You Can't Step In the Same River Twice

As I was driving home from my last day of classes, I started thinking about next semester. This semester I was bogged down with six classes at two different schools in two states. I started my day in NJ teaching three different remedial writing courses with three different preps. After classes ended there, I commuted to Southeastern PA where I taught two sections of one course. On Wednesdays, I had an evening English Comp I class. In case you were wondering, I burned out around week seven.

Next semester will be a lot different as I was only offered one course. In thinking about this course, I had an epiphany while passing the airport. I was looking at the planes concentrating on the road and thinking about fight or flight. Then it dawned on me: in my (brief) teaching career, I have never taught the same class twice. Ever. I started out as a long term substitute teaching American Literature and Rhetoric in a private high school. I moved to the community colleges where I am teaching remedial classes. Next semester will be the first time I am teaching the same course for a second time. I would say it's scary, but it's not. I am no expert, but next semester I will have something I have never had with any of my teaching gigs: time to prepare.

I was hired to replace the high school English teacher on a Monday and told I would start that Wednesday. I was hired at the NJ community college a week before classes started. At the community college in PA, I was hired the Friday before classes began the following Monday. I have had NO time to prepare for any of the classes I have been asked to teach. Yes, I am not a perfect teacher and I still have a lot to learn, but I work REMARKABLY well under pressure. Both my students and I completed all terms with incredible results.

As for next semester, I know it won't be the same. It will be at the same school (which is new) and it will be the same course, but everything else will be different. Greek philosopher Heraclitus (or Pocahontas from the animated Disney film) said "You can't step in the same river twice." Whichever source you chose to associate the quote, the meaning is the same. It is impossible to expect the same results out of a situation regardless of its similarities to another.

I could possibly have another batch of ESL students who are struggling to make the grade, but I'll never have the SAME ESL students. It is possible that I will encounter more lazy students, but I will never experience the same level of laziness that I experienced this semester. It's impossible. That's life.

In the midst of change one thing remains the same: I love teaching. There is nothing else in this world I would rather do. As long as I go into each class with a heart that is willing to lovingly impart knowledge to my young adults, I know everything will be just fine.

NCTE Part I or Junot Diaz is so Jersey, It Hurts

The National Council of Teachers of English Conference kicked off this Thursday in Philadelphia. As an English teacher, I felt so motivated to attend and be amidst thousands of other like minded people for the duration of the weekend. Though my experience at NCTE was not what I expected, more on this later, hearing Junot Diaz speak was exactly what I needed.

Allow me to set the scene: It was a rainy, Thursday night in Philadelphia. There were hundreds (flight delays and fatigue weeded out the winners) of English teachers in the great ballroom of the Philadelphia Convention Center. We were all there, wide eyed and squirming with anticipation. There was a distinguished panel of important NCTE folks on the stage in front of us. Among them sat the honored guest, Junot Diaz, in a hoodie and a pair of jeans. He looked aloof and almost bored as he sat through the introductions and various awards presented to extraordinary English teachers throughout the country. He was then introduced by an Amazonian Diaz groupie graduate student who promised to be brief, but was not. All the while, Diaz had his head down and was rubbing his forehead. When the Amazon was finished displaying her adoration for Diaz, he approached the microphone. He is barely audible at first, then he warms up and says, "If I knew you were going to be giving out so many goddamn awards, I would have gotten a drink." He then uttered another obscenity and said something about "getting his drink on." I sat back and was amused at exactly how Jersey Junot Diaz actually is.

I really don't think my constituents were prepared for what was about to ensure. Thursday night, Diaz's Jersey was unabashedly hanging hanging out and I felt right at home. Diaz said a lot of things, including that "We [teachers] teach this civilization into existence." He talked about how we have an awesome responsibility to mold and guide the future of America, but we are devalued, marginalized, under appreciated, and under paid. The room seemed to be in general agreement with this sentiment.

The part I found the most striking about his address was when he stated that monsters, like vampires, lack a reflection. He went on to say, "We create monsters [in our children] when there is no literature where youth find a reflection of themselves." Growing up, he didn't see himself reflected anywhere; not in teachers, not in literature, not in government. He had no reflection. He was invisible. This metaphor made me look around the room. It made me think back to graduate school and my undergraduate days and then back to high school. THIS is the exact same problem I have been struggling with my whole adult life. There has been no reflection of myself in my instructors in high school, college, or graduate school. I am fortunate enough to have been born after the Black womanist movement and I have immersed myself in the works of Barbara Smith, June Jordan, Toni Morrison, and Alice Walker (whom I am still mad at) and Ntozake Shange whose work, for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf, was one of my saving graces in college. There were a handful of familiar faces that presented these works to me, but there were scores of unfamiliar faces where they came from. This struggle seemed to continue as I looked around the room that evening. I will delve into this more in another post.

The point is, he is right. We, as teachers, have an obligation to expose our children to literature that reflects them and speaks to their experience. It is an awesome charge, but one that is not easily accomplished with "canonical punishment." (Which is a struggle I have with high school English curriculums.) How can we expect them to want to read and understand what they have read if they are presented with books that don't speak to them?

When I taught at a private high school last year, I taught The Crucible to my 11th graders and then I taught them Octavia Butler's Kindred. Teaching The Crucible was a little like pulling teeth. They were reluctant readers. They didn't get it and they didn't want to get it. Why? Because it was impossible for them to relate to it. When it came to Kindred, they perked up. They took notice. Yes, it's set in the 70s and in the antebellum South, but there were situations on the novel that spoke to their experiences. Interracial relationships made one student perk up. White privilege rattled another one. My Korean exchange student drew a parallel between the antebellum South and the homogeneity in her culture. In short, the novel spoke to them. It wasn't didactic or archaic. It was approachable and able to suit their needs as readers and as students.

When all was said and done, I had my most reluctant student score an "A" on both the final exam in the class - something he had NEVER done before. I had another student tell me that Kindred made her want to read again. These kids suffered from what Diaz calls "canonical punishment." They've been tossed and expected to catch works that are so far removed from their reality as students. I can't blame them for not wanting to read when the books selected for them are so dreadful.

I knew I needed to do something to keep them engaged. Diaz argued that "we cannot understand the novel except through collective action." I'd read Kindred four times before I taught it and the understanding I took from it was remarkably different when they got a hold of it. I brought in my tattered copy and I read it with them. We experienced it together. I took notes on their interpretations and their feelings on the subject. They wrote reaction journals, which I read and commented on. Reading Kindred was a collective effort that was built on love and understanding. It was, what Diaz calls, "a journey of discovery" for all of us. As with all journeys of discovery, "mistakes [were] intrinsic." We worked through them together and emerged triumphant.

Junot Diaz is a real educator who really cares about how to make this world a better place through our students and their understanding of the world through literature. He has written some of the most incredible works of literature including the 2009 Pulitzer Prize winning novel, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Mention this and he rubs his forehead. Even without such a prestigious award to add to his already impressive list of accomplishments, the man understands the need for "motherf$%ers to read." He advocates for a Utopian society where we read and are literate without sacrificing the experiences of the Other. He told us this in a hoodie and jeans using obscenities and street slang much to the chagrin of the red faced gentleman at the end of his table. He deserved his standing ovation and I am grateful that I got to see him. He was so Jersey, it hurt.

Now if only the rest of the conference was like that, I would have gone back.

On Educational Leadership or What's God Got to Do With It?

In the light of having some very promising interviews not work out because of issues with the right fit, I am left to ponder the value of educational leadership. I have worked in both the private and public school sectors and I fully comprehend the politics of the process. No one said it would be fair, but I understand how it works. Educational leadership has the ability to make or break this process.

In the instance of the school where I did my first year of teaching, the educational leadership is poor, at best. He, unfortunately, has the final say in everything. I say "unfortunately" because the decision of this man do not serve the greatest, highest good of the students. As it is an independent school, the institution would crumble without the students whose parents pay tuition for their children to be prepped for college. Sadly, there are public schools surrounding this particular school that do a better job in this area. Allow me to explain.

The school does not have a media center. That's right. No media center and no books. In short, no library for the upper school. It has one computer lab with about 15 computers. All of the software licenses have expired and there is simply "no room in the budget" to buy the programs. (They were originally running by less than savory means of appropriation.) There are no computers or instructional technology in any of the classrooms. Students do not know how to perform simple tasks like saving items to the desktop or saving a document to a flash drive. The school does not have ANY people of color on the faculty save for one; the Spanish teacher who was recently demoted in order to make room for a current faculty member's sister to teach in her place. I could go on, but somehow I think you're starting to get the picture.

What the school does have, however, is a brand new sprinkler system in the baseball field, a brand new fence around the perimeter of the property. It has recently acquired real estate on an adjacent street. The purpose of this purchase is unknown. The sports teams have new uniforms...

The point I am trying to make is that the school is a college preparatory school where little to no money/effort is going into prepping the students for college. This is because of the current educational leadership in place. Don't get me wrong, the kids are getting into some incredible schools. You can attribute their success to the woman in charge of College Counseling.

I was never prepped for college. As a matter of fact, I did all of my applications myself because my guidance counselor was in Russian adopting a baby and the others were too busy with their own kids to help me out. The difference? I went to a vocational school where college prep was never a priority. I made it in college because I had to. Failure was never an option for me because I knew what was waiting for me at home and I was fortunate enough to have a support system around me at school that would not allow me to falter.

I love the students I worked with last year. ADORED them. (Still do) Everything I did, I did for them. I spent money, I spent time. I hounded the ones who wanted to give up and made them do better because I saw potential in them when they refused to realize it in themselves. I would do anything for these kids, which is, I think, the attitude any educator should adapt. I would not have a job without them. I love what I do because of them. I want, more than anything, to be instrumental in their success.

I can not say the same for the leadership in place. All he cares about is sports. Sad, but ever so true. You may think I am standing on a soap box here, but the guy doesn't care about anything but the students making it on the front page of the sports section. Prime example, students at the school have a sports requirement. Each and every one of them is required to play on a sports team to fulfill the physical education requirement. I understand school children need to be physically active, but what about their brains? Don't they need intellectual stimulation as well?

I will not be returning to this school in the fall due to a standstill in negotiations. Little did I know, there was no room for negotiation in this process. (When I asked more compensation, which came out to $71 a week, I was met with a letter basically telling me 'good luck' in finding another job.) Today, I received the following letter from said ed leader:

Dear Nina,

Please continue to aggressively pursue your other teaching/employment options. You have a very impressive resumé and I would welcome the opportunity to add my letter of recommendation or speak directly to those who are seriously considering your credentials. You did an outstanding job for us last year at D.A. Let’s stay open to the possibility of our working together again in the future.

All that said, I wanted you to know as soon as we knew that we have filled the “Humanities, etc” position with a CS&A “rookie” from Bates College. He is very familiar with the preparatory school expectations as a graduate from Kent. He also has an appreciation for the value of athletics as leader in swimming at Kent and rowing at Bates.

I believe very strongly that God holds all of us in his His hands and that you and D.A. will continue to receive and be a conduit for his grace wherever and however it works out. Thanks for your investments in D.A. You are always welcome here!

Respectfully,
JM

Case in point. The new humanities teacher is a stellar athlete. He will, no doubt, be exploiting him for this while simultaneously pushing academics further into the corner.

I will continue to be available for my students despite the fact that I am not longer a faculty member. I lost a bet to one of them and I am, therefore, obligated to be at his basketball games for the entire season. Just because I am not working there, does not mean I am going to let the kid down. He has had enough of that both at home and at school. I refuse to be another adult who disappoints him. I know how that feels and I will not do that to him, or any of them.

Learning from Your Mother

A fellow blogger, Affrodite, posted a contest to win the book "Letters to a Young Sister" by Hill Harper. I have been pondering the idea for the longest time and on the eve of my commencement, I thought I should enter.

The journey to be able to write this letter to my mother was long. It took a lot of soul searching. A lot of talking and learning from life's mishaps to be able to understand and appreciate my mother.

Our relationship has not always been a good one. In high school, she and I battled. Mostly over the whole boy issue. I wanted to date them. She wanted to pretend they didn't exist. Some of the things she did to try to eradicate them from my life were extreme, but they were done out of love. In the event that I have my own daughter, I will go about things a bit different. I will do so because I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of someone who trusts you, but not the world I lived in.

There is no need to go into details about what happened between my mother and I. I now know that most of what she did was because she felt lost in her own mind or, worse, backed into a corner. Maybe it's clique, but if not for those horrible things, I would not be who I am today. I would not be able to appreciate my accomplishments. I would not know what I know today if it weren't for what I have been through.

I am 24 years old. Tomorrow, I graduate for the second time in three years. I have a Masters Degree in English and a Bachelors Degree in English and Women's and Gender Studies. I am a teacher. It took me only 24 years to find and secure a job I love.

I have survived. I will continue to survive and show other young women that they, too, will be alright.

I love my life. I am very fortunate and I could not have done any of this without my mother.


Dear Mom,

Thanks for these last couple of years. Growing up, our relationship was sorted, muddled and wrought with miscommunication and misunderstandings. If it weren’t for the fact that I chose to go to grad school and, subsequently, had to move home, I would have continued to believe you were the person I made you in my head. Instead, we talked. We struggled. We learned things about ourselves and each other that only the strain of abject poverty can reveal. Thanks for being there to pick up the pieces when I finally realized that you are human. Though flawed and imperfect you are the greatest gift to me. Thank you for being my mother.

Your daughter,
Nina

"No one said teaching would be easy or without disappointment"

Last week, one of my students disappointed me.

The funny thing about disappointment is that it is actually worse than being angry. It is a feeling that hits you so deep in your soul, that there is no other word suitable for expressing it. It is disappointment and it is the worst feeling in the world.

I give my kids journals (that I bought myself) to complete every week. They contain daily assignments that are given in class and are all due at the end of the week. This systems seems to work for about 40% of my class. Last week's journal was the source of the problem.

I have this one student who is chronically irresponsible and seldom at fault. Things are always being done to him as opposed to things happening because of him. I tried lecturing him on taking responsibility for his actions. This, clearly, is not applicable when one is never at fault. I know this now.

One of my star pupils was absent the day this student saunters in late with the journal "someone stole" from him two weeks prior. He said he would work on his journal and come back with it the next day. He refused to let me write down what he was missing. At this point, he had taken my star pupil's journal saying he was going to give it back to her. I give all of my students the benefit of the doubt. I believed him.

He took her journal home and copied it. Word for word. Including typos and scribbles. He had already completed the last assignment in the journal on a separate piece of paper. I told him not to worry about doing it, and he still copied it. Word for word.

I had no idea until my star pupil came in the next morning and asked for her journal. It was that moment that my little teacher world came temporarily crashing down. I apologized to the student and she left to find him to get it back.

I sat there. Not mad. Not upset. I was disappointed. Thoroughly disappointed. This kid lied to my face and stole his classmate's journal. I believed he was going to give it to her. I truly did.

When he arrived later that day, he turned in his journal. I got the star pupil's journal and sat there and calmly compared the two. When they left, I RAN to the copier room and photocopied both his journal and the journal of the kid he copied. I wrote a note home and CCed his advisor. I gave him a 0% for the work he still did not complete. Then, I sat.

Before that day, I'd never experienced the utter defeat that comes along with being disappointed. It hits you at the center of your being. Throws off your equilibrium. Reduces you. This student, whom I love so dearly, lied, cheated and stole to make up missed work. He lied to me and I didn't see it. He stole from his classmate who works HARD and has done all of her work. He cheated. Blindly copying word for word and really thought he was going to receive credit for it.

When I told my supervisor, he said to me "No one said teaching would be easy or without disappointment." He's been in education for 40 years and I am sure he has had his share of disappointments, but this was not something I was prepared to handle.

For as much as I love them, some students will cheat. I have to make sure I am ALWAYS on top of my game. I know this now. When it happens again, I'll be ready.

ABC has failed me with the Cancellation of "Eli Stone"

Ethnocentrism Rears Its Ugly Head in the Cancellation of ABC's "Eli Stone"

Last year during Christmas, ABC had the genius idea to cancel "Eli Stone." And by cancel, I mean completely phase out mid-season. The show was in the primetime line up and it aired before Boston Legal.

"Eli Stone" was set in a San Francisco law firm. It was cleverly written and extremely progressive. Like San Francisco, it had a gamut of diversity. It featured Black and Asian actors cast in roles of doctors and lawyers. The lawyers handled cases with gay, lesbian and trans issues. There was a strong social activist element to the firm where ethics and humanity were prevalent in the all too cut-throat world of lawyers.

Most importantly, the show dealt with issues of spirituality & alternative medicine. Eli Stone, the man for which the show was named, was a prophet who was struggling with the gift of sight. He saw the future and his third eye chakra was off the chains.

His gift was nurtured by a Chinese acupuncturist herbalist who studied and expounded on Ancient Chinese healing practices. He had to adopt the stereotypical "ching-chong" accent to get his white customers to believe his practice was legit, which only added to the cleverness of the show. The Chinese acupuncturist turned the stereotype on it's head by adapting the voice of what "someone like him" should sound like.

Of course, there was the obligatory Black mammy secretary who served as a mother figure to Eli, but she was far from the happy slave type. Naturally, she was a single mother and former alcoholic of a pre-med daughter who succumbed to cocaine to stay awake during rounds, but she kept Eli in line and guided him toward making wise decisions. Decisions that would save many lives in the process. Often with a LOT of attitude.

All of this was set to the tune of George Michael. Micheal's songs were the catalyst for his visions. Visions that came at morbidly embarrassing times and usually featured characters singing and dancing in vaudeville like musical numbers.

It was witty, clever and full of diversity, which is exactly what I'd expect from a company who is notorious for their support of the GLBT community. (Hello, Disney Gay Days!)

However, in the area of being advocates for racial and spiritual diversity, ABC failed. They phased out the show mid-season. I will NEVER know what becomes of Eli's brother's ill fated marriage to the woman who took Eli's virginity.

I simply will never know because the powers that be at ABC decided to cancel "Eli Stone" and replace it with yet another cop show featuring all white characters set in NYC with zero people of color in the cast al la "Friends" and "Sex and the City."

Another gem they've been airing is the horrendous podunk shit program "Surviving Suburbia" about, well, I don't know what it's about. I know a Caucasion blond haired, blue eyed character on the show said she "hopped the fence like a fugitive slave" to gain access to the family's backyard. *Cue laugh track* That is not, nor will it ever be, funny.

ABC failed me by canceling "Eli Stone." I was, for once, relieved to watch a show where Black men with natural hair were lawyers. I thought it was very cool that there was a Chinese doctor who knew enough about spirituality and divinity to school the pasty Eli. I loved watching the episode with the female to male trans minister who was wrongfully terminated for having SRA surgery. Watching said Black lawyer walk side by side with him to rejoin his now diminished congregation was heartwarming.

The show was entertaining and I was moved more than once at its themes. It gave me something to look forward to in primetime. But no, ABC decided ethnocentrism was the way to go. To ABC, white characters in positions of power are the only way to go. Good Bye "Eli Stone" and your queer diverse smart cast of characters and Welcome back, Kotter!

I taught my kids about Ethnocentrism before teaching them Octavia Butler's Kindred. What kind of lesson is ABC doling out by canceling shows like this one?

What measures success?

I was insulted by one of my ninth graders. They often throw mud at me and most times I don't give them the satisfaction of a response, but in this particular instance I did.

I was attempting to do a lesson based on No Name Calling Week because their class has had issues with bullying. I was in the process of the painstaking task of getting them to respond to lessons they don't care about when the insult occurred.

I was trying to start the ball rolling by telling them my experiences with bullying. Somewhere in the story I mentioned how I have a hard time relating to people my age because of how I was raised and because most of them aren't where I am. So this little bugger turns to me and says, "and where are you? Teaching here for minimum wage?" I fired back by stating that her comment was coming from someone who values being pretty over smart and asked her what she was going to do when pretty ran out. Bad, idea, I know.

The kid got me thinking: what is the measure of success? How is my teaching position at my small, independent school a success? I will tell you how:

I am the first person in my family to graduate from college. As of May 15, 2009, I will be the first person in my family with a graduate degree. I have held down a job since I was 14. I have not been without work since. I graduated from a vocational school where trades are valued over academics and managed to get into one of the best public institutions in the North East. I found and applied to schools myself because my guidance counselor was off adopting a Russian baby my entire Senior year. (I got into every school I applied to save for one.) My father is absent and during my adolescence I have very little recollection of my mother. When I started college, she had a breakdown and moved across the country to stay with her brother. Thanksgiving break. 19 years old, I was left in a dorm room with all of my worldly possessions, ravished credit and nowhere to go. Since the age of 17, I have purchased 6 cars. 4 were lemons, one was sold out from under me, and the 6th is brand new - in my name and no one touches it but me. I could go on, but I won't.

I survived. I persevered. I made it because failure was never an option. By my own standards, becoming a statistic was also not an option. I had a best friend in high school that had a baby. She and I don't talk anymore because, like most people my age, we don't have anything in common. After she gave birth there were lots of awkward silences only filled by questions I could have answered myself with running a simple Google search.

At this point in my life, I have never worked a full time job. (My temp stint does not count.) I have held down three jobs to keep myself in school and properly fed. I have never made above $12k in a year, but I have done everything I need to do to be able to succeed.

In the Fall of 2009, I will be gainfully employed on a full time basis as a High School English teacher. I will have medical benefits and a 401k. As a teacher, I will never make "a lot" of money. But last year, I made it work on $9,586.32.

I wake up every morning knowing that I should have failed. I should have become a statistic. I should have chosen the path of least resistance and become a "product of my environment," but I didn't.

I get up every morning and know that I am headed to a job that I love. I love my students, even the rude ones. Especially the rude ones.

I worked hard. I kept my eyes on the prize. I am still arriving at my goals, but each heartbreak, each abandonment and disappointment has made me the person I am today. And that, ladies and gentleman, is the measure of success.

for colored girls who have cosidered suicide when the rainbow is enuf

for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf has saved my life on several different occasions and continues to do so even now. Though I have never actually contemplated suicide. I have dealt with a lot of the issues in the book first hand.

To start, the book is actually what Ntozake Shange has dubbed, a choreopoem which intertwines poetry, drama, prose, performance, dancing and music into one short, profound work of literature that will change your life. I had to read it for an African American Literature class in college. I read it twice for class and have continued to reread it through the years. Every time I read it I discover something new about the ladies dressed in the colors of the rainbow and about myself.

I lent my copy of the work to a student who is near and dear to me. She gave me my first "teacher moment" when I started teaching. I was immediately drawn to her because she is exactly what and where I was at her age. I love her the way I should have loved myself when I was 17.

She borrowed the book and did not want to return it. She said she had a hard time adjusting to the vernacular in the work, but once she figured it out it made sense. I would have given it to her, but I don't think I can stand not having a copy in my possession at all times.

I lent it to her because she told me she once considered suicide. I wanted her to read it because I needed to have read it when I was her age. She understood the meaning of the work. She understood that overcoming life shattering obstacles comes from connection and community. She understood that in order to move to the end of her rainbow, she needed to find others who would support and love her unconditionally. She got it. I got it, but I really couldn't apply it until she came to me on Thursday.

Thursday morning she came to me and told me she seriously considered killing herself the night before. She told me she'd told another teacher who had shrugged it off. I immediately get on the phone and call my mom to get the number to the behavioral health center in my county. I also gave her other numbers she could use off the top of my head. She went back to class and I walked to my car and fought back tears.

I got home and call my mom back to ask for advice. She told me I needed to tell someone. I turn to To Write Love On Her Arm's website. They have a huge section called "find help" which gives you numbers to call if you need help or know someone in need of help.

I did, so I called. I called the National Suicide Prevention Hotline(1-800-SUICIDE) and spoke to a woman who told me exactly what to do. She informed me that I had a legal obligation to let my supervisor know and that the student absolutely could not leave school before she called someone and arranged treatment. She gave me phone numbers to my county crisis center and a number to a place where she could call to get treatment.

I wrote all of this down feverishly and went back to school. Mom called while I was on the way back to school and reminded me to stay calm. She knew I was on the verge of tears and hysteria before she dialed.

I got to the school, told the powers that be and they handled it. They surrounded her with love and support. They talked to her. They listened to her. They called me to see exactly what my concern was. By the time she left school, she had a place to go to get treatment.

And she wasn't upset with me. Well, she was when they pulled her out of class, but she got over it. She understood what happened. She understood that people love her and want to see her get better. I told her the world would be a duller place without her and that I did what I did because I couldn't live with her light being extinguished when there was something I could have done to help her.

Before Thursday, she "waz missin somethin / somethin so important / a laying on of hands." For so long I have had to overcome adversity and hard times alone. I now realize that I no longer have to go at it alone, whatever it may be. She now understand this too.

I have a support system. I have surrounded myself with people who love me and care deeply about my well being. I have, as KP kept telling me I would, found my tribe.

I am part of her tribe and she is part of mine. We have each other. Now that she and I realize it, adversity doesn't seem so bad.

City High Anthem

This post was inspired by a song I have heard dozens of times. The song is called "City High Anthem." The artist, City High, is/was composed of three twenty somethings, all of which were born and raised in Willingboro, NJ. I was also born and raised in Willingboro, NJ.

The group gained some notoriety from their song 'What Would You Do?' but the aforementioned song off their self-titled album is what made me write this post.

The song talks about their collective disappointment over teachers in their public school. As a resident of the town, I was never allowed to entertain the notion of attending any school in the district beyond grade school. The middle school is INFAMOUS and the high school's reputation is less than stellar. I attended private school for middle and a vocational school for high school.

"City High Anthem" is heartbreaking to me as a teacher and as someone who "should have" attended school there. It begins, "They just gave up on our entire generation / So we were all pushed to the side cuz we didn't see the world through our teachers eyes /When all we needed was a little bit of motivation, But because we wore our pants saggin' y'all labeled us gangstas And said we wasn't worth the time."

I have met students, parents and other people in education that admit they know teachers who hate students. You may think this is an oxymoron because it is. Still, a lot of people teach because of the job security and the schedule. I think this is incredibly selfish and damaging because students know you don't care about them.

It continues,
There are so many things I never asked you /There are so many things I still don't know /There are so many things you never told me /And still so many things that I will never know /and why, cuz I went to City High

In college, I went to school with a girl who graduated from the school. The transition from high school to college was incredibly difficult because as a college freshman, she was reading at a 9th grade level. I suppose this is the basis for the NCLB Act, but the school has very little change.

A school with more drop outs than sign-ups at registration
And the pregnancy rate is at an all-time high, we all know why
Now you would think the classroom's the place for mental stimulation
But it's some brothers outside sellin' that stuff, that'll really stimulate your mind, (talk about gettin' high)


I know a woman who works at the high school. She was in tears the day she walked into her classroom. She was hired at the last minute and when she walked in to her room, there were no chairs, no desks, no books. Nothing. She called her father who was able to find her supplies so her students would at least have a place to sit on the first day of school.

I can completely understand their frustration,
So, We don't need your education /We don't want no pacifier/We are the leaders of your nation/We're gonna make sure the world survives /There ain't no justice there's just us /What happened to the meaning of 'in God we trust'/So as we get older and our children grow up /We ain't gonna teach them what y'all showed us

Teachers play an integral role in the development of our future leaders. I play an integral role in the development of our future leaders. I have a soft spot in my heart for at-risk youth because I should have been one.

All at risk students need someone who cares. Someone that really wants to help. If not, they are left feeling neglected and abandoned all over again. And there were so many things that needed explaining /But you said it was too late for me to learn /You were suppose to be my shelter when it was rainin'/But instead you left me out here all alone, so I gotta make it on my own


Teaching is too important to be taken lightly. It is not something you do for convenience or as a stop over. You teach, I teach because I know I can, and do, make a positive difference in the lives of the future of our country. I don't want my kids to ever have to write something like this because I didn't care enough about them.

For people who did believe what we could do to change our future: You knew the world was in our hands. Help build them strong so they can withstand all the pressures, all the war, all the prejudice. And the others who were sure we couldn't fight the stress in life, for those of you who didn't believe us: Listen to my words for you. Listen to your children sing to you--

We don't need your education
We don't want no pacifier
We are the leaders of your nation
We're gonna make sure the world survives
There ain't no justice there's just us
What happened to the meaning of "in God we trust"
So as we get older and our children grow up
We ain't gonna teach them what y'all showed us




Hear the song here.

Fact Check

Teaching is so terribly fascinating because I am constantly learning as I am teaching. Here I am. 24. Fresh out of college, getting ready to graduate again and I am a teacher. Teaching is my accidental calling (as I have explained in earlier posts), and I'm good at it so why do I sometimes get so nervous? I'll tell you why: My audience.

As an undergrad and in grad school, you sit in courses with like-minded people. All of you are literally and figuratively on the same page. You all show up to class having read the same novel with vastly different opinions and observations ready to share/contribute. After the first couple of courses/papers, you really don't need to prove yourself to anyone anymore because opinions about you have been solidified. In my case, most of them knew I am stark raving brilliant and that I will go tit for tat with them about how Huck Fin is NOT the Great American Novel. I digress. The point is, you're all pretty much at the same "level." I mean this in an academic sense.

When you enter a high school classroom the playing field is DRASTICALLY different. You think you know all there is no to know about something until you have to teach it to teenagers.

My situation is unique. The job I have now landed on my lap. In preparation for my first day of teaching, I had the Head of the English department tell me to make sure I knew Animal Farm front and back because if I didn't "I was not going to be able to sell it." Sell it. Sell them Animal Farm. What does that even mean?

I figured it out the first time I was stumped on a question or a detail about the novel. I was embarrassed, sure, but I learned from my embarrassment. Now, before I open my mouth, I make damn sure I know all there is to know about what I am teaching. If I don't - the lesson falls apart. My credibility is out the window. Trust is stripped. They are a tough crowd and I have a snowball's chance in hell of getting it back.

To avoid this from happening again, I do fact checks. Often. Theories, definitions, parts of speech, themes, pronunciations, literary terms. You name it. I fact check it. I do this for them. Not only because I love them unconditionally, but because they will eat me alive if I don't know. I don't believe in lying to them. I cannot physically lie to my students, so when faced with something I don't know I tell them I have to research it rather than give them false information or say 'I don't know.'

I fact check because they deserve to have a teacher who, though not formally trained as a teacher, can sell them a novel, short story or poem without so much as blinking an eye. If that doesn't work, I am fortunate enough to work in a school where we can (and do) "phone a friend" when we feel a sale is slipping through our fingers.

Sharing Quotes

When I read literature I tend to be overly analytical. This is an ideal trait in one who is pursuing a Graduate degree in English. The problem is, I tend to over analyze everything. Job interviews, conversations with friends, random thoughts that pop in my head. One night I was pondering the word "quarter." I could not get to sleep until I looked it up in the Oxford English Dictionary, Wikipedia and everywhere else I could find discussion on the word. Crazy. I am simply crazy about words.


I began devouring Willa Cather's My Antonia this weekend in preparation for my MA Exam. I'd started reading it last summer and there is one particular passage I read at least 10 times. Not because I wanted to dissect it, but because it was so simple and applicable. I even went so far as to make it the signature on my outgoing email. (That did not last long) It reads as follows:

"I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep."

This quote comes at the end of one book one, chapter two. In the beginning of the first book Jim arrives in Nebraska. He is in the garden with his hands and feet in the dirt taking in all the sights and sounds of his new home. Jim has just lost his family, but in Nebraska in the uncharted newness of the land he is entirely happy.

This is how I feel about teaching. It is the one thing that I have found that makes me entirely happy. With teaching I feel like I am an important part of something bigger than myself. And when it comes to teaching and helping my students understand a concept or theory, it truly comes as naturally as sleep.


Full Text of My Antonia c/o Project Gutenberg

All You Need Is Love

I had a conversation last night with a fellow artist about what inspires me. My gut instinct was to say love. It's true, I do what I do because of love. I could not be a teacher without love.

I then got to thinking about Shakespeare. I am attempting to teach Julius Caesar to my 9th graders. The play talks a great deal about love even though it is a tragedy. Brutus loves Caesar, but he loves his country more. Cassius loves Brutus and is hurt when Brutus represses his love for his friend. Mark Antony loves Caesar and is deeply hurt when he is killed. Though it is a tragedy and everyone dies, the play is as much about love as it is about death.

I am fascinated by the multifaceted definitions and implications of the word 'love'. The Oxford English dictionary has nine different uses for the word. The fourth one is the one I will use here. It reads:

"A feeling or disposition of deep affection or fondness for someone, typically arising from a recognition of attractive qualities, from natural affinity, or from sympathy and manifesting itself in concern for the oth 'love'er's welfare and pleasure in his or her presence (distinguished from sexual love at sense 4a); great liking, strong emotional attachment; (similarly) a feeling or disposition of benevolent attachment experienced towards a group or category of people, and (by extension) towards one's country or another impersonal object of affection."

You can love a tree or you can love another person. There is the love a mother has for a child and the love a person has for their partner. There is the love one has for their pet and the love one has for their favorite dessert. Add to that list a teacher who loves her students.

I love being a teacher because it gives me the ability to foster intellectual and personal growth in my students. I love English literature because of the way it captures human emotion for people who find self expression to be a difficult task.

Most of all, I move my students. I love them because they want to learn, but they don't know it yet. I love them for their light bulb moment when they figure something out. I love them for having the ability to make me feel like I am a teacher. You know, like when one of your most challenging students tells you the activity you gave him, "made him think." I love them for who they are despite the fact that they can be a tiny bit lazy.

I have a natural affinity, a strong emotional connection to my students and to what I do. I am passionate about my line of work.

I am fiercely overprotective of my students. I protect them from each other and from themselves. I chide self-depreciation and encourage self-actualization.

I could not do this job if I did not love it. I don't understand how anyone teaches when they don't love what they do.

Taylor Mali loves being a teacher. Here is his piece, "What Teachers Make"





Oxford English Dictionary - Love (Restricted Database)

Teaching as Activism & Social Responsibility

Quick post. I'm keeping to a minimum for the sake of writing too much too soon.

Over dinner last night my dear friend Tyrtle told me her plans to become a high school teacher. Perhaps I am a little biased, but I think she should do it because she is perfectly suited for the job.

Tyrtle is the kind of person who can not stand idly by when she knows there is a job to do somewhere. She is the dirtiest dirty hippie I know. She does her part to greenify her life and the lives of others around her. To her, being green is being responsible and helping where she can. Such is her philosophy with her career path.

Tyrtle has been wanting to join the Peace Corps for years. For her, the Peace Corps is about being responsible and doing her part to fix global atrocities. She is frustrated at her current job because there is none of this going on. She takes classes and learns the statistics of war torn poverty stricken nations and then squirms when she remembers where she is. Armed with knowledge and a tool to make a difference, she leaves the massive lecture hall ready to make a difference. But what about after that? What career goals can a passionate science minded woman select when she feels an overwhelming obligation to make a difference in the world? Why, teaching, of course.

Teaching is about making a difference. It is the only thing I have found that seamlessly intertwines activism and social responsibility. I have the awesome ability, obligation and privilege to show my students that they can accomplish their goals. Tyrtle thinks the same way. She admits she can not save the world alone, but she is ready and willing to take on the responsibility of shaping and molding the leaders of tomorrow one science class at a time.

"The Idea of Ancestry"

In honor of Black History Month (which my school has yet to formally acknowledge) I am teaching my juniors African American poetry. The unit is, of course, supposed to teach the different literary devices that they can use to approach a text. Seems simple enough, right?

My class consists of reluctant readers, "dumb" jocks, lazy jocks, a kids with unclassified "learning" disabilities, ESL students, hormonal/horny girl/boy crazy jocks and kids with passive aggressive anger management and/or race related anxiety/bigotry. They are, needless to say, a tough crowd.

My "selling" point for African American poetry, as well as all the other works I teach them, is the lives of poets. The poets I teach them and that I have been taught have sorted lives. Though they are capable of great art, they are imperfect and terribly human. However, their flaws are almost forgiven because of their incredible talent.

The poet I taught on Thursday is Etheridge Knight. I found Etheridge by accident and I can't even remember how. After finding him, I went to the library and checked out every book they had. I, again, lost sleep reading his works. What's amazing is his story and how his story hits too close to home.

Knight was born in Mississippi in 1931. He was a high school drop out, joined the Army, served in Vietnam and came home with a nasty injury. He self-medicated with drugs and alcohol. He was at one time married to Sonia Sanchez. Long story short (too late, I know) he ends up in jail where he finally gets sober and starts writing. From this man comes the most incredible poetry I have every read.

My brother struggled with addiction in some form or another. (He has never copped to it because that would mean he would have to admit to being wrong - and he never is.) He has been in and out of jail. He lies. Cheats. Steals and is constantly trying to make a quick buck as opposed to an honest one. The killer part is the fact that the kid is smart. SUPER smart. He rolled in from God knows where at 3am the day of his SAT and scored a 1150 without sleep or effort. Problem is: He makes really bad decisions. Decisions that have taken the whole family down with him.

I had the poem on audio and I had them listen to it. I then asked for reactions. My one student didn't understand why the poem is so great. So I tell him. Stanza by Stanza. Line by line. I dissect this poem. I explain the 47 faces and what they represent. I ask them to tell me the significance of salmon spawning and how it functions in this poem. I explain to them the slang used to refer to drugs and how he was ALMOST okay with himself before he came down. I relate it to my brother and how he is smart, but lacks the ability to let it out as Etheridge does so well.

I end class by using what I just told them to explain the title of the piece. There is a moment of pause and reflection and then I dismiss them.

I immediately feel accomplished because I taught them something but heartbroken because my own brother is still unable to overcome his demons.

I can't change either of their situations and I can't change their choices. What I can do is use Etheridge Knight as an example of the transformative power of poetry. If I succeed in doing this, I'll let you know.

The Idea of Ancestry - Etheridge Knight

"Why Threshold of Your Own Mind" and "Speak to Us of Teaching"?

In the midst of a very involved conversation I had on Twitter this evening I made the segue from talking about Tony Rich and is brilliance to the Best Wedding Songs of the 90's to the brilliant of Kahlil Gibran. The gentleman I was tweeting had never heard of him and so I gave him "The Prophet."

(Note: Whenever I refer someone to a work of literature I like to think of it as a gift. My life is richer because someone gave these works to me. For others, I sort of regift...but in a positive and uplifting way.)

I stumbled upon Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet" when I was researching the words to my favorite wedding song. It is by Jason Mraz and it's a gritty, live and rather lengthy song called "God Rests in Reason." As it turns out, Jason wrote the song for his sister's wedding because he was so moved by the work. I found "The Prophet" lyrics/book during one of my many sleepless undergraduate nights. I spent the rest of the night devouring this book, playing "God Rests In Reason" over and over and just weeping.

I revisited it tonight and reread the section on teaching. The story is of a man, the prophet, who is speaking to a large group of people about the nature of human experience and how there is beauty and God in everything. The people say "Speak to Us of Teaching" and The Prophet begins telling them that teaching is not about giving someone your knowledge and understanding, but that a teacher leads you to the house of wisdom and leaves you at the threshold of your own mind. It is up to you to take what he he says and as Mr. MRAZ would say, "you can figure out the rest."

That is what I do on a daily basis. My students come to my classroom of wisdom where I give them little gifts of literature. I guide them through the process of opening the package, corner by corner, page by page, word by word. When they leave, they once again pass my threshold but from there is it up to them how they decide to utilize the gifts I have given them.


Full Text: Kahlil Gibran - The Prophet

Where do I begin?

I am beginning this blog from the suggestion of several people. My grandmother wanted me to write down my experiences, @openlyfeminist wanted to know what I did in my classes and quite frankly, I'd like to track my own progression in teaching. My biggest challenge is going to be making a commitment and sticking to it. Since I am not committed to anything at this point in my life besides my car payment and student loans, I have vowed to make this blog my proverbial significant other. So here goes nothing.

I am high school English teacher. Whereas my current position was a bit of an accident, my journey toward teaching was not. I decided I wanted to be a teacher about a year ago. To scrape by in Grad school, I sold all my worldly possessions. When I ran out of stuff, I got myself certificate to substitute teach. I did so at my Alma Mater because it was my comfort zone and I wanted to experience being "on the other side of the desk."

The pay was decent. ($88/day is better than the $0/day I was making at home). What kept me going back was the students. Sure, most of them forgot themselves when they saw I was a sub, but I forgive them. But, the stories I could tell you about them. My Alma Mater is a vocational school and I never understood what that truly meant until I became a substitute teacher.

I was subbing in an English class and Joseph was telling me how much he hated it. He hated it because his teacher thought he was stupid. So, I asked him what he liked. He continued to tell me how his teacher treated him. I stopped him and again asked him what he liked. His entire disposition changed. His face lit up. Turns out Joseph is in a band and he writes his own music and songs. He was in HVAC and when he graduates he has a guaranteed job and a spot in a Union just like his father and grandfather.

Joseph will never love Shakespeare as much as I do, but you bet he'd be the FIRST person I called if my heating/ventilation/air conditioning unit broke. Why? Because Joseph has the talent and the drive he needs to be the best at what he does.

I went home that day and researched. Turns out as an English MA candidate I could teach as long as I passed the PRAXIS II.

So, I paid the $130 and took the test. Then, My grandmother paid the $130 so I could take it again. (My meager budget did not factor in not passing the test the first time. I failed by 9 points.)

October 16, 2008 I got my PRAXIS scores in the mail. 175/200.
October 29, 2008 My NJ Certificate of Eligibitity arrived in the mail.
November 9, 2008 I got a phone call from the headmaster of my school. He is in desperate need of an English teacher.
November 10, 2008 I meet with said Headmaster & Assistant Headmaster. I am given my books and told to go home and plan.
November 12, 2008 I begin teaching English.

The rest will be chronicled here. Making the strides to be able to teach English has been the best decision I have ever made. I am grateful for literature, youth and teaching more and more everyday.