So I guess we took a blogger vacation. Didn't really take any other vacations, so I guess that's something?
Lately I've been wondering if I'm really any good at "what I do." It seems that I can't seem to keep organized, or start on something until the deadline looms big enough to threaten a nervous breakdown.
I wonder why I have such problems, when I don't think I did before. Is it that I lack a schedule of deadlines dictated to me? Am I missing the support and resources that I grew accustomed to during college? Is that just an excuse? Or does it mean that I'm not a great as I hoped I was and it was all a product of my environment?
Is my miserable job as good as it gets? Can I blame it for all my ills or do I need to own up to my exhaustion being something I just need to suck it up over?
It's been months now of being sick and tired of being sick and tired. What can I change to fix this?
I'm all questions. No answers.
r/
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
On the Front Lines
Movies such as Dangerous Minds and Freedom Writers depict white teachers (white female teachers) as heroes who go into inner-city schools and tame angst-ridden teenagers who stopped caring. They wear their pearls and learn how to dance to rap music. Education researchers will tell you that these images fulfill the "teacher myth"--or the apotheosis of white teachers in urban schools. However, there is the "teacher myth"--and then there is the reality.
The reality is that urban schools cannot be reduced to mere images in Hollywood films. The building in which I teach would never make the cut. My students are too real for superficial characterization. And the teachers will readily admit they are no gods.
Yet there is something contagious about the (com)passion so many teachers exhibit for their students and their profession. One teacher in particular, Ms. A., has been an inspiration to me since the first day of school. After teaching Special Education for eight years in four different states, she is the epitome for working relentlessly. She constantly serves as an advocate for her students--legally, professionally, and personally. When a student misses too many days, she checks up on him/her. When a student is struggling with behavior or academics, she is the point person. And when a student has spent his entire academic career slighted by teachers and a crippled education system, she steps up and challenges him. This 8th grade student began the school year on a third grade reading level and, after the magic of Ms. A, scored Proficient on the PSSA in Reading. He now reads on a high school level.
I share a room (technically 1/2 of a classroom) with Ms. A, and have seen her at her best and worst moments. She is one of the few teachers who are not afraid to laugh and cry with students, share triumphs and defeats with coworkers, and continuously increase her effectiveness. Just when I start to lose steam, I look across the room and am reminded of why I am here.
There may never be a movie about Ms. A. Her life is not glamorous enough. She does not wear pearls, dance to rap music, or curse at her students to make a point. But she is real. And when I think of heroes, she is the first person who comes to mind.
The reality is that urban schools cannot be reduced to mere images in Hollywood films. The building in which I teach would never make the cut. My students are too real for superficial characterization. And the teachers will readily admit they are no gods.
Yet there is something contagious about the (com)passion so many teachers exhibit for their students and their profession. One teacher in particular, Ms. A., has been an inspiration to me since the first day of school. After teaching Special Education for eight years in four different states, she is the epitome for working relentlessly. She constantly serves as an advocate for her students--legally, professionally, and personally. When a student misses too many days, she checks up on him/her. When a student is struggling with behavior or academics, she is the point person. And when a student has spent his entire academic career slighted by teachers and a crippled education system, she steps up and challenges him. This 8th grade student began the school year on a third grade reading level and, after the magic of Ms. A, scored Proficient on the PSSA in Reading. He now reads on a high school level.
I share a room (technically 1/2 of a classroom) with Ms. A, and have seen her at her best and worst moments. She is one of the few teachers who are not afraid to laugh and cry with students, share triumphs and defeats with coworkers, and continuously increase her effectiveness. Just when I start to lose steam, I look across the room and am reminded of why I am here.
There may never be a movie about Ms. A. Her life is not glamorous enough. She does not wear pearls, dance to rap music, or curse at her students to make a point. But she is real. And when I think of heroes, she is the first person who comes to mind.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Reconciliation
Things I miss:
- Having passion for politics
- The simplicity of college life
- My once unfounded confidence that things would work out
- The illusion of safety
- Pure idealism
Monday, May 12, 2008
Appreciation
The past few months have flown by, leaving me exhausted--and to a large extent--speechless. It's amazing how so much can happen in such little time.
One year ago, I was gearing up for college graduation. My largest concerns were my David Hume final (I still don't know how I pulled that one off), and whether my graduation sash would arrive on time. Looking back, those things seem so futile.
I would say that my experience in Philadelphia, as both a teacher and a person, has given me perspective. But even that is an understatement...I'm not really sure how to describe it, but one particular parent meeting gave me more insight than should be possible in twenty minutes.
Last week was Teacher Appreciation Week, which is kind of a mixture of Valentine's Day and the 12 Days of Christmas--depending on how you look at it. Teachers were showered with kudos, cards, gifts, and food. While these gestures were nice, they merely brushed the surface. It wasn't until a CSAP meeting for a first grader that I was reminded of how important this work really is.
Shakera is a kind-hearted first grader, outgoing enough to hug me when I walk into the room, but shy enough to hide that she can't read. Her mother enrolled her in tutoring, so I have been working with her twice a week since October, to little avail. Then a month or so ago, I had her break down words and realized the root of her problem: she decodes words backwards.
Her classroom teacher and I referred her to CSAP--the Comprehensive Student Assistance Program--to ensure she was getting the extra support she needed. Even these interventions did not help much. We decided to take her to the next tier-recommending her for special education. Some might look at this as giving up, but the truth is, this is too important for pride. Shakera needs as much support as possible to ensure she does not get even farther behind.
To recommend students for special education, a meeting with the teachers, parents, school counselor and special education coordinator must take place (this is commonly referred to as the "Permission to Evaluate meeting"). Shakera's mother came in, and we discussed the interventions we have had throughout the year. After we had finished, her mother was completely silent. Then she tried to speak, but couldn't.
A few moments passed, and she said, "Shakera is me as a child. I never learned how to read. I spent my entire life feeling stupid and like a waste, and I never wanted my children to go through that..." Tears started streaming down her cheeks. "I don't know if you know this, but I'm a high school dropout. Ninth grade and I still couldn't read. I'm trying to go back for my GED now, but it's hard...My daughter in kindergarten has been helping me at home. It doesn't make Shakera feel any better."
She took a few moments to wipe her tears, then she said, "Thank you. Thank you all of you. It is so nice to hear that you love my daughter enough to help her get the gift of reading...A gift that I never got as a kid."
It might be easier to read this story than it was to be in that room, to see Shakera's mother sitting at a table of educators, representing (without choice) the system that failed her. I wish I could eloquently state how these moments expose reality, how--though seemingly small--they change and effect my life in ways I never knew was possible. But it would just come out as calculated, and merely measured for effect.
The closest I can come to this is a William B. Yates quote: "Tread softly, because you tread upon my dreams." We cannot take our paths lightly, no matter what profession we choose. We never know whose dreams may be tread upon, or simply overlooked.
One year ago, I was gearing up for college graduation. My largest concerns were my David Hume final (I still don't know how I pulled that one off), and whether my graduation sash would arrive on time. Looking back, those things seem so futile.
I would say that my experience in Philadelphia, as both a teacher and a person, has given me perspective. But even that is an understatement...I'm not really sure how to describe it, but one particular parent meeting gave me more insight than should be possible in twenty minutes.
Last week was Teacher Appreciation Week, which is kind of a mixture of Valentine's Day and the 12 Days of Christmas--depending on how you look at it. Teachers were showered with kudos, cards, gifts, and food. While these gestures were nice, they merely brushed the surface. It wasn't until a CSAP meeting for a first grader that I was reminded of how important this work really is.
Shakera is a kind-hearted first grader, outgoing enough to hug me when I walk into the room, but shy enough to hide that she can't read. Her mother enrolled her in tutoring, so I have been working with her twice a week since October, to little avail. Then a month or so ago, I had her break down words and realized the root of her problem: she decodes words backwards.
Her classroom teacher and I referred her to CSAP--the Comprehensive Student Assistance Program--to ensure she was getting the extra support she needed. Even these interventions did not help much. We decided to take her to the next tier-recommending her for special education. Some might look at this as giving up, but the truth is, this is too important for pride. Shakera needs as much support as possible to ensure she does not get even farther behind.
To recommend students for special education, a meeting with the teachers, parents, school counselor and special education coordinator must take place (this is commonly referred to as the "Permission to Evaluate meeting"). Shakera's mother came in, and we discussed the interventions we have had throughout the year. After we had finished, her mother was completely silent. Then she tried to speak, but couldn't.
A few moments passed, and she said, "Shakera is me as a child. I never learned how to read. I spent my entire life feeling stupid and like a waste, and I never wanted my children to go through that..." Tears started streaming down her cheeks. "I don't know if you know this, but I'm a high school dropout. Ninth grade and I still couldn't read. I'm trying to go back for my GED now, but it's hard...My daughter in kindergarten has been helping me at home. It doesn't make Shakera feel any better."
She took a few moments to wipe her tears, then she said, "Thank you. Thank you all of you. It is so nice to hear that you love my daughter enough to help her get the gift of reading...A gift that I never got as a kid."
It might be easier to read this story than it was to be in that room, to see Shakera's mother sitting at a table of educators, representing (without choice) the system that failed her. I wish I could eloquently state how these moments expose reality, how--though seemingly small--they change and effect my life in ways I never knew was possible. But it would just come out as calculated, and merely measured for effect.
The closest I can come to this is a William B. Yates quote: "Tread softly, because you tread upon my dreams." We cannot take our paths lightly, no matter what profession we choose. We never know whose dreams may be tread upon, or simply overlooked.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Photo Call!
Here's some pictures for y'all:
First, the show that opened last week and closes this week:
And this is an example of some of the stuff we do at The Theme Factory:
Enjoy!
First, the show that opened last week and closes this week:
 |
| Rag and Bone |
And this is an example of some of the stuff we do at The Theme Factory:
 |
| St Marys |
Monday, April 14, 2008
The Process (Part Blargh)
So apparently part two of the process is that you get totally slammed by a high school musical, during which you lose over 30 hours of working time to snow, schedule conflicts, and general asshattery.
Step three is losing your home to violence. I'm not going to air the details here, if you don't know already, you probably know how to send us a message for the story.
Step four is living in a place where you're always struggling to still be behind at everything, including the show that you so terribly want to do justice to by producing a carefully considered design with justifications and perfectly orchestrated load in that is entirely stress free.
Step 4.5 is where one of the jobs you wanted to do explodes into a deluge of stress that forces you to quit on a job for the first time ever.
Step five is where your day job buckles down for a huge job that balloons into overtimeville, keeping you too tired to catch up or really do much of anything outside sleep, eat, work and stress about the work you're not doing.
Step six you load in the show you almost designed with little forethought and spend the better part of two weeks in 13+ hour days.
Step seven is where you take a breath, then realize that all the stress you thought you'd put behind you is really a hydra of sorts where the one major stress splits into many smaller but still collectively overwhelming stresses that knock the wind out of you once again.
Step three is losing your home to violence. I'm not going to air the details here, if you don't know already, you probably know how to send us a message for the story.
Step four is living in a place where you're always struggling to still be behind at everything, including the show that you so terribly want to do justice to by producing a carefully considered design with justifications and perfectly orchestrated load in that is entirely stress free.
Step 4.5 is where one of the jobs you wanted to do explodes into a deluge of stress that forces you to quit on a job for the first time ever.
Step five is where your day job buckles down for a huge job that balloons into overtimeville, keeping you too tired to catch up or really do much of anything outside sleep, eat, work and stress about the work you're not doing.
Step six you load in the show you almost designed with little forethought and spend the better part of two weeks in 13+ hour days.
Step seven is where you take a breath, then realize that all the stress you thought you'd put behind you is really a hydra of sorts where the one major stress splits into many smaller but still collectively overwhelming stresses that knock the wind out of you once again.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Puzzled, revisited...
I used to think
life was a
c a r e f u l l y
constructed
P-U-Z
Z-L-E
You know-
the kind that comes
[in a box]
with a picture for
guidance.
p.e.o.p.l.e.
places
events
would come together
(to make the picture)
and I would be…
complete.
FINALLY.
Well,
someday.
Now I’m not sure what to
{ { { t h i n k } } }
All I know is that if life is
-in fact-
a PuZzLe,
to say its pieces are
“rough around the edges”
is an
under-
statement.
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