"Find a penny, pick it up, and all day you'll have good luck!"
Maybe it was this little expression that first caused me to place so much more value on a penny than one cent. If it can bring good luck just by picking it up, what other amazing things could happen after that?
Penny loafers were in style when I was in elementary school. Every one had them, but no one put a penny in them. I thought they should come with a penny in them if they were called penny loafers.
My dad had a Lionel Richie phase at one time and I loved to sing Penny Lover.
Pennies were also popping up in several other songs and expressions here and there, in my piggy bank and sprinkled all around for any one to pick up...
"Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes!"
Because adults were always discarding them, they were always in abundance. My parents had a huge collection of pennies in their closet. Look at all this money, I thought, just sitting here....
My sister and I played with it sometimes in our make-believe games. I think all kids do that. It's the only money you're really allowed to play with, touch and have control over--the stray dogs of money, the rejects. Your parents tell you that it is "so dirty," and that makes it even better somehow. You're willing to get your hands dirty. You'll never forget the smell of pennies on your hands, the feel of a hand-full squeezed in your grip, the sliding and the pinching, the sound of the raining down of pennies, buttons, carpet fuzz, and pet hair.
When I was about 7, my cousin and I decided that we were going to start a charity that would help all of our neighbors. We filled tube socks with pennies and walked down the street sprinkling a few shiny coins into each mailbox. We got a big, scary lecture when our moms caught us. We were told we had committed a federal offense and could serve prison time. Apparently, pennies are very serious business that you can't just go around passing out for free. ;)
We had a pool in the back yard of my childhood home. My sister, my cousins, and I used to love to walk out to the front drive and sit on the warm asphalt on our towels and eat a snack. One time, I had some pennies left over from our 7-11 candy purchase, and it happened that my pennies fit perfectly into a small hole in our driveway. I became fixated on this perfect fit and began placing pennies in all of the holes in our driveway. Then, it occurred to me that I could go to prison for this. This giving stuff is hard work that involves a lot of red tape. I covered each deposit with a Band-aid, and I felt like I had given back to the earth in some small and strange way. This time, I decided, it would have to be a secret.
My very first crime, a civil disobedience, had been committed.
"Here's a penny for your thoughts, a quarter for your call and all of your momma's love."
Monday, December 12, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Captive Audience
I had to go to prison to get my foot in the door at Connors. Extreme, yes, but I had been teaching at Bacone for a year, so I felt prepared. Teaching at Bacone made me get tough. Sometimes I felt like I was in the movie Dangerous Minds...which was a bit unexpected since it is a Christian university. I was teaching a lot more classes than an adjunct instructor typically does because Bacone operates under its own rules as a private school. I had 18 credit hours of day and night classes. One particular night class was full of rowdy football players who were pretty much convinced that they were too cool for school. It was a challenge, to say the least, to keep their attention, to keep them in line and, as one of the most unpopular instructors with the athletes, to feel safe walking to my car at night with no security and no lights. By the time I left Bacone, I knew how to wear my game face, how to get respect as a young female instructor and how to shut down any attempts at leveling or sexual advancement. Only after I learned those things could I even hope to reach some of them through writing assignments and discussion of literature.
Compared to my experience at Bacone, Eddie Warrior Correctional Center was friendly. First of all, it is a women's prison. Second of all, only the best behaved inmates can enroll. That's not to say that I didn't have some students who needed to be removed. It was a little difficult for me to push out of my mind that some of these ladies were guilty of crimes I couldn't imagine, but I did push it out. I forced myself to turn a blind eye to my visions of being attacked with a pencil or being dangled from the 2nd floor window.
After I graded their first essays, my perception of the world changed. Most of them wrote very emotional stories about how they came to be in prison and how they missed their children. I came to see them as women...women who had made some very big mistakes. Some of these women were girls, not yet 20 years old. I felt very blessed to have had such supportive parents who always did their best to protect me from myself and from any danger they had the foresight to help me avoid. Still, as I look back, there were times in my teenage years when I put myself in situations that could have led me down a path of destruction. I couldn't help but see that every one, even Martha Stewart, is just one big mistake away from being inmate number 0001-2345.
Behind every tough girl's eyes, there was pain.
They were ready to make a change in their lives. They were tired of failing, tired of drug addiction and tired of their cycles of abuse. They were fiercely determined to soak in every lecture. They participated passionately in every discussion. They worked on each essay like it was the most important thing they'd ever done. They were coming to the realization that they were in fact good enough, smart enough, and fully capable of success. I've never seen eyes like theirs before or since.
I came away feeling like they educated me more than I had them. I learned compassion, humility and gratitude in a most unlikely place, the Oklahoma Department of Corrections.
Compared to my experience at Bacone, Eddie Warrior Correctional Center was friendly. First of all, it is a women's prison. Second of all, only the best behaved inmates can enroll. That's not to say that I didn't have some students who needed to be removed. It was a little difficult for me to push out of my mind that some of these ladies were guilty of crimes I couldn't imagine, but I did push it out. I forced myself to turn a blind eye to my visions of being attacked with a pencil or being dangled from the 2nd floor window.
After I graded their first essays, my perception of the world changed. Most of them wrote very emotional stories about how they came to be in prison and how they missed their children. I came to see them as women...women who had made some very big mistakes. Some of these women were girls, not yet 20 years old. I felt very blessed to have had such supportive parents who always did their best to protect me from myself and from any danger they had the foresight to help me avoid. Still, as I look back, there were times in my teenage years when I put myself in situations that could have led me down a path of destruction. I couldn't help but see that every one, even Martha Stewart, is just one big mistake away from being inmate number 0001-2345.
Behind every tough girl's eyes, there was pain.
They were ready to make a change in their lives. They were tired of failing, tired of drug addiction and tired of their cycles of abuse. They were fiercely determined to soak in every lecture. They participated passionately in every discussion. They worked on each essay like it was the most important thing they'd ever done. They were coming to the realization that they were in fact good enough, smart enough, and fully capable of success. I've never seen eyes like theirs before or since.
I came away feeling like they educated me more than I had them. I learned compassion, humility and gratitude in a most unlikely place, the Oklahoma Department of Corrections.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Slave to the Habit
I have a smoking problem. I have been self-imposing a legal form of slavery and violence against myself for 15 years. I think my addiction stems from previous ones, even from in the womb when I started sucking my thumb. I think the thumb-sucking turned into another obessesive behavior, and then into another, and I have been transferring it ever since. Smoking seemed to be the most satisfying in the moment for me. Then again, I always have a more positive memory of unhealthy relationships after they are over. I think, "Wouldn't it be nice to have just one smoke right now? And then pretend it never happened?" But that would be the next beginning of the end of my upperhand on those little evil sticks. I have stopped smoking several times in my life for any significant time period: a year, two years, three years. All it takes is that one little moment of over-confidence, the assumption that I am in control, and I'm in my shackles and chains by the end of the week. Pack-a-day shackles and chains. Every 15 minutes if I can, but every hour, it will happen. I will be out there in the rain, shine, snow, sleet, or hail.
I have stopped smoking now, but if I were to be so bold as to declare myself FREE from that addiction, the cigarettes might hear me, see a window of opportunity, and I'd be vulnerable to their next attack. I have to always remember that I am an addict. I am not responsible, so I give myself no leeway.
When I got pregnant, I declared the babies non-smokers. I could not smoke them out in there. I just couldn't. Cold turkey, done. And it never once bothered me, not one moment of weakness during my pregnancy at all. I felt like my body didn't belong to me for that time and I had no right to abuse it.
Now that they are here, I do have moments of weakness. But I am still winning the war on cigarettes. Hallelujah! It's been almost two years now. I wonder what I have transferred my addiction to this time. It's usually pretty obvious, but this time, I'm not sure. Coffee? That was there before. It did seem to take on more of a priority. Hmm.... What am I addicted to now???
OH!!!! I know!
Facebook.
I have stopped smoking now, but if I were to be so bold as to declare myself FREE from that addiction, the cigarettes might hear me, see a window of opportunity, and I'd be vulnerable to their next attack. I have to always remember that I am an addict. I am not responsible, so I give myself no leeway.
When I got pregnant, I declared the babies non-smokers. I could not smoke them out in there. I just couldn't. Cold turkey, done. And it never once bothered me, not one moment of weakness during my pregnancy at all. I felt like my body didn't belong to me for that time and I had no right to abuse it.
Now that they are here, I do have moments of weakness. But I am still winning the war on cigarettes. Hallelujah! It's been almost two years now. I wonder what I have transferred my addiction to this time. It's usually pretty obvious, but this time, I'm not sure. Coffee? That was there before. It did seem to take on more of a priority. Hmm.... What am I addicted to now???
OH!!!! I know!
Facebook.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
"I Think You've Got My Chair"
When I was very small, my sister loved me so much. She always wanted to kiss my chubby cheeks. She would say, "Come sit on me," and lay on her back with her knees bent, like a little chair just for me. I sat in my Amy chair and she would tell me "secrets" and we laughed and laughed. Frequently, her secrets were more like requests: "Go ask Mom and Dad if we can go to 7-11 to get some candy...BUT," she always added, "Don't say, 'Amy wants to know.'"
She was always happy to play with me...unless she had a friend over, or unless I wanted to play with her precious Cabbage Patch Preemie, Hugh with the cute little pacifier. Here and there, she had to draw the line. I accepted this as a younger sibling.
We played games, like M.A.S.H. (Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House) where we guessed about how our lives would turn out. It was pretty much an eeny-meeny-miney-mo game that depended on your selection of a number and where the pencil would land on the list of possibilities. What kind of car will you drive? What kind of house will you have? Who will you marry? How many kids will you have? Will you be rich or poor?
"LeeAnn, you will drive an Oldsmobile, live in a shack, marry Joe, have 6 kids and be a millionaire."
We loved make-believe. We were usually teachers or secretaries. My favorite was secretary because Mom let us use the disconnected rotary-dial phone. I loved that clickity-click sound. We set up card tables, gathered up all of our mom's old magazines, and turned through the pages looking for those little card inserts. We'd rip them out and fill them out for our customers on the phone: "Hello? Yes, that will be fine....Mmhmm, yes, yes...Can you hold on, please?"
When she started getting older, the boundary line got further and further away until I was reduced to listening in on her phone conversations and sneeking into her room when she wasn't home. I became her little taddle tale. I recall feeling rejected, insignificant, and a little lonely. Sure, I had my own friends, but I missed my sister, and she was becoming more and more hostile as teenagers do. She no longer wanted to tell me secrets or even make requests.
When I entered into the teenage years myself, she let me back into her world. I felt so cool. I felt like she was proud of me again. Instead of hiding me away from her friends, giving me the enemy soldier treatment, she was letting me ride in her car, telling me things about her life and letting me hang out with her and her friends. She was a very cool sister.
We remained best friends for many years. She got married and moved out of our house, which, as it turned out, wasn't such a sad thing because I could go visit her and spend the night even! It opened a new chapter in my life as well, as I started pushing the limits on my "best" behavior.
Now that we are adults in "the real world," we both have busy lives with our families. I miss that sister sharing and friendship. I know we'll always love each other, but some where along the way, communication has lost its effectiveness. We have a very hard time relating to each other these days despite all of the things we have in common. It breaks my heart. Even the most benign exchange can turn ugly faster than you can say, "eeny-meeny-miney-mo." Whether it's too many words or not enough words, I'm not sure.
--Robert Frost, from "Home Burial"
Our friendship has been put on the shelf like an old book gathering dust. I'm afraid that too much time will pass and the book's pages will be too brittle to handle.
If I die tomorrow, one of my biggest life regrets will be that I turned my back on our friendship. If I could fix it right now, I would. It's just that my key won't open the door. Maybe Father Time will turn the page and open the door for us...bring these sisters back together as he has in the past...
She was always happy to play with me...unless she had a friend over, or unless I wanted to play with her precious Cabbage Patch Preemie, Hugh with the cute little pacifier. Here and there, she had to draw the line. I accepted this as a younger sibling.
We played games, like M.A.S.H. (Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House) where we guessed about how our lives would turn out. It was pretty much an eeny-meeny-miney-mo game that depended on your selection of a number and where the pencil would land on the list of possibilities. What kind of car will you drive? What kind of house will you have? Who will you marry? How many kids will you have? Will you be rich or poor?
"LeeAnn, you will drive an Oldsmobile, live in a shack, marry Joe, have 6 kids and be a millionaire."
We loved make-believe. We were usually teachers or secretaries. My favorite was secretary because Mom let us use the disconnected rotary-dial phone. I loved that clickity-click sound. We set up card tables, gathered up all of our mom's old magazines, and turned through the pages looking for those little card inserts. We'd rip them out and fill them out for our customers on the phone: "Hello? Yes, that will be fine....Mmhmm, yes, yes...Can you hold on, please?"
When she started getting older, the boundary line got further and further away until I was reduced to listening in on her phone conversations and sneeking into her room when she wasn't home. I became her little taddle tale. I recall feeling rejected, insignificant, and a little lonely. Sure, I had my own friends, but I missed my sister, and she was becoming more and more hostile as teenagers do. She no longer wanted to tell me secrets or even make requests.
When I entered into the teenage years myself, she let me back into her world. I felt so cool. I felt like she was proud of me again. Instead of hiding me away from her friends, giving me the enemy soldier treatment, she was letting me ride in her car, telling me things about her life and letting me hang out with her and her friends. She was a very cool sister.
We remained best friends for many years. She got married and moved out of our house, which, as it turned out, wasn't such a sad thing because I could go visit her and spend the night even! It opened a new chapter in my life as well, as I started pushing the limits on my "best" behavior.
Now that we are adults in "the real world," we both have busy lives with our families. I miss that sister sharing and friendship. I know we'll always love each other, but some where along the way, communication has lost its effectiveness. We have a very hard time relating to each other these days despite all of the things we have in common. It breaks my heart. Even the most benign exchange can turn ugly faster than you can say, "eeny-meeny-miney-mo." Whether it's too many words or not enough words, I'm not sure.
"My words are nearly always an offense.
I don't know how to speak of anything
So as to please you. But I might be taught,
I should suppose. I can't say I see how."
I don't know how to speak of anything
So as to please you. But I might be taught,
I should suppose. I can't say I see how."
"We could have some arrangement
By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off
Anything special you're a-mind to name.
Though I don't like such things 'twixt those that love."
By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off
Anything special you're a-mind to name.
Though I don't like such things 'twixt those that love."
--Robert Frost, from "Home Burial"
Our friendship has been put on the shelf like an old book gathering dust. I'm afraid that too much time will pass and the book's pages will be too brittle to handle.
If I die tomorrow, one of my biggest life regrets will be that I turned my back on our friendship. If I could fix it right now, I would. It's just that my key won't open the door. Maybe Father Time will turn the page and open the door for us...bring these sisters back together as he has in the past...
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Pants on Fire
I'm not a seafood lover, but I make an exception for Red Lobster because of those yummy, cheesy biscuits. I say, "an exception," but really, I still don't eat sea food. I have pasta. Anyway, I go along with my husband to the sea food restaurant because I LOVE those cheesy, garlicy, crispy-on-the-outside, fluffy-on-the-inside balls of buttery perfection.
It was one of those exceptional evenings and I just had to have one. It was around the time when the whole "GM buy out" was everywhere. We were sitting at our table and I just kept waiting and waiting for these biscuits to come. "Why don't we have the biscuits?..." We had our drinks...and menus. No cheesy yummies. I was getting impatient. "They must've forgotten."
Rodney kept saying, "They don't have 'em anymore."
"Whatever. Yes, they do."
"They really don't. I swear. It was on the news. The recession has caused all the restaurants to cut their budgets."
"Shut up, Rodney. You're lying." He always does that. He makes up lies to rile me up and he keeps on with them for the longest time. You can never believe a story of his. Sometimes it's the next day or a few days later when he remembers to tell me he was "kidding."
"Look around. Do you see anyone with biscuits?"
"No..."
"They don't have 'em anymore."
"Oh...my...gosh.... I will never come here again. I can't believe they would cut the one thing that everyone loves!" Flabbergasted.
and then our waitress brought them out and he thought it was so funny.
Why do I let him get me??
It was one of those exceptional evenings and I just had to have one. It was around the time when the whole "GM buy out" was everywhere. We were sitting at our table and I just kept waiting and waiting for these biscuits to come. "Why don't we have the biscuits?..." We had our drinks...and menus. No cheesy yummies. I was getting impatient. "They must've forgotten."
Rodney kept saying, "They don't have 'em anymore."
"Whatever. Yes, they do."
"They really don't. I swear. It was on the news. The recession has caused all the restaurants to cut their budgets."
"Shut up, Rodney. You're lying." He always does that. He makes up lies to rile me up and he keeps on with them for the longest time. You can never believe a story of his. Sometimes it's the next day or a few days later when he remembers to tell me he was "kidding."
"Look around. Do you see anyone with biscuits?"
"No..."
"They don't have 'em anymore."
"Oh...my...gosh.... I will never come here again. I can't believe they would cut the one thing that everyone loves!" Flabbergasted.
and then our waitress brought them out and he thought it was so funny.
Why do I let him get me??
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Sit Down, Please.
My dad always says he doesn't like being spoken to in the mornings. I always thought that was so mean of him. That's usually when I feel the most energy for expression because I have been sleeping, alone with my thoughts for at least 8 hours. Now, I'm ready to get my mouth motor running. He doesn't like to be bothered with all of my thoughts and feelings before he has had time to process his own. I understand that now more than ever. My students are my payback for all of that verbal garbage I dumped on my dad all of those mornings...and that I may still be guilty of to this day with my husband.
Some students come in and want to tell me all about everything or bombard me with questions about the day or yesterday. I'm not ready to confront all of their issues right away. I need to think to myself, think about what I'm going to talk about in class that day, think about what's ahead and where we are.
Before class, I do not like being approached. Unfortunately, this is when most of them want to appoach me. Why is it that students all feel that this is prime time to approach me with things like:
"I wasn't here for the last few days. What did we do?" or my favorite, "Did we do anything?"
"I will be gone on such and such days."
"Is this done correctly?" "I'm confused about..."
"Is it too late to turn this in?"
"What are we going to be doing in class today?"
or some long personal story that explains why they were gone.
Then, there is that person who comes in after I have begun, stands there at my desk, interrupts me, and gives me a little tidbit about their issue. Even if they're saying, "I'm so sorry I was late," (which is weird.... Are you so sorry you're interrupting, too?) I don't want to hear it. Sit down, please.
Why don't they wait until after class? I don't want to have a discussion with them in front of the whole class, while they are all at full attention. Everyone is waiting patiently for class to begin. I'm sure they all have thoughts that they could say out loud but don't. Each person has a personal issue or maybe an absence that bothered them. Not everyone knows exactly what's going on immediately when they walk in, but they sit there and they wait. But here this person is, wanting to discuss a little matter right at the head of the classroom like it's top priority. Now, I don't expect people to know that I hate this. I feel mean even writing this. I can understand their point of view.
But still...
Everytime someone gets out of their seat and walks toward the desk in those few minutes before class starts, I don't look at them until I have to. I am hoping they are just going to the bathroom or sharpening their pencil. I don't want to be approached right now, peeps. Maybe it's just a personal preference of mine. I'm sure it's perfectly normal to want to talk to your instructor about something before class. But I hate it. Sit down, please. I will talk to you after class or in office hours. Many of your questions and concerns will be addressed in the day's discussion if you'll just wait. Your absence, late work, personal problem is not important to me right now in this moment. I'm sorry. I will care about it later. But right now, I am occupied with teaching, with thinking and preparing. *Sigh* but I will continue about my polite way of answering when I can, ushering them with a quick guesture and a smile to their seat, a nice little, "hold on a minute and I'll explain that to all of you," until the end of time. Smile. Deep breath. I do love students. I really do.
Some students come in and want to tell me all about everything or bombard me with questions about the day or yesterday. I'm not ready to confront all of their issues right away. I need to think to myself, think about what I'm going to talk about in class that day, think about what's ahead and where we are.
Before class, I do not like being approached. Unfortunately, this is when most of them want to appoach me. Why is it that students all feel that this is prime time to approach me with things like:
"I wasn't here for the last few days. What did we do?" or my favorite, "Did we do anything?"
"I will be gone on such and such days."
"Is this done correctly?" "I'm confused about..."
"Is it too late to turn this in?"
"What are we going to be doing in class today?"
or some long personal story that explains why they were gone.
Then, there is that person who comes in after I have begun, stands there at my desk, interrupts me, and gives me a little tidbit about their issue. Even if they're saying, "I'm so sorry I was late," (which is weird.... Are you so sorry you're interrupting, too?) I don't want to hear it. Sit down, please.
Why don't they wait until after class? I don't want to have a discussion with them in front of the whole class, while they are all at full attention. Everyone is waiting patiently for class to begin. I'm sure they all have thoughts that they could say out loud but don't. Each person has a personal issue or maybe an absence that bothered them. Not everyone knows exactly what's going on immediately when they walk in, but they sit there and they wait. But here this person is, wanting to discuss a little matter right at the head of the classroom like it's top priority. Now, I don't expect people to know that I hate this. I feel mean even writing this. I can understand their point of view.
But still...
Everytime someone gets out of their seat and walks toward the desk in those few minutes before class starts, I don't look at them until I have to. I am hoping they are just going to the bathroom or sharpening their pencil. I don't want to be approached right now, peeps. Maybe it's just a personal preference of mine. I'm sure it's perfectly normal to want to talk to your instructor about something before class. But I hate it. Sit down, please. I will talk to you after class or in office hours. Many of your questions and concerns will be addressed in the day's discussion if you'll just wait. Your absence, late work, personal problem is not important to me right now in this moment. I'm sorry. I will care about it later. But right now, I am occupied with teaching, with thinking and preparing. *Sigh* but I will continue about my polite way of answering when I can, ushering them with a quick guesture and a smile to their seat, a nice little, "hold on a minute and I'll explain that to all of you," until the end of time. Smile. Deep breath. I do love students. I really do.
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Law of Unattraction
People are not exactly pushing and shoving their way to the front of the line to become teachers.
Why is that?
People tell children that teachers are poor. Actually, I believe the "people" saying this most often are the teachers themselves. Maybe we just like to joke about money. It is said that the ability to laugh at ourselves is a good thing. We shouldn't take ourselves too seriously, of course. Maybe it's a modesty thing or an insecurity thing. Maybe we want to beat people to the punch. It is a well-known fact that teachers do not make a lot of money. Then, there is that romantic idea that money is not important to us...that we are above the all mighty dollar and we will not sell out.
If you ask a student what he wants to be, likely he will name some highly paid profession. No student says, "I want to be a ditch digger." And it's the minority who says, "I want to be a teacher." Students who feel they have a lot to offer, who work hard for their honored status in highschool and college want to be compensated accordingly, to be given that honored status in real life, respect and, let's be honest, Money. Teachers do not get either of these in the eyes of their professional peers.
This is the root of America's education crisis.
Obviously, until we place more value on the career of education, we will continue to have discounted results. "You get what you pay for," right? Okay, this old soap box is crumbling under my feet, so I guess we need to find a newer, stronger and higher pedestal than a soap box. If only there were room in the budget....;)
I'm sure you've heard the expression, "Those who cannot do, teach," and other variations like, "Those who can, do. Those who cannot, teach. Those who cannot teach, teach gym." Haha, right?
Why do we patronize our educators? We know that these are the people responsible in large part for the success or failure of our children. Maybe we just like to have someone else to blame for the latter. We prize education, but not educators. But wait a minute...is it really just other people patronizing us? Or are we also patronizing ourselves? We seem to be throwing ourselves under the bus too often. Maybe if we stop degrading ourselves in the minds of children and the general public, but most of all, ourselves, we would inspire more respect and compensation.
Having said all of this, I should be clear about some things. I do not feel strain on my family budet. I am eating three squares a day. So far, my husband and I support ourselves and our children without worry about the wolf at the door. He doesn't need to come huff and puff and blow our house down. We are on good terms with The Big Bad Wolf. Another very important thing: I enjoy my job for the most part. It makes me feel good to be part of so many students' educational journey.
I didn't know what I wanted to be when I was in school. I knew I did not want to be a teacher. First of all, it was because of the money. I thought I needed lots and lots of money. When you're very young, you don't really understand money or how much you will need. You just know that life on your own sounds pretty scary and you know you need a lot more money than you have...which is none.
I didn't want to be a teacher most of all because I was afraid. I was afraid of public speaking. I was afraid of being looked at. I was afraid of being judged, talked about or hated by students. I was afraid of not knowing everything. Don't teachers have to know everything?
When I was offered a graduate teaching position, I felt myself cringe. My mind took me immediately back to kindergarten when I crumbled under the pressure of all of those beady eyes as I stood at the podium in full costume with my book report. I cried for my dad and he walked to the front of the auditorium and carried me out of the public library. I thought about the offer that night and I knew I could not be that kindergartener again. I couldn't live with myself. I had to face my fear. One of my professors, Dr. Winn, said something to ease my tension: "Don't let those little bastards scare ya. You know more than they do." But another professor, Dr. Wilcox, said something to renew my fears: "You have about 15 minutes to convince them before the pack attacks." Great.
I was horrible at first. I hate thinking about those first few years of teaching.
But I got better. Now, I love those first 15 minutes. I don't see them as a pack of wolves. I see them as people who need some tools that I possess. I got whatcha need! :)
Whatever you fear might just be exactly what you need.
That's the law of unattraction.
Why is that?
People tell children that teachers are poor. Actually, I believe the "people" saying this most often are the teachers themselves. Maybe we just like to joke about money. It is said that the ability to laugh at ourselves is a good thing. We shouldn't take ourselves too seriously, of course. Maybe it's a modesty thing or an insecurity thing. Maybe we want to beat people to the punch. It is a well-known fact that teachers do not make a lot of money. Then, there is that romantic idea that money is not important to us...that we are above the all mighty dollar and we will not sell out.
If you ask a student what he wants to be, likely he will name some highly paid profession. No student says, "I want to be a ditch digger." And it's the minority who says, "I want to be a teacher." Students who feel they have a lot to offer, who work hard for their honored status in highschool and college want to be compensated accordingly, to be given that honored status in real life, respect and, let's be honest, Money. Teachers do not get either of these in the eyes of their professional peers.
This is the root of America's education crisis.
Obviously, until we place more value on the career of education, we will continue to have discounted results. "You get what you pay for," right? Okay, this old soap box is crumbling under my feet, so I guess we need to find a newer, stronger and higher pedestal than a soap box. If only there were room in the budget....;)
I'm sure you've heard the expression, "Those who cannot do, teach," and other variations like, "Those who can, do. Those who cannot, teach. Those who cannot teach, teach gym." Haha, right?
Why do we patronize our educators? We know that these are the people responsible in large part for the success or failure of our children. Maybe we just like to have someone else to blame for the latter. We prize education, but not educators. But wait a minute...is it really just other people patronizing us? Or are we also patronizing ourselves? We seem to be throwing ourselves under the bus too often. Maybe if we stop degrading ourselves in the minds of children and the general public, but most of all, ourselves, we would inspire more respect and compensation.
Having said all of this, I should be clear about some things. I do not feel strain on my family budet. I am eating three squares a day. So far, my husband and I support ourselves and our children without worry about the wolf at the door. He doesn't need to come huff and puff and blow our house down. We are on good terms with The Big Bad Wolf. Another very important thing: I enjoy my job for the most part. It makes me feel good to be part of so many students' educational journey.
I didn't know what I wanted to be when I was in school. I knew I did not want to be a teacher. First of all, it was because of the money. I thought I needed lots and lots of money. When you're very young, you don't really understand money or how much you will need. You just know that life on your own sounds pretty scary and you know you need a lot more money than you have...which is none.
I didn't want to be a teacher most of all because I was afraid. I was afraid of public speaking. I was afraid of being looked at. I was afraid of being judged, talked about or hated by students. I was afraid of not knowing everything. Don't teachers have to know everything?
When I was offered a graduate teaching position, I felt myself cringe. My mind took me immediately back to kindergarten when I crumbled under the pressure of all of those beady eyes as I stood at the podium in full costume with my book report. I cried for my dad and he walked to the front of the auditorium and carried me out of the public library. I thought about the offer that night and I knew I could not be that kindergartener again. I couldn't live with myself. I had to face my fear. One of my professors, Dr. Winn, said something to ease my tension: "Don't let those little bastards scare ya. You know more than they do." But another professor, Dr. Wilcox, said something to renew my fears: "You have about 15 minutes to convince them before the pack attacks." Great.
I was horrible at first. I hate thinking about those first few years of teaching.
But I got better. Now, I love those first 15 minutes. I don't see them as a pack of wolves. I see them as people who need some tools that I possess. I got whatcha need! :)
Whatever you fear might just be exactly what you need.
That's the law of unattraction.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Guilty
Ok, here's the real deal peeps. I eat a lot of fast food. There, I said it. I love McDonald's breakfast, ok? I feel so dirty. I probably have McDonald's grease seeping from my pores. They know me. They are expecting me every morning. They worry when I don't come. I bet they have a joke about me. I probably have a nick name that they all know me by, "Biscuit Lady" or "3 creams, 3 Splendas" or something really mean, who knows? I used to alternate McDonald's so they wouldn't know how severe my addiction is...that I am a hard core sausage biscuit and large coffee abuser. I wish I had a wig and some big glasses when I'm pulling in and out of the parking lot. But then I would be a greasy McDonald's slave and a lunatic, too.
Here she comes, here she comes! LOL
Arcelia is my favorite window person, so sweet and such a genuine smile for every single person, I'm sure. I think English is her second language, but she never seems frustrated or inappropriate. She has those salutations memorized....thet sort of trail off in the exact same way every time, but it's endearing. I should say, "Ok, bye! See you tomorrrow!" but I don't.
Maybe they don't even notice me and it's all in my narcissistic mind. Or maybe I am apart of a whole pathetic slew of McDonald's regulars. We should form a club and make rules. Yeah. I nominate myself as president.
Rule #1: PULL UP when there is enough room, so the next person can get to the speaker, dang!
Rule #2: Know what you want, or go inside.
Rule #3: Do not try to cut when you know I was here first.
Rule #4: When you do cut, at least have the guts to look at me.
That's all for now.
Here she comes, here she comes! LOL
Arcelia is my favorite window person, so sweet and such a genuine smile for every single person, I'm sure. I think English is her second language, but she never seems frustrated or inappropriate. She has those salutations memorized....thet sort of trail off in the exact same way every time, but it's endearing. I should say, "Ok, bye! See you tomorrrow!" but I don't.
Maybe they don't even notice me and it's all in my narcissistic mind. Or maybe I am apart of a whole pathetic slew of McDonald's regulars. We should form a club and make rules. Yeah. I nominate myself as president.
Rule #1: PULL UP when there is enough room, so the next person can get to the speaker, dang!
Rule #2: Know what you want, or go inside.
Rule #3: Do not try to cut when you know I was here first.
Rule #4: When you do cut, at least have the guts to look at me.
That's all for now.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Teaching Process
I teach writing. Don't I?
Do my students improve as writers after having my class? I'm not sure. How do you teach a person to be better at writing when all you have is 50 minutes at a time, three essays to write, and three days a week over the course of 16 weeks? And, to make matters seem more impossible, most of your subjects don't want to write.
I have been writing for years and I think I'm getting better, but it takes lots of writing and lots of reading to become good at writing. Did I learn this from a teacher? Kind of. I learned some strategies from teachers and I learned to question myself from teachers. My teachers, most of all, provided me with opportunity and direction, the experience I needed with writing--assignments. I learned to actually write from writing and from reading.
My students work for a few weeks on each essay. I feel good about that. In previous teaching experiences, I have assigned an essay, and the students go write it and turn it in when they come back. I could tell that most had written it in one sitting in a hurry at 2 in the morning. Additional drafts were a joke. I could tell that the students were done; the work was over for them. Additional work was just placation. I could see a look on most of their faces that said, "What? This isn't good enough for you?"
Now, when I try to teach the revision process, where I believe true writing is done and improvement in writing ability begins, the students bail out. I can see their eyes glazing over. They have checked out. It's like they did the dishes and now someone is pointing out water spots, remaining food, or criticizing their loading method. "The dishes are done. What do you want from me?"
I have tried different methods in the 7 years that I have been teaching.
I have tried peer review. I don't like it. The peer can be more misleading than anything. And the student tends to blindly follow the blind peer.
I have tried the "less is more" approach. I made a short list at the top of the page of issues that needed to be addressed and left it up to the student to re-assess his or her writing with those things in mind. I think the students saw this as a mystery they didn't have the experience or knowledge to solve. So, I started making the list as single word comments in the margins. I still didn't see big improvements in student writing.
I have tried making anonymous copies of the students' work and putting it on the overhead for discussion. The students were more focussed on figuring out who wrote what and seemed to feel more pressure during the writing process. So, I started using students from other classes, or just telling them that I was. They seemed a little embarrased, like I was criticizing them: "Don't be like this person," and "Can't you be more like this person?" I wasn't seeing the results I wanted and it was quite a bit of work with little pay-off.
I have also tried the guided writing approach. This is where the students are given prompts and a guided process to follow during planning stage of the writing process. There are some students who do very well with this. They like being led and told what to do step by step. It makes them feel nice and secure. It helps me instill the idea of a systematic process better than any other method I have tried. Some of the students seem to feel inhibited by this. They feel like they are being slowed down, forced to complete a pointless activity before actually begining. It's very difficult to convince a student of the importance of an actual writing process.
I remember feeling this way myself as a student. I just wanted to freely begin to write and be done, not be burdened by someone else's idea of how my mind should operate. I can even remember faking the process in my earliest memories of the writing "process." I made mistakes on purpose so I could make it appear that I was correcting myself or revisiting my work. I wasn't sure what the teacher meant by "revision."
"Re"-- again
"vision" sight
"Revision"--to see again. Look at it and reevaluate the decisions you made and the effect of those decisions on the reader.
What reader?
Your teacher? It occurs to them with horror: "Are you going to read these outloud?"
*sigh*
Teaching writing is a very difficult challenge. To my initial question: do I teach writing? I think so far I am, at best, teaching confidence and giving the students some experience. Maybe some day I will figure out how to get freshmen to actually see and appreciate writing for what it is, a process...of thinking, and re-thinking, giving tangible life to a thought you might not have known you had, yes, sharing, and most importantly, personal, intellectual growth.
Do my students improve as writers after having my class? I'm not sure. How do you teach a person to be better at writing when all you have is 50 minutes at a time, three essays to write, and three days a week over the course of 16 weeks? And, to make matters seem more impossible, most of your subjects don't want to write.
I have been writing for years and I think I'm getting better, but it takes lots of writing and lots of reading to become good at writing. Did I learn this from a teacher? Kind of. I learned some strategies from teachers and I learned to question myself from teachers. My teachers, most of all, provided me with opportunity and direction, the experience I needed with writing--assignments. I learned to actually write from writing and from reading.
My students work for a few weeks on each essay. I feel good about that. In previous teaching experiences, I have assigned an essay, and the students go write it and turn it in when they come back. I could tell that most had written it in one sitting in a hurry at 2 in the morning. Additional drafts were a joke. I could tell that the students were done; the work was over for them. Additional work was just placation. I could see a look on most of their faces that said, "What? This isn't good enough for you?"
Now, when I try to teach the revision process, where I believe true writing is done and improvement in writing ability begins, the students bail out. I can see their eyes glazing over. They have checked out. It's like they did the dishes and now someone is pointing out water spots, remaining food, or criticizing their loading method. "The dishes are done. What do you want from me?"
I have tried different methods in the 7 years that I have been teaching.
I have tried peer review. I don't like it. The peer can be more misleading than anything. And the student tends to blindly follow the blind peer.
I have tried the "less is more" approach. I made a short list at the top of the page of issues that needed to be addressed and left it up to the student to re-assess his or her writing with those things in mind. I think the students saw this as a mystery they didn't have the experience or knowledge to solve. So, I started making the list as single word comments in the margins. I still didn't see big improvements in student writing.
I have tried making anonymous copies of the students' work and putting it on the overhead for discussion. The students were more focussed on figuring out who wrote what and seemed to feel more pressure during the writing process. So, I started using students from other classes, or just telling them that I was. They seemed a little embarrased, like I was criticizing them: "Don't be like this person," and "Can't you be more like this person?" I wasn't seeing the results I wanted and it was quite a bit of work with little pay-off.
I have also tried the guided writing approach. This is where the students are given prompts and a guided process to follow during planning stage of the writing process. There are some students who do very well with this. They like being led and told what to do step by step. It makes them feel nice and secure. It helps me instill the idea of a systematic process better than any other method I have tried. Some of the students seem to feel inhibited by this. They feel like they are being slowed down, forced to complete a pointless activity before actually begining. It's very difficult to convince a student of the importance of an actual writing process.
I remember feeling this way myself as a student. I just wanted to freely begin to write and be done, not be burdened by someone else's idea of how my mind should operate. I can even remember faking the process in my earliest memories of the writing "process." I made mistakes on purpose so I could make it appear that I was correcting myself or revisiting my work. I wasn't sure what the teacher meant by "revision."
"Re"-- again
"vision" sight
"Revision"--to see again. Look at it and reevaluate the decisions you made and the effect of those decisions on the reader.
What reader?
Your teacher? It occurs to them with horror: "Are you going to read these outloud?"
*sigh*
Teaching writing is a very difficult challenge. To my initial question: do I teach writing? I think so far I am, at best, teaching confidence and giving the students some experience. Maybe some day I will figure out how to get freshmen to actually see and appreciate writing for what it is, a process...of thinking, and re-thinking, giving tangible life to a thought you might not have known you had, yes, sharing, and most importantly, personal, intellectual growth.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
sticks and stones
"preggo, preggers"
Why don't people say "pregnant" anymore? Is this cute? Im ready for the grown up word to come back in style.
"woot woot"
what is this supposed to mean? Where did it come from, woohoo? I have never heard anyone actually SAY this word, so why type it?
"bahaha"
I'm embarrassed.
"Expecially"
There is no x.
"Supposebly"
You suppose. It could be supposed suppsedly.
"Excape"
I think this is a weird cross between exit and essscape.
"Roll"
I am sitting in the 3rd roll. She is wearing corn rolls. The corn is planted in rolls? A rock rolls. Do you roll your boat?
"Over-exaggerate"
Seems redundant.
"re-erase"
erasing it again? or maybe they are saying rerase, which is somehow worse.
"Them v. Those"
How do you like them apples?
Them are just fine, Billy Bob.
"Fermiliar"
Do I know you? Because you sure look fermiliar.
Why don't people say "pregnant" anymore? Is this cute? Im ready for the grown up word to come back in style.
"woot woot"
what is this supposed to mean? Where did it come from, woohoo? I have never heard anyone actually SAY this word, so why type it?
"bahaha"
I'm embarrassed.
"Expecially"
There is no x.
"Supposebly"
You suppose. It could be supposed suppsedly.
"Excape"
I think this is a weird cross between exit and essscape.
"Roll"
I am sitting in the 3rd roll. She is wearing corn rolls. The corn is planted in rolls? A rock rolls. Do you roll your boat?
"Over-exaggerate"
Seems redundant.
"re-erase"
erasing it again? or maybe they are saying rerase, which is somehow worse.
"Them v. Those"
How do you like them apples?
Them are just fine, Billy Bob.
"Fermiliar"
Do I know you? Because you sure look fermiliar.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
I Collect Sentences
Below are sentences taken from students at the college where I teach composition. It is a collection of sentences, either spoken or written, that have made me laugh or provided me some mild amusement for one reason or another.
"The culture is vastly different in India. For example, they wake up at the butt crack of dawn every day."
--Essay
"While being sexually abused is a nightmare for some, for others it could be a dream come true."-- Essay
"I need to make up my essay."
"Which one?"
"All of them." --The week before finals
"People should be grateful for what they have even if they are crippled. They should just limp along and be happy." --Discussion comment
"I'm L.D."--side note on essay
"Healthy food is too expensive. It seems like the poor have little choice but to eat junk food and live a life of obesity." --essay
"In my opinion, spider webs are annoying and serve no purpose." --essay
"Over time, I have come to discover that there are many animals out there."--essay
"At the end of a page, I think I'll make a little arrow in case Mrs. Garland doesn't know she needs to turn the page."-- apparent thoughts of quite a few
"my crazy heck tick life..." --essay
"I also like how important the brain is to psychology." --essay
"Not everyone can be patient with creating food and find it a waste of time." --essay
"Knee surgeries are not as fun as they look." --essay
"Bravery takes a little bit of courage." --essay
"Typically, there are very stupid people in the world today." --essay
"Beauty should not be taken to an extreme." --essay
"Parents often dread the day they are put into a nursing home or become completely dependent on their grown child or caregiver." --first sentence of an essay
"The culture is vastly different in India. For example, they wake up at the butt crack of dawn every day."
--Essay
"While being sexually abused is a nightmare for some, for others it could be a dream come true."-- Essay
"I need to make up my essay."
"Which one?"
"All of them." --The week before finals
"People should be grateful for what they have even if they are crippled. They should just limp along and be happy." --Discussion comment
"I'm L.D."--side note on essay
"Healthy food is too expensive. It seems like the poor have little choice but to eat junk food and live a life of obesity." --essay
"In my opinion, spider webs are annoying and serve no purpose." --essay
"Over time, I have come to discover that there are many animals out there."--essay
"At the end of a page, I think I'll make a little arrow in case Mrs. Garland doesn't know she needs to turn the page."-- apparent thoughts of quite a few
"my crazy heck tick life..." --essay
"I also like how important the brain is to psychology." --essay
"Not everyone can be patient with creating food and find it a waste of time." --essay
"Knee surgeries are not as fun as they look." --essay
"Bravery takes a little bit of courage." --essay
"Typically, there are very stupid people in the world today." --essay
"Beauty should not be taken to an extreme." --essay
"Parents often dread the day they are put into a nursing home or become completely dependent on their grown child or caregiver." --first sentence of an essay
Monday, April 25, 2011
So Graded: And I'm the One That Graded You!
I think I might be one of those people who is easily annoyed. I try to be patient. I try not to be jaded. For me as an instructor, one of the biggest annoyances is being asked when essays will be graded. I mean, I totally get that students want and need to know their grades. Trust me; I'm on it. I am grading my head off. Maybe that's why it gets on my nerves so much. Here I am, grading away and someone asks, "Have you graded our essays yet?" It feels like a slap in the face of your servant to me. It's like saying "chop-chop" to your waitress. It's like asking your lawn boy in 110 degree heat if it's hot enough for him. Or one of those annoying kids in the back seat saying, "Are we there yet?" over and over. I used to give my best prediction: "I usually try to give myself a week from the due date." or I'd say, "No, I'm working on it," but the more and more times I'm asked, the less and less politely I feel like answering. I know for that person it's the only time they've asked. But for me it's the millionth. It's probably my favorite when they ask on the very next day, "When will we know what we made on the essay?" I say, in the most polite voice I can muster, "When I get them graded." or "I'll be sure and let you know as soon as they're graded." but I feel like saying--"Shut it." The Austin Powers scene comes to mind when Dr. Evil simply does not allow the words to come out of his son's mouth: "Shh! Shh! Shh! Let me tell you a little story about a man named Shh!" Maybe I could get by with ignoring the question all together. I'll just stare through the person and continue as if I never heard it. I'll let you know how that goes over.
Repeat Offender
I watch movies over and over. Not in a row...just if theyre ever on. I have seen Pretty in Pink and Cant Buy me Love so many times. It's almost like I can't help it. I must watch the movie that I know. And I usually still laugh at the funny parts and cry at the sad parts. Working Girl. Ghost. Uncle Buck. Wizard of Oz, Pretty Woman, Steel Magnolias. The list goes on and on--there's a million. What does this say about me? That is a type, don't you think? The type that watches movies over and over. Then there is that type that will only watch the movie once. "We've seen this." It's the biggest waste of time they've ever heard. "Hurry, change the channel before we lose another second of our lives."
Could being a movie repeater mean that I'm a sentimental person? I dont know. I'm kinda thinking OCD. Part of me does relate the movies to certain eras of my life, but another part of me just needs to get the fix. Something about the movies that I know really well...maybe it's less concentration for me. I can half watch, or notice new things. Maybe I'm just lazy. I think I just like to know what is coming. Maybe it represents some kind of insecurity, a need for control or familiarity. Hmm. I dont like thinking that. I'd rather think I have a disorder of some kind. ;)
I really do think I have some level of OCD though. I do some strange things. For instance, since I pretty much have to tell you now, unless I want to just delete all this nonsense. Anyway! If I am knocking on your door, or hammering a nail, or taking the stairs, or giving the dog a little pat, I am counting. Yes, Im a counter. I like 7. When things end on seven, I get this little satisfied feeling. Sometimes when I'm passing out handouts in class, I pass out 7 even though there are only 5 people in the row. It's just better. I dont have to think about it. My fingers just flick 7 pages. A bit more weird, on the highway, if I'm in the right zone, my fingers must tap out the lines on the road. I don't count. But Im taking note of each one. Bam, bam, bam, accounted for. It gets complicated and the spell is broken when I get into multiple lanes... or if a good song comes on. It's not like I have to stare at the lines. You see them, don't you? I watch what Im doing. Im really a normal person. Really.
Could being a movie repeater mean that I'm a sentimental person? I dont know. I'm kinda thinking OCD. Part of me does relate the movies to certain eras of my life, but another part of me just needs to get the fix. Something about the movies that I know really well...maybe it's less concentration for me. I can half watch, or notice new things. Maybe I'm just lazy. I think I just like to know what is coming. Maybe it represents some kind of insecurity, a need for control or familiarity. Hmm. I dont like thinking that. I'd rather think I have a disorder of some kind. ;)
I really do think I have some level of OCD though. I do some strange things. For instance, since I pretty much have to tell you now, unless I want to just delete all this nonsense. Anyway! If I am knocking on your door, or hammering a nail, or taking the stairs, or giving the dog a little pat, I am counting. Yes, Im a counter. I like 7. When things end on seven, I get this little satisfied feeling. Sometimes when I'm passing out handouts in class, I pass out 7 even though there are only 5 people in the row. It's just better. I dont have to think about it. My fingers just flick 7 pages. A bit more weird, on the highway, if I'm in the right zone, my fingers must tap out the lines on the road. I don't count. But Im taking note of each one. Bam, bam, bam, accounted for. It gets complicated and the spell is broken when I get into multiple lanes... or if a good song comes on. It's not like I have to stare at the lines. You see them, don't you? I watch what Im doing. Im really a normal person. Really.
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