...My students gave to me a beautiful made-from-scratch cake.
I usually don't start Carolinimas so early, but one can't argue with a surprise birthday not-party thrown by 6th block. (We do not have parties in high school, you see.)
Since my students are self-described Mexicans, we did the cake Mexican style. That means I had to take the first bite out of the cake itself. Just lean over and bite while my students stood around laughing with cameras. And one leaned over and pushed my head into the cake. Oh yes, I got frosting up my nose and everything. I made them promise to email me the pictures.
Maybe it wasn't a laguage arts standard, but it was human connection. That is worthy of high school if anything is.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Passing the Test
I have a student for the second year in a row. Last year, she was violent and sullen, with an attitude a mile wide. The first semeseter was sheer Hell. Girl invited drama. By second semester, she had settled herself down some, and was determined to get a passing grade or two. Still, I found it easier to walk on some eggshells around her, for fear of setting off an anger fit of first semester proportions.
Did I mention she is also in special ed? Girlfriend has some educational issues.
She wasn't enrolled in the fall, but by second semeseter, she was back. This year, though she is still master of the sullen stare, she was doing well. She showed up to class on time and completed her work. She still gets extra sullen when asked to work in groups, because she's a Drama Queen but knows it. She knows when she works with people she has pissed off before, bad things will follow. They'll get mad; she'll get mad; someone will get in trouble and maybe hurt. At least she's figuring it out?
I handed her a paper back on Thursday and asked her to make some edits to it. It's a good start, but it's still a rough draft. I want her to improve her draft and (gasp) learn something. She was immediately sullen, though. She told me she was just going to get more angry.
I asked her what was wrong.
She said she hated teachers who didn't take her seriously. I probed a bit, and she explained that two teachers both wanted her to make up all her work during 5th block, and she knew she couldn't get it done. They didn't believe her desire to learn, or her other responsibilities, or perhaps the extra help she actually (and legally) needs. (She is not the most communicative student, so sometimes I have to fill in the gaps.) The thing is, two teachers had set a deadline, and she knew she couldn't meet it.
The upshot: She is going to drop out of school.
I agreed that it must be very frustrating. I reiterated that she was doing well in class and I could tell that she had been working. I told her I hoped she found a way to stay in school. I told her even if she decided that our comprehensive high school wasn't the right spot for her, she would try to find an alternative program that could give her what she needed. There are alternatives and I could see that she was working much harder this year, and I wanted her to continue to be successful.
She agreed that she would at least talk to someone. Or consider an alternative. Or at least say so so that I'd leave her alone.
The next day, I ran into one of the teachers she was mad at and asked about her. He said that she was going better this year, but yeah, she had to get the test done or else. He didn't blink when I said she was talking about dropping out. She's doing a lot better, he said, but she just can't pass his tests.
I almost asked about the accomodations and modifications he was making for her, but I didn't. We were in the staff room at lunch, and I'm not it's my place to lecture him about IEPs. And, I'll admit that I don't have her IEP memorized, so I'm not what extra help she should get.
It left me cold, though. "She just can't pass my tests." Maybe she can't, but has she learned? Do the tests really show you what she learned. I discovered last year that she does poorly on multiple choice tests.
I guess this is why the special education teachers have been thanking me for the work I do with their students. I actually work with their students. The thing is, I'm just doing my job.
Did I mention she is also in special ed? Girlfriend has some educational issues.
She wasn't enrolled in the fall, but by second semeseter, she was back. This year, though she is still master of the sullen stare, she was doing well. She showed up to class on time and completed her work. She still gets extra sullen when asked to work in groups, because she's a Drama Queen but knows it. She knows when she works with people she has pissed off before, bad things will follow. They'll get mad; she'll get mad; someone will get in trouble and maybe hurt. At least she's figuring it out?
I handed her a paper back on Thursday and asked her to make some edits to it. It's a good start, but it's still a rough draft. I want her to improve her draft and (gasp) learn something. She was immediately sullen, though. She told me she was just going to get more angry.
I asked her what was wrong.
She said she hated teachers who didn't take her seriously. I probed a bit, and she explained that two teachers both wanted her to make up all her work during 5th block, and she knew she couldn't get it done. They didn't believe her desire to learn, or her other responsibilities, or perhaps the extra help she actually (and legally) needs. (She is not the most communicative student, so sometimes I have to fill in the gaps.) The thing is, two teachers had set a deadline, and she knew she couldn't meet it.
The upshot: She is going to drop out of school.
I agreed that it must be very frustrating. I reiterated that she was doing well in class and I could tell that she had been working. I told her I hoped she found a way to stay in school. I told her even if she decided that our comprehensive high school wasn't the right spot for her, she would try to find an alternative program that could give her what she needed. There are alternatives and I could see that she was working much harder this year, and I wanted her to continue to be successful.
She agreed that she would at least talk to someone. Or consider an alternative. Or at least say so so that I'd leave her alone.
The next day, I ran into one of the teachers she was mad at and asked about her. He said that she was going better this year, but yeah, she had to get the test done or else. He didn't blink when I said she was talking about dropping out. She's doing a lot better, he said, but she just can't pass his tests.
I almost asked about the accomodations and modifications he was making for her, but I didn't. We were in the staff room at lunch, and I'm not it's my place to lecture him about IEPs. And, I'll admit that I don't have her IEP memorized, so I'm not what extra help she should get.
It left me cold, though. "She just can't pass my tests." Maybe she can't, but has she learned? Do the tests really show you what she learned. I discovered last year that she does poorly on multiple choice tests.
I guess this is why the special education teachers have been thanking me for the work I do with their students. I actually work with their students. The thing is, I'm just doing my job.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Moving On
For anyone who's been living under a rock or not checking Facebook for the last few weeks, I'm moving to China. No, that is not a metaphor, reference to pop culture, or an in-joke. (Although I do love all three of those things.) I have accepted a position teaching English to Chinese high school students who are preparing to go to college in the U.S. or the U.K. I'll be living in Beijing for the next two years; beyond that is anyone's guess. (I'm guessing either another city in China or another Asian nation -- but time will tell.)
Now, for anyone reading between the lines, you've known that these last two years have been rather trying. Particularly, my administration has been less than supportive at many times in my burgeoning career. While I see myself as a vibrant teacher who is deeply reflective, highly concerned with students, and dedicated to personal growth and improvement, those qualities have not always been recognized by the Powers-that-Be. I do not claim to be a master teacher. I have been doing this for 2 1/2 years. Anecdotal evidence (if not actual studies) shows that it takes at least three years to feel comfortable and five before you really have your head on straight. Oh, sure. There are some teaching prodigies. But if you believe that all teachers are born, then you necessarily believe that education is a waste of time. If I can't learn and grow as a professional, then while bother trying to get my students who struggle to learn and grow. Either we're born good at something, or we're not. And if there IS one thing I'm good at, it's being a student. I do not always get things right the first time (as much as I so desperately want to and often do), but I do work hard to get those things right eventually.
So, I resigned from my post before I had a steady gig lined up. Take that for what it's worth. However, I was already well into the process of applying for a new position overseas. I have been dreaming of this day for 10 years.
"What?!" I hear you scream. "Really? Ten years? I don't believe you."
Well, believe it. It was about 10 years ago, maybe even 11, that a then-boyfriend took me to an Asian food store for the first time in my life. (We live a sheltered life in Maine.) While there, I bought a tin of tea: black lychee tea, to be exact. It comes in a red and brown tin with gold lettering. The first one I got was printed in English on one side and French on the other and Chinese everywhere in between. To this day, I think of the tea as noir lychee... What can I say? Foreign is foreign, so French works as well as the Chinese I can't read (or speak).
This one tin of tea, which has become my absolute favorite tea blend, started my secret infatuation with all things Chinese. I've always had a travelin' jones, and the seed to visit China was planted. As time went on and I became more and more of a social studies teacher, my desire to see the whole Eastern half of the world grew. I know the West. I've been raised in the West. I am immersed in Western culture. I have taken Western Civ. I know the narrative of the West. What I want to know is the East.
I want to understand, on a visceral level, what Eastern culture is. I want to steep myself in the one culture that has had the largest influence on the other half of the world. I want to become my own cup of Chinese tea. (I had to get at least one metaphor in here). China has influenced the other half of the world. China has 1.5 billion residents. I feel shamefully, woefully inadequate as a human in the global community to have such a poor understanding of China as I do. (Please note, I do not think everyone has to feel as inadequate as I do. Remember, I have defined myself as a social studies teacher for so many years that it has become an essential part of my being. It is who I am; it does not have to be who you are.)
By becoming a teacher, I suddenly opened up the possibility of teaching and living abroad, but I'm too chicken to go as an ESL teacher in some random locale. I want to teach in my content area, in English (to give myself a sense of stability and security), while living and growing as a person in the larger culture. Once I got my credential, I looked up international schools -- only to learn that having two years' teaching experience is an almost essential requirement.
So teach I have. And this year, knowing I was coming up on the two-year mark, I applied with one of the search firms for international schools, Search Associates. ISS is the other big firm. Both are well-known and reputable (I did some research beforehand). The benefit of SA is that they have a job fair in San Francisco, which made for easy travel. What I didn't know (for anyone who wants to follow in my footsteps), is that the Boston fairs (for both firms) are the big ones and give you a greater choice of locations and jobs.
Anyway, I resigned from my job knowing that I was attending a job fair a week later. When I showed up, I heard that only 40%-50% of attendees would receive an offer. I was worried, but determined. Long story slightly shorter: I had a job offer on Saturday morning at 8am after my first interview. The offer was for China -- the one place I most wanted to go.
To say I was happy is a giant, Chinese-population-sized understatement.
My struggle was keeping it silent. I didn't want my kids to know because they would then give up on school. I had to fight admin (again) on some of this. Well, it was a silent battle. Somehow, people at my school would come up to me and ask about my plans because they had heard I was leaving and I know I didn't tell them. Some I evaded; others I trusted. To anyone who didn't know, I generally lied. Obsfucated. Dissembled. I had a secret to keep, and all is fair in love and resignations.
Which brings us to today. My students know. I am telling teachers as I see them. A couple of really good things have happened.
My new teacher support person at the district level, who I have been convinced thinks I was horrible, told me flat out that she disagreed with admin. She told me she's read all of our reflections and I am doing a wonderful job and am a reflective, thoughftul teacher who will continue to grow and develop. She told me that I'm better off in a place where I can really shine. She also told me that she photocopied a number of my reflections to use as exemplars.
One of the admin staff told me that she disagreed with the decision. She thought I was a wonderful teacher and was so happy for me that I have this new position. She thinks it's wonderful and wishes me luck.
Today, I earned the right to apply for my clear credential. We had to give a presentation on what we studied over the year. I noticed that the county supervisor was in my room, and at first I thought she was taking some pictures during my presentation. Then I realized she was recording my entire presentation. Once I was done, I noticed she wasn't recording anyone else. My district advisor told her to watch my presentation, and she told me she wasn't disappointed. I might find myself on the county Web site. She was very sad when I told her her I was moving to China.
Finally, one of my students came by my room this afternoon to pick up a paper. As she was leaving she said, "The school is losing a great teacher."
Top that.
Now, for anyone reading between the lines, you've known that these last two years have been rather trying. Particularly, my administration has been less than supportive at many times in my burgeoning career. While I see myself as a vibrant teacher who is deeply reflective, highly concerned with students, and dedicated to personal growth and improvement, those qualities have not always been recognized by the Powers-that-Be. I do not claim to be a master teacher. I have been doing this for 2 1/2 years. Anecdotal evidence (if not actual studies) shows that it takes at least three years to feel comfortable and five before you really have your head on straight. Oh, sure. There are some teaching prodigies. But if you believe that all teachers are born, then you necessarily believe that education is a waste of time. If I can't learn and grow as a professional, then while bother trying to get my students who struggle to learn and grow. Either we're born good at something, or we're not. And if there IS one thing I'm good at, it's being a student. I do not always get things right the first time (as much as I so desperately want to and often do), but I do work hard to get those things right eventually.
So, I resigned from my post before I had a steady gig lined up. Take that for what it's worth. However, I was already well into the process of applying for a new position overseas. I have been dreaming of this day for 10 years.
"What?!" I hear you scream. "Really? Ten years? I don't believe you."
Well, believe it. It was about 10 years ago, maybe even 11, that a then-boyfriend took me to an Asian food store for the first time in my life. (We live a sheltered life in Maine.) While there, I bought a tin of tea: black lychee tea, to be exact. It comes in a red and brown tin with gold lettering. The first one I got was printed in English on one side and French on the other and Chinese everywhere in between. To this day, I think of the tea as noir lychee... What can I say? Foreign is foreign, so French works as well as the Chinese I can't read (or speak).
This one tin of tea, which has become my absolute favorite tea blend, started my secret infatuation with all things Chinese. I've always had a travelin' jones, and the seed to visit China was planted. As time went on and I became more and more of a social studies teacher, my desire to see the whole Eastern half of the world grew. I know the West. I've been raised in the West. I am immersed in Western culture. I have taken Western Civ. I know the narrative of the West. What I want to know is the East.
I want to understand, on a visceral level, what Eastern culture is. I want to steep myself in the one culture that has had the largest influence on the other half of the world. I want to become my own cup of Chinese tea. (I had to get at least one metaphor in here). China has influenced the other half of the world. China has 1.5 billion residents. I feel shamefully, woefully inadequate as a human in the global community to have such a poor understanding of China as I do. (Please note, I do not think everyone has to feel as inadequate as I do. Remember, I have defined myself as a social studies teacher for so many years that it has become an essential part of my being. It is who I am; it does not have to be who you are.)
By becoming a teacher, I suddenly opened up the possibility of teaching and living abroad, but I'm too chicken to go as an ESL teacher in some random locale. I want to teach in my content area, in English (to give myself a sense of stability and security), while living and growing as a person in the larger culture. Once I got my credential, I looked up international schools -- only to learn that having two years' teaching experience is an almost essential requirement.
So teach I have. And this year, knowing I was coming up on the two-year mark, I applied with one of the search firms for international schools, Search Associates. ISS is the other big firm. Both are well-known and reputable (I did some research beforehand). The benefit of SA is that they have a job fair in San Francisco, which made for easy travel. What I didn't know (for anyone who wants to follow in my footsteps), is that the Boston fairs (for both firms) are the big ones and give you a greater choice of locations and jobs.
Anyway, I resigned from my job knowing that I was attending a job fair a week later. When I showed up, I heard that only 40%-50% of attendees would receive an offer. I was worried, but determined. Long story slightly shorter: I had a job offer on Saturday morning at 8am after my first interview. The offer was for China -- the one place I most wanted to go.
To say I was happy is a giant, Chinese-population-sized understatement.
My struggle was keeping it silent. I didn't want my kids to know because they would then give up on school. I had to fight admin (again) on some of this. Well, it was a silent battle. Somehow, people at my school would come up to me and ask about my plans because they had heard I was leaving and I know I didn't tell them. Some I evaded; others I trusted. To anyone who didn't know, I generally lied. Obsfucated. Dissembled. I had a secret to keep, and all is fair in love and resignations.
Which brings us to today. My students know. I am telling teachers as I see them. A couple of really good things have happened.
My new teacher support person at the district level, who I have been convinced thinks I was horrible, told me flat out that she disagreed with admin. She told me she's read all of our reflections and I am doing a wonderful job and am a reflective, thoughftul teacher who will continue to grow and develop. She told me that I'm better off in a place where I can really shine. She also told me that she photocopied a number of my reflections to use as exemplars.
One of the admin staff told me that she disagreed with the decision. She thought I was a wonderful teacher and was so happy for me that I have this new position. She thinks it's wonderful and wishes me luck.
Today, I earned the right to apply for my clear credential. We had to give a presentation on what we studied over the year. I noticed that the county supervisor was in my room, and at first I thought she was taking some pictures during my presentation. Then I realized she was recording my entire presentation. Once I was done, I noticed she wasn't recording anyone else. My district advisor told her to watch my presentation, and she told me she wasn't disappointed. I might find myself on the county Web site. She was very sad when I told her her I was moving to China.
Finally, one of my students came by my room this afternoon to pick up a paper. As she was leaving she said, "The school is losing a great teacher."
Top that.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Talk It Out
I've been rather annoyed with my remedial students lately. These are, of course, the students who are stuck with me at the end of the year -- meaning they haven't passed the test yet. They are the least motivated of the least motivated students in school. (Which really isn't fair to my very motivated students who just really struggle with language and motivated themselves to pass the test.)
What I notice is that they don't think. They don't turn on their brain. They don't even try. They look for the simplest, most obvious answer; anything beyond mind-numbingly obvious turns into "I don't know".
I have been dragging them through an investigation of their relationship with literacy. Do they even want to learn how to read? Do they think it will ever be useful for them? Should they try to learn something at point in their horribly tiny lives? (Can you see my frustration shining through.)
I took a page out of my own book, and asked them to draw some pictures about what they imagined in some quotes that are about literacy. Two of them were from Jimmy Santiago Baca, a poet who dropped out of high school and was incarcerated at some point in his life. His life, of course, sparked some interest with them.
Today, after spending 2 1/2 class periods dragging three drawings from my students, we had a Socratic seminar about the first quote. They were not amused. There were mumblings of "I don't want to do this" and "This is stupid" -- mumblings which I called them on and asked if we could at least try the activity before they trashed it. They didn't want to sit in a circle. They didn't want to talk. But I dragged them along, kicking and screaming.
On my end, my questions weren't great. I had to do a lot of leading the witnesses, your Honor. But I slowly got them to drag out some of the images in the first quote. Santiago Baca talk about dropping out of school and feeling like he was being hunted because he couldn't understand and was too scared to ask for help. The quote continues with more violent images -- hanging, trapdoors, masks, muteness.
After some more kicking and screaming, I managed to get them all to share something. I manged to tell them I was asking about opinions, and not about facts. And one of them (a royal pain) pointed out that it seemed like he was running away from something bad that he did. They knew what it was like to avoid public places and spaces because you feel threatened. And I led them to what it is that he did wrong -- he couldn't express himself. Well, maybe they got there more or less. I'm pretty sure they got a lot closer to understanding than they ever did with me at the front of the room. And I got to tell them that THEY figured it out together.
They probably won't be happy about it, but we're going to do at least two more of these. Maybe one or two of them will find the process rewarding. Maybe one or two will learn something about the value of trying and the value of learning. Maybe.
What I notice is that they don't think. They don't turn on their brain. They don't even try. They look for the simplest, most obvious answer; anything beyond mind-numbingly obvious turns into "I don't know".
I have been dragging them through an investigation of their relationship with literacy. Do they even want to learn how to read? Do they think it will ever be useful for them? Should they try to learn something at point in their horribly tiny lives? (Can you see my frustration shining through.)
I took a page out of my own book, and asked them to draw some pictures about what they imagined in some quotes that are about literacy. Two of them were from Jimmy Santiago Baca, a poet who dropped out of high school and was incarcerated at some point in his life. His life, of course, sparked some interest with them.
Today, after spending 2 1/2 class periods dragging three drawings from my students, we had a Socratic seminar about the first quote. They were not amused. There were mumblings of "I don't want to do this" and "This is stupid" -- mumblings which I called them on and asked if we could at least try the activity before they trashed it. They didn't want to sit in a circle. They didn't want to talk. But I dragged them along, kicking and screaming.
On my end, my questions weren't great. I had to do a lot of leading the witnesses, your Honor. But I slowly got them to drag out some of the images in the first quote. Santiago Baca talk about dropping out of school and feeling like he was being hunted because he couldn't understand and was too scared to ask for help. The quote continues with more violent images -- hanging, trapdoors, masks, muteness.
After some more kicking and screaming, I managed to get them all to share something. I manged to tell them I was asking about opinions, and not about facts. And one of them (a royal pain) pointed out that it seemed like he was running away from something bad that he did. They knew what it was like to avoid public places and spaces because you feel threatened. And I led them to what it is that he did wrong -- he couldn't express himself. Well, maybe they got there more or less. I'm pretty sure they got a lot closer to understanding than they ever did with me at the front of the room. And I got to tell them that THEY figured it out together.
They probably won't be happy about it, but we're going to do at least two more of these. Maybe one or two of them will find the process rewarding. Maybe one or two will learn something about the value of trying and the value of learning. Maybe.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Walking on Sunshine
So, I know I've gone all radio silent on you, but I've had good reason. And while I feel the pain of my dear Little Big Sis, I'm just not in that miserable place anymore. No, gentle readers, my life is not a living hell hole. Oh, sure, there are still plenty o' crappy-ass things about this town, but my life is going well.
"So, what's going on?" I hear you cry.
I'm not prepared to share everything just yet. There are some timing issues that need to be worked out. Those of you who already know, know. (And that's probably most of you, although with you lurkers out there, I'm not sure exactly.) But, I can tell you this: I have a boyfriend.
Yes, indeedy my friends. After years and years of singlehood, I have managed to snag a man that I like and who likes me in return. It's pretty frickin' sweet. He's kind, and funny, and smart, and slack and simple and very casual. He is not in the rat race, but he is a good, good person. And the best thing about him is that he comes with a narrative. I love narratives. So sit down and get ready for a story.
I met him 10 years ago (yes, 10) at the Pirate Hostel in St. Augustine, FL. I had taken a little solo jaunt down the southeastern coast, from Wilmington, NC to St. Augustine by way of Myrtle Beach, Charleston, Savannah, and Jeckyl Island. (Yeah, it was a good trip.) I stuck to two-lane roads and stayed in campgrounds and hostels wherever possible -- including the sweetest hostel ever in St. Augustine. (Seriously, if you're ever there, stay at the Pirate Hostel. It's more like a hotel and there's a free pancake breakfast every morning.)
So, while I'm there, I chat with all the other visitors. We all have breakfast; we head out to the roof. And one boy there is really cute. I've got plans to go to the beach with some German girls, so I need to slather on the sunblock. I almost just left and never looked back, but then I asked him to do up my back. Yeaaaaah, baby. Anyway, I get his number and address in Orlando. And then I went about the rest of my trip.
The next day, I make my way across the state to Gainesville to visit my college friend J. (Although off the all-coastal route I was on, visiting her was always a part of the plan.) J & I talk and I decide to call this boy, and then visit him in Orlando. So, I take a whirlwind trip back across and down to Orlando before driving back to Durham.
He and I email for many, many months. It's 10 years ago, though, and we were both far less mature than we are now. He had an ego and a self-importance that got in my way, and I was just about as high-strung and high-maintence (who thinks she's low-maintenance) as they come. So, the emails got fewer and father between, and we eventually lost contact.
Fast-forward to last Ocotber when I get a friend request on Facebook from him. (Here's where our accounts differ: he claims I sent him a request, but it would have been three years ago when I first got on Facebook. And even then, if I'd friended him, it wouldn't have given me the option to accept. He probably would have just shown up in my list of 250+ friends and I never would have noticed.) But I'm all, "Hey! What's up?"
Turns out, he was in Eugene while I was in Portland, and neither one of us had a clue. He had since moved to Colorado, and we start phoning, sharing our life's ups and downs. He was staying with some cousins and getting tired of the family drama. You can all look back to October and see where I was at, but it certainly wasn't such a great mental/emotional place either.
He is a truck driver by trade, and has been about everywhere except the Northern California coast. You can't take trucks on most of Highway 1, but he really wanted to see it. So, I agreed that he could come visit and we'd do some tourist stuff; there's a lot of it that I haven't gotten to yet. After some set-backs on his end, he showed up over spring break, stopping by on his way back to Oregon to live.
Now, I knew there was a chance that we would reaquaint ourselves, but I wasn't promising anyone anything (including myself). It'd been 10 years and some phone calls do not a relationship make. But wouldn't you know it: he's still cute and he can crack me up like nobody's business. We stayed up until 3am one morning because we couldn't stop laughing. Even then, though, I wasn't expecting anything much long-term.
He left. He called me that afternoon. And then twice the next day. And just about every night since then. Note: he calls me. I do not have to call him. (Dad would be so happy.) He was in Newark, CA on Saturday, so I drove up and picked him up and we headed over to San Francisco for the day. We spend the night in the hostel, too. We stayed there just because we're the sort of people who do that, but it was still romantic seeing as we met in a hostel.
Yes, to those of you who know the other reason why I'm happy, things might get complicated in a few months, but it's not worth walking away from a good thing. I've got a second chance now; I'm going to take it. And no one is doing drive-bys of the china patters at the Belk's.
This is the (very) long way of telling you not to worry. I'm not writing because I'm too busy being happy.
"So, what's going on?" I hear you cry.
I'm not prepared to share everything just yet. There are some timing issues that need to be worked out. Those of you who already know, know. (And that's probably most of you, although with you lurkers out there, I'm not sure exactly.) But, I can tell you this: I have a boyfriend.
Yes, indeedy my friends. After years and years of singlehood, I have managed to snag a man that I like and who likes me in return. It's pretty frickin' sweet. He's kind, and funny, and smart, and slack and simple and very casual. He is not in the rat race, but he is a good, good person. And the best thing about him is that he comes with a narrative. I love narratives. So sit down and get ready for a story.
I met him 10 years ago (yes, 10) at the Pirate Hostel in St. Augustine, FL. I had taken a little solo jaunt down the southeastern coast, from Wilmington, NC to St. Augustine by way of Myrtle Beach, Charleston, Savannah, and Jeckyl Island. (Yeah, it was a good trip.) I stuck to two-lane roads and stayed in campgrounds and hostels wherever possible -- including the sweetest hostel ever in St. Augustine. (Seriously, if you're ever there, stay at the Pirate Hostel. It's more like a hotel and there's a free pancake breakfast every morning.)
So, while I'm there, I chat with all the other visitors. We all have breakfast; we head out to the roof. And one boy there is really cute. I've got plans to go to the beach with some German girls, so I need to slather on the sunblock. I almost just left and never looked back, but then I asked him to do up my back. Yeaaaaah, baby. Anyway, I get his number and address in Orlando. And then I went about the rest of my trip.
The next day, I make my way across the state to Gainesville to visit my college friend J. (Although off the all-coastal route I was on, visiting her was always a part of the plan.) J & I talk and I decide to call this boy, and then visit him in Orlando. So, I take a whirlwind trip back across and down to Orlando before driving back to Durham.
He and I email for many, many months. It's 10 years ago, though, and we were both far less mature than we are now. He had an ego and a self-importance that got in my way, and I was just about as high-strung and high-maintence (who thinks she's low-maintenance) as they come. So, the emails got fewer and father between, and we eventually lost contact.
Fast-forward to last Ocotber when I get a friend request on Facebook from him. (Here's where our accounts differ: he claims I sent him a request, but it would have been three years ago when I first got on Facebook. And even then, if I'd friended him, it wouldn't have given me the option to accept. He probably would have just shown up in my list of 250+ friends and I never would have noticed.) But I'm all, "Hey! What's up?"
Turns out, he was in Eugene while I was in Portland, and neither one of us had a clue. He had since moved to Colorado, and we start phoning, sharing our life's ups and downs. He was staying with some cousins and getting tired of the family drama. You can all look back to October and see where I was at, but it certainly wasn't such a great mental/emotional place either.
He is a truck driver by trade, and has been about everywhere except the Northern California coast. You can't take trucks on most of Highway 1, but he really wanted to see it. So, I agreed that he could come visit and we'd do some tourist stuff; there's a lot of it that I haven't gotten to yet. After some set-backs on his end, he showed up over spring break, stopping by on his way back to Oregon to live.
Now, I knew there was a chance that we would reaquaint ourselves, but I wasn't promising anyone anything (including myself). It'd been 10 years and some phone calls do not a relationship make. But wouldn't you know it: he's still cute and he can crack me up like nobody's business. We stayed up until 3am one morning because we couldn't stop laughing. Even then, though, I wasn't expecting anything much long-term.
He left. He called me that afternoon. And then twice the next day. And just about every night since then. Note: he calls me. I do not have to call him. (Dad would be so happy.) He was in Newark, CA on Saturday, so I drove up and picked him up and we headed over to San Francisco for the day. We spend the night in the hostel, too. We stayed there just because we're the sort of people who do that, but it was still romantic seeing as we met in a hostel.
Yes, to those of you who know the other reason why I'm happy, things might get complicated in a few months, but it's not worth walking away from a good thing. I've got a second chance now; I'm going to take it. And no one is doing drive-bys of the china patters at the Belk's.
This is the (very) long way of telling you not to worry. I'm not writing because I'm too busy being happy.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Good Calls
I got a phone call from a student this afternoon -- well, she's not quite a student. She was in my room during the California High School Exit Exam (CAHSEE) test back in February. She has otherwise completed her graduation requirements (I'm not sure if this is her 5th year or if she finished everything else up early), and just needed to pass the ELA CAHSEE. She showed up late (since she isn't enrolled in school), but I talked to her a little bit, gave her some encouragement, and then sat in the room until she finished her test.
Afterwards, she came up to me and asked if she could come talk to me about what she should study in order to pass. I had her come by my room the next day after school, and I went over her previous test's results and told her what she should work on. Then, I got her phone number so I could call and remind her about the next test administration.
I called her a week before the next test date, but I didn't hear back from her and I didn't see her in my testing room. (I have so few students left to take the test, I usually get all the overflow students like her.)
Well, she called me today about the message I left her more than a month ago. She had been in Mexico, and so she wasn't around to take the test. I asked her if she had gotten her score report, and she told me she hadn't. I told her I was pretty sure that she had passed. She was incredulous.
"No, really," I told her. "I'm pretty sure I saw you passed, but let me double-check."
"Ms. Scott, don't say that if you don't mean it. You mean I'll be able to graduate?"
"Yes. I'm looking at the score report right now. You scored a 357. You passed."
I love that moment. I love especially when I get to be the one to tell them. Their joy and sense of accomplishment is palpable. She kept on thanking me for helping her. I reminded her that she did the work and earned it herself. But she passed, and I can't wait to see her at graduation.
Afterwards, she came up to me and asked if she could come talk to me about what she should study in order to pass. I had her come by my room the next day after school, and I went over her previous test's results and told her what she should work on. Then, I got her phone number so I could call and remind her about the next test administration.
I called her a week before the next test date, but I didn't hear back from her and I didn't see her in my testing room. (I have so few students left to take the test, I usually get all the overflow students like her.)
Well, she called me today about the message I left her more than a month ago. She had been in Mexico, and so she wasn't around to take the test. I asked her if she had gotten her score report, and she told me she hadn't. I told her I was pretty sure that she had passed. She was incredulous.
"No, really," I told her. "I'm pretty sure I saw you passed, but let me double-check."
"Ms. Scott, don't say that if you don't mean it. You mean I'll be able to graduate?"
"Yes. I'm looking at the score report right now. You scored a 357. You passed."
I love that moment. I love especially when I get to be the one to tell them. Their joy and sense of accomplishment is palpable. She kept on thanking me for helping her. I reminded her that she did the work and earned it herself. But she passed, and I can't wait to see her at graduation.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Let It Happen, Boys
I was spending some quality time with one of my worst blocks in the computer lab, working on our research papers. "Why worst?" you ask? Well, because as a whole they have the lowest rates of attendance, achievement, and desire. Add on top of that a really high rate of Sped students (which does nothing to bring up the non-sped, but chronically lazy or thoughtfully-challenged students -- by "thoughtfully-challenged" I mean a chronic resistance to independent thinking, not an inability) and you get a challenging blocks.
Well, a (sped) student from another class came in to tell me he was going to the library to work on his paper. And then he came back, because all the library computers were in use. This particular student is capable, but definitely has behavior issues -- and he knows it. He's spazzy, sure, but he also has some anger management issues. This morning he said he just felt like punching someone. Just because.
But, since I'm a sweetie, when he asked if he could use a computer with my class, I agreed. Of course, he spent a lot of time chatting with his friends. He was getting some work done, although not as much as I might have wished. And then.
And then.
He looked at what his friend was doing. "What?" he exclaimed! "Where are your papers? Where are your notes? What are you working on?" I just sat back and listened and smiled. He then started to walk his friend through the process of writing a research paper. (If this student has issues, he also has supports from the awesome sped department. The Friend has issues, but doesn't qualify for any support; Friend has poor attendance and low interest and probably a lot more going on.) I couldn't do or say anything better than what my interloper is doing. He's taking over my role. I love it!
Interloper came over and asked me for the handouts that Friend didn't have. Then came back over and asked me to please explain them in more detail because he forgot.
I can't buy that kind of advertising. And I just loved listening to it. For all the goofing off that Interloper did, I think he contributed a lot to class today.
Well, a (sped) student from another class came in to tell me he was going to the library to work on his paper. And then he came back, because all the library computers were in use. This particular student is capable, but definitely has behavior issues -- and he knows it. He's spazzy, sure, but he also has some anger management issues. This morning he said he just felt like punching someone. Just because.
But, since I'm a sweetie, when he asked if he could use a computer with my class, I agreed. Of course, he spent a lot of time chatting with his friends. He was getting some work done, although not as much as I might have wished. And then.
And then.
He looked at what his friend was doing. "What?" he exclaimed! "Where are your papers? Where are your notes? What are you working on?" I just sat back and listened and smiled. He then started to walk his friend through the process of writing a research paper. (If this student has issues, he also has supports from the awesome sped department. The Friend has issues, but doesn't qualify for any support; Friend has poor attendance and low interest and probably a lot more going on.) I couldn't do or say anything better than what my interloper is doing. He's taking over my role. I love it!
Interloper came over and asked me for the handouts that Friend didn't have. Then came back over and asked me to please explain them in more detail because he forgot.
I can't buy that kind of advertising. And I just loved listening to it. For all the goofing off that Interloper did, I think he contributed a lot to class today.
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