How I died on the first day of school

A rational person would think that the first day back in school with the whole faculty would be a joyous day. One in which I would tell them all about my I.B. training, my trip to Rome where I came face-to-face with my educational nemesis on the bridge from Castel S'Angelo. By the way I resisted the urge to scream and dive into the Tiber, but rather stared him down coolly and continued on my way with the knowledge that while I am literally following his career path at East I am doing so with a certain panache. I also kept a certain murderous feeling at bay and gnashed my teeth while wheelding a knife in my mind. But I digress...
Instead I was treated to "death by powerpoint". Powerpoint is the downfall of educators and it is something that should be only used sparingly and by the best of us. This presenter, who was paid an ungodly sum to stand in front of a group of educators and prattle on about something he got out of a book in the educational section of Barnes and Noble, was once demoralized by some unholy 7th grade teacher who gave him an "F" on a paper. He has lived under the shadow of this woman for I don't know how many years and has figured out a way to exact his revenge. He travels the country and tells people who teach for a living how to do it better and without wounding the pride of a single hormonal student. He explains in slide after slide how we are all living under an outmoded way of thinking, nevermind that its gotten us in "Newsweek" and the top scores in the state...no no no. We are still giving Fs and we are still teaching and potentially wounding pride. He did this for 5 hours and he had 50 slides. I went from giggling, to serious, to comatose in 5 minutes flat.
He had stats (none of them his own), he had graphs (again, not his own but at least he cited them) and he had three stories about that bitch of a 7th grade teacher. He even had a video that nicely illustrated how we had unwittingly been contributing to the criminal population this entire time with our teaching methods. Teachers are the reason for prison population, especially teachers that fail students. But it's ok, but we know now and tomorrow we'll stop it. Maybe it we didn't have summer vacations we'd stop our evil machinations!
I walked out of the ghostly light of the cafeteria and could feel my blood rushing back to the brain and I swear, if I stood still, could have heard the neurons firing again. I could sense tiny little electrical impulses shoot across my cranium and revive my aching head. My eyeballs were covered in some kind of film and the sun seared it off, thank god. I could move my arms and my legs without smacking into a cafeteria table or coworker. I had been in a rigid position to avoid doing this and I rejoiced at being able to dash out of there.
My first thought was how to find this damn 7th grade teacher and make her apologize to this fractured man or at least make her pay for therapy...

The Graduate(s)

This was my fourth SME graduation ceremony. As I watched the seniors pack the auditorium before walking out in those awful powder-blue robes, I ruminated on my graduation.

Sion dressed us in long formal white gowns, gave us three long stem red roses, and we were crowned with a garland of flowers by the headmistress. All very normal. The page holding the garland of flowers on a silk pillow might have been a little much. Of course, the voting for the white gown was a little contentious. Nolte's (specializes in wedding gowns) provided us with a runway show. I never really wondered how much money my parents sunk into that graduation until I started typing this. Oh and our class rings were originally designed by Cartier. I still wear that ring. And I don't know what happened to my gown. But I do know that my high school skinny body is gone, so perhaps it's best not to think too much on that!

But I digress, watching my "kids" walk across the stage is always somewhat poignant. They really are on to bigger and better things. I can only pray that something I said at some point in my classes sunk in. Mostly, I'm a little envious. They really are on to what changes their lives and even the cynical little stoner in the row behind me giggled a couple of times. I've been reading articles on the graduation rate in America and it seems that we are getting dumber and less educated. Moreover, more and more graduates are choosing the "year off" option. But these SME kids are definitely a class apart. 14 million in scholarship money and despite the crazy afro on one of the Top 10 candidates, there are some kids that make me pause for a minute with their intelligence. Though that's definitely a different post!

When it rains...

It seems as though I am adopting the nervous quarks of my dog during a furious storm. Except that thunder and lightening doesn't send me pacing, panting, and pressing myself against people. Instead it's the thought of finals, a freshmen mentoring program that I have a love/hate relationship with, and a really dirty building. I have nothing but sympathy for the janitorial staff and the horrendous amounts of paper towels, toilet paper, and Sharpie genitalia that is plastered all over the bathroom. However, I am fairly certain that the amount of dust, grime, and whatever the hell is blowing out of the A/C unit has coated my skin and is the reason my eyes can't seem to focus on the 12 pt. Times New Roman font in front of me.
I finished the first part of my finals and I'm nearing completion. It's strange that at this frenetic time of year I feel like I can survive in this state for another month or so. Like Dottie I feel like I can't really see past the current blinding flash and terrifying boom, the day exists for itself. I haven't the foggiest idea if my co-workers can tell...but I sincerely hope not!
I also have a sneaky suspicion that this is beginning to effect my social life/skills. Here's hoping the summer recoups them for me!

One Tentative Step...

Being a teacher not only taxes one physically, but also mentally. The obvious now having been stated, I want to start getting down these stories and thoughts that I have in my job. Not so much because I think they are worthy of being preserved for posterity, but because a lot of truly meaningful things happen in the course of a day and after four years, they're beginning to run together.

So here we go...

I assigned a personal narrative to be due next week for both of my freshmen and sophomore classes. I wanted to make sure I wouldn't get the general run-of-the-mill crap like: "My fifth birthday my parents bought me a pony cake and it was great." or "My friends and I got drunk and I stole a go-cart." (It's amazing what they think will impress me) So I requested that they dig deep and I read them a part of Ann Lamott's book Bird by Bird to remind them that true voice comes from deep within, it's opening the doors inside of you that you've been forbidden to open by your parents and it's reaching into those dark crevices and giving your "monster an onstage interview." My sophomores quietly absorbed this information and then wrote some ideas down on a sheet. I exalted that I had finally reached them. I knew I was going to get some rough stuff and I thought I was prepared.
A student came to me today with her idea for the narrative and I nearly broke down and cried. She is a wonderful girl and she has kept the class well-supplied with cookies and cakes all year (she bakes when she's stressed). When she first opened her mouth, my eyes rolled because of her high-pitched-sweet-as-molasses voice, but as time has gone on I have learned to love this girl. She told me her aunt wanted to clear the idea with me that she put all of her experiences into one narrative, like a reflection of what she's been through. I glanced at the sheet: Her mother died, her father is a hoarder, and she's attempted suicide. I managed to choke out, "yes" and then forced my arms down so I didn't envelope her in a surprise bear-hug.
This girl, this brave sweet girl who bakes and never complains and certainly has never denied anyone another cookie even when she's running low has been through hell. I am never ever surprised, but I am always amazed by my "children".
I don't think I'm prepared for this onslaught and now I wish I had never mentioned that stupid monster giving an interview. But damage is definitely done and I can only hope that this culminating paper will help a couple of kids come to some good truths. I really really hope.