers Teach Anywhere, even if it means putting the teacher cap on after hours.