This is my first attempt at making a digital story. I started out wanting to talk about Jaycee and how much she’d meant to our family; however, I found that I’m not ready to tell that story just yet. So I decided to talk about the next best thing: Nibbles.
My mother has cancer
Or, is it cancer that has her?
And through her we have cancer, too
Words that never meant anything to us, unknown utterances now consume our vocabulary
Stage 4 – c is not a stage direction and taxol, though killing her cell by cell, is our only hope
It’s a roller coaster, constant ups and downs
Living from one doctor’s visit to the next, one chemotherapy to the next, our lives are now the clichés of other cancer survivors
The doctors test and we wait, afraid to know the results and terrified to not know
Is that pain in her side the end? Will it ever end?
Medical science has miracles every day
We hope she is one
A new drug to help her, one that was not yet invented three years ago
Another surgery
Another prayer chain
Is it a conspiracy? Our food preservatives? Or something we trusted, like Tylenol?
We are being poisoned and there is no cure
Our bodies are a time bomb and we wait for them to go off
Is there anyone we know who doesn’t have cancer? Doesn’t have a loved one with cancer?
Families grieve in the hospital waiting rooms
In the grocery stores, in the funeral homes
For now this is the end, yet we still hope
Family In Need
It was the cardboard sign attached to her back, written in red paint. I always look at these people closely, the ones begging at intersections and red lights, the ones who make me feel uncomfortable. Do they look needy enough? I never believe those whose tennis shoes are newer and more expensive than my four year old Nikes.
As a person who drags my butt out of bed to go to work every day, I really had problems with people begging. Then, I became a single mom. A single mom who the courts let down by refusing to issue child support to – twice. You think it doesn’t happen, try getting divorced in Lawrence County. I still work – everyday. And, I do jobs after work to bring in money. My home is a trailer, my credit cards paid; yet with the ins and outs of doctor bills and everyday life, we barely survive.
There have been times in my own life when I have prayed that God would allow others to see my need. Times when I have made others aware of my need. I’ve now seen others look at me and feel uncomfortable. Couples at church thrust money in my hand and tell me they love me. Others look away and say I should just get another man or should have chosen better the first time. Some, those childless people who don’t see beyond the money issue, direct me to just make my son’s father take him. To give my son up just because of money? The thought horrifies me and I’m grateful these people don’t have children themselves.
And then I began to see them. Women begging for their family. Until this summer I have never seen a woman begging. It made me angry at first: How dare she make me feel uncomfortable? How dare she look me in the eye and ask for help? How could I possibly help? At the end of any given month, I’m down to my last five bucks. I know the value of five dollars. On five dollars I can feed myself and my son for two days and a breakfast. I drove past the first two women I saw begging, yet their images wouldn’t leave me.
I was once standing on the side of the road. In five days the Chevy truck I was driving would be taken from me. I would be divorced. All the money gone from the bank account, I was out of gas. Tearfully, I began walking. I stood by a stop sign and watched as the passing cars eyed me curiously, noting the red gas can in my hand. A policeman passed me twice, looking away each time. I felt surely he would be my hope, my help. Yet he refused to see me. The three dollars in my pocket bought a gallon and a half of gas. I headed home, saddened more by those who refused to help than by my plight.
I learned something the first moment I saw that woman in the black shirt and torn shorts wearing flip-flops, standing by the road, a cardboard sign resting against her thigh: Family in need. I’m blessed. I’ve never been reduced to the cardboard red painted sign. I always pull over now, rolling my window down and asking, “Ma’am, do you need some groceries,” handing a bag of five dollar’s worth of food out my window. Ever grateful they answer, “God bless you.” Yes, I am blessed.
Summer Institute 2009
This week began a new summer and all the things a new summer brings: unfamiliar faces, familiar faces revisited, new experiences, insecurity, curiosity about the days to come.
Ultimately I’m excited about the new summer institute. This year’s fellows are terrific: serious, smart, funny. Already they have opened themselves to the writing process and each other. It is exciting to see bonding and openness occurring at the beginning of the institute.
I’ve learned so much already. Each fellow is excited to share the wonderful ideas they use in their classrooms and there are many! Therein lies the problem, how can I possibly incorporate everything into my classroom? I can’t, not in one year. Yet I know I will leave this summer’s institute with a notebook of ideas and strategies that I will be incorporating in my classroom for years.
Technology
I use technology in the loosest sense of the word in my classroom. I feel that the technology available to me is that of the age of dinosaurs…
A Successful Final
Each quarter I am required to give my students a final exam. I have one class that I am blessed to teach with an aid. Along with her valuable help and insight, we have made this my favorite class to teach. The class is Reading and Writing Intervention 9. I use anything I can gleam from Katie Wood Ray in this class and find I usually learn as much, if not more than, my students.
I decided that I was going against the flow and not having a final exam for this class. Instead each student would submit a final portfolio for the quarter. The portfolios consisted of the following requirements: a letter to the class explaining what writings were included and why the student chose to include them, four writings, and three samples of real world (authentic) writing they do in their daily lives. The class completed and turned in the portfolios on the Friday before finals week.
On the day of finals, each student was given post it notes. Then we (including the aid and myself) each placed our portfolio on a desk. I set the timer for five minutes and everyone ran to a portfolio they were interested in reading. During the five minutes the students would read through the portfolio and make comments on the post it notes, leaving them on the inside the front cover of the portfolio. At first, a few of the students complained and fussed around. But then one student said, “You’ve got to read what I wrote in John’s portfolio!” Suddenly there was a rush for John’s portfolio and students began looking at the timer to make sure they had enough time to respond to the portfolio they were reading. The post its became just as important as the portfolios.
The end of class was spent with each student silently reading the post its placed in their portfolio. They smiled, laughed, said things like “Wow, I didn’t see that in my writing!” and valued the responses they had received. The students are required to keep their portfolios in my classroom (that way, nothing gets lost during the upcoming quarters). Students made me promise the post its would remain in their portfolio. They were afraid I’d take them out and throw them away!
This was by far the most meaningful and rewarding “final exam” I have ever administered. Thank you Writing Project and those who encouraged me to give it a try!!
The Dancing Queen
During the first hour of of school on Friday this song pulsed and poured from my classroom: a tribute to the one teacher whose beauty, professionalism and intelligence has truly changed my life and career. My students humored me and boogied along with me, saying that she was undoubtedly the dancing queen for she is the best dressed teacher we have.
I watched her worn down from verbal abuse this week. She’s leaving us now. I always knew she would; yet not on these terms, not wounded, not threatened. Not in a broken countenance and tears. I’m angry and powerless to fight back. I had to stand helplessly and watch the tears stream down her face. She was victimized by our administration.
Though she will be going at the end of the year, her determination to serve out the rest of her contract speaks volumes of her true worth. I will miss her, but I will not allow her to leave. She will be with me as I strive to be a professional, to be a better teacher. She woke me up to look at things and question them and to see what I am willing and not willing to take. She makes me a better teacher everyday and I will continue that without her - for her: I will carry on her legacy.
I’m grateful to her. Here’s to you, Dancing Queen.
Administrator
This week was sooo fast! I’m eagerly anticipating the lull that comes after the first three weeks of school. I still don’t know my students’ names yet, we are hardly in class for me to learn them. My students seem great though; I just love the honeymoon period.
I cringe to write this, to put down on “paper” what I’ve been thinking for the last two weeks. Putting it down may just make it true; and as of right now I can still pretend it isn’t. With the click of the mouse button on the publish icon it will be so - just that fast. Our administrator is working against our teachers. There. I said it. It is out and real.
I thought it was just me. You know how you think you’re simply misunderstanding someone and the signals they send you? I thought it must be something like that. Then it happened. I was summoned to an IEP meeting and my administrator asked for my opinion. No, really, he did ask for it. At times when I disagree with what someone is saying I try to keep my mouth shut unless asked. And in this case I definitely disagreed and I was definitely asked. So, I was honest. And I left the meeting disheartened that I could not sway the administration’s decision: I felt he was selling out to a graduation test and ultimately failing the student. I’m not there for a test and I hate these tests… but that is for another post another day.
The administrator made his decision and I left at the close of the meeting. I thought I must have just misunderstood when my administrator shook hands with all present except me. Perhaps he thought he’d already shook my hand? And besides, we know each other, he doesn’t have to shake my hand. Later the same afternoon I approached this same administrator to discuss a project I am very excited about. HE TURNED HIS BACK ON ME. No one else was there, no noise so that he couldn’t have heard me say his name, nothing on fire behind him to make him turn from me in such a way. I stood shocked for a moment. Then I got angry. I knew immediately he was mad that I had disagreed with his professional opinion. However, this reaction? Was he serious?
Oh, he was serious alright. He wouldn’t even look at me when I handed him a flier and talked straight to him. He didn’t even want to answer me. I had to stand there and wait him out. I did. Finally he spoke, but was short and curt and never looked at me. My pride and feelings were aptly hurt. But there is something here that hurts more than anything else.
I’m not the only staff member to be treated this way and I can expect many visits from him to my classroom in the coming weeks. I’m prepared. What I feel unprepared for is the climate of our school this year. I feel that our school climate is a direct result of how our administratior treats the staff. And he treats us as if we are less than professionals, that our classes and opinions aren’t important, that we are not valued and should feel so grateful that we have a job for we are so unworthy. I have seen a sadness come over our staff this year. No one is excited about the coming new schools. No one is excited to come to work. The staff stays away from one another for when we do meet up in the copy room we feel compelled to assure each other of our worth as teachers or we share common complaints for we fear the top may blow if we don’t let out a little steam. There is a tension among us that didn’t use to be.
I worry about my attitude during this tough period. And I wonder how long this will last. Teachers dream of the day our administrator moves on to bigger things. I know it could be worse, I’ve heard as much from teachers in other schools. It’s just that I’ve had it good and I want to look forward to going to work. And I mean ALL of work, I don’t want to just hide in my classroom to escape it. I also want to do my part to make it a great place to work. I’m just not sure how.
I Will Survive
“I Will Survive” was my mantra this week. I sang that song over and over. I love that song and can sometimes be caught boogying my way down a hall singing it. Some of the students even picked up that I was occassionaly humming it! One student named the song and said his mom plays it all the time. I know just how she feels!
Overall I felt it was a good week. But as usual, bad things first. If I save the bad things for later I have nothing to look forward to. It is 1:44 on Friday afternoon, in eleven minutes the classes will be dismissed to the pep rally for our Tigers. I heard it before I saw it: SLAP. Not a thump, a thud, but a stinging slap. I knew instantly someone would have a hand print on their face. And so to the office we went with one student declaring, “If you don’t get me away from him I’m going to beat him up.” Hey, no problem. I’ll get you away from him right now.
Something happened on the way to the office. I thought about my SI family and what they would be telling me, for at first I was worrying what my boss would think of my having such a problem with in a mere four days of school. And I heard a chorus of “You go girl;” “You didn’t ALLOW anyone to hit anyone and no one is getting away with anything in your classroom;” and, the best voice amid all your voices, “This is not a reflection of you or your abilities to handle a classroom and teach.” What was it, then? Two teenagers, each making the other mad, determined to fight and willing to pay the penalty to do so. Therefore I approached my assistant principle with confidence. Thanks guys!
Oh, I shared poetry this week just to listen to and talk about! I loved it and some of my students did, too. I have a ton of football players, cheerleaders and band kids in class. I’ll be looking for football or sports poetry to share with them. I sat in Tanks Stadium last night and watched them all become stars and, in the eyes of the crowd, achieve the greatness equal to the legends of our field. I was just as proud as the parents.
I look forward to journaling and sharing this year. I found last year that journals are what helped me most make connections and relationships with my students. I’m eager to begin those relationships this year. I am excited to see what and who this year holds as I travel with these students on a learning journey.
