One Semester Down

So, I'm sitting here, bored out of my mind.

My students are finishing up their last exam and are as antsy as I am. Yesterday and today they have dealt with two-hour-long classes, a litany of "sshh"'s from teachers, and more bubble sheets than I care to remember. But if they make it through the next hour, and through tomorrow, then they are done with their first semester as sixth graders, as middle school students. Much like I will be done with my first semester of teaching them.

I survived. Sometimes I have thrived. But most of all, I do not want to quit (overall) and I like my job (most days).

The State of Education is such a discussed topic these days that I choose to capitalize the letters. Everyone seems to have an opinion on it. It's hard to get online without seeing a headline or some piece of data about the State of Education here in the United States. I could indeed choose to use this space to write my own piece about the State of Education, but instead I think I'll describe one of my favorite moments.

1) One day, the Boy Scouts came around to all of our classes to do a little demo to interest boys into joining the Scouts. The guy who came in my classroom was pretty engaging, talking about survival skills and lighting something small on fire. I just relaxed at my desk (for once) and let him talk for about fifteen minutes. The girls in my class all were disgusted that they were not the topic of this presentation, and most of the boys were genuinely curious. All except one, and that one happened to be the student who presented the most difficulties for me. His seat was in the desk nearly touching mine, because if he was anywhere else, he did nothing. I would have guessed that the fire and talk of camping would have intrigued him. When I quietly asked if he was interested in joining, he shook his head.

"Why not," I prompted.

His reply?

"Too much nature."

A Thing (amongst others)

I have a Thing for vampire books. You know what a Thing is - an indescribable draw to something that you are slightly ashamed of, but you can't seem to keep away from. I have a Thing for vampire books, and it's morphed slightly into anything "paranormal" (like those dumb ghost hunting shows). I wrote my senior thesis for my undergrad on the way vampire literature is used to view humanity using Dracula, 'Salem's Lot, Interview with the Vampire, and the Sookie Stackhouse novels. It was quite a bit of work, but I loved every second of it. To this day, it's still one of my favorite papers I have written.

At Munchkinland, one of the older kids was reading Blue Bloods. Considering the cover image was a neck with fang marks, I assumed it was a vampire book and asked about it. The kid said it was good, and I should check it out. I did. I'm now reading the third book. It's been about two weeks since she told me about it.

It's definitely an interesting take on vampires. Their background story, or legend, is that they are the angels that rebelled with Lucifer and were kicked out of the Kingdom of Heaven. They chose immortality to repent for their sins and hopefully one day be restored into the presence of the Kingdom. The Blue Bloods reincarnate -  their physical shell dies but their "blood" (and personality) live on to be implanted in another body later. The Blue Bloods are the cream of human society and take an interest in bettering the lives of the Red Bloods, or humans.

They are not violent creatures, shockingly. This is definitely a deviation from most "accepted" vampire lore. They take "human familiars" to supply them with blood, but the humans volunteer and are never killed. There is a strict Code that regulates the behavior of the Blue Bloods. Of course, they have a nemesis (how else would it be a book?). The Silver Bloods, including Lucifer, are the evil spirits who are not trying to regain entrance into Heaven. They kill Blue Bloods, gaining all the knowledge and memories of that specific immortal. They are considered Abomination with all that knowledge. Interestingly, Silver Bloods are blamed for the disappearance of the Roanoke colony (that is honestly the most intriguing part of the books - their take on American and world history).

The book is a guilty pleasure read for sure, but I can't seem to put them down. I am slightly ashamed whenever someone asks, "Whatcha reading?" But really, who doesn't have a Thing with some sort of slightly shameful genre?

Not-so-typical Tuesday

Several months ago, I bought a ticket to see Snow Patrol in their “Fallen Empires” tour. I saw the concert announcement in a local radio station's email. I set my heart to go. I love Snow Patrol, and their music is very dear to me. As the day for the ticket sales approached, I couldn't find anyone to go with me. Alas.

Or alas not. I could either say “man, guess I won't go,” or I could buy a single ticket and just go.

I bought a single ticket.

Weeks went by, and I pushed the concert back in my mind; it went behind school, the starting of movement classes at Franklin, the ending of winter guard at Brentwood, and work. The concert ticket was propped up on my end table next to my lamp, and I looked at it frequently. It seemed so far away – there was so much to do before.

But suddenly, winter guard ended, and school took a week break, and it was the Monday before the concert. Here's the thing – I'm not particularly outgoing. I probably have some sort of social anxiety disorder. I generally don't like doing things by myself. And there I was, set to drive downtown, park, find my seat, and (hopefully) enjoy a concert the next day. By myself.

The day of was a normal Tuesday; it was full of work. I ate dinner at home and watched the traffic, taking note of which way to go. Downtown was busy with the concert and a Predator's game, so people were everywhere – a blessing and a curse. I wasn't wandering around Nashville alone, but traffic was particularly bad. I drove and splurged on $10 parking right behind the venue.

I walked into the venue and relaxed a degree. I had made it inside. I had safely parked. I was in the Ryman Auditorium – arguably one of the most beautiful concert venues in the world. I trudged up the stairs, walking past signed posters from Hatch's Show Print autographed by famous (mostly) country stars. I walked around the top and found my section. I crept down the stairs hesitantly – there were already people sitting next to my empty seat. I walked up and tucked my purse under the pew, and the people sitting next to me turned.

“Oh hello!”

My night probably would have been not as enjoyable had I not been sitting next to the nicest couple in the Ryman that night. They were an older couple (mid 50s, probably) and had never been to Nashville. They bought tickets when they were available online and drove the 11 hours from their home state of Louisiana and decided to make a trip out of it. He was a technology consultant; she was a tutor and teacher (irony?!).

We talked about everything – music, Nashville, the flood that happened nearly two years ago, sports, education, technology news. But it was when the man left to get a beer did I ask the question whose response would endear them to me for the rest of the evening.

“How did you meet?”

She smiled and pulled her shoulders up a bit. And she told me their story. They had met in their late 20s while both were working on higher degrees. They married quickly and later had a son.

“We were married for eight years. Then we divorced. He remarried, had two other children with his other wife.”

The puzzlement must have shown on my face. They were sitting next to me, clearly together, yet she had just told me they had only been married eight years.

“Our son got sick about a year ago and had to go extensive abdomen surgery around Christmas. We got back together then. I said he remarried, but I just couldn't. He's been the one for me all these years - I couldn't imagine loving anybody else. So we've been together about four months now.”

The man returned, beer in one hand and a box of Junior Mints in the other that he handed to her.

“Funny how life is,” she said, before she turned and asked her husband about the lines at the concession stands.

We kept talking until the show started, but neither one brought up their story again.

The show was great. Ed Sheeran opened and did a poignant cover of “Poor Wayfaring Stranger” that was so haunting, the audience was totally still. Snow Patrol played a little bit of everything – old stuff, new, their big hits, quieter songs. They played nearly two hours.

I shook both their hands as the lights reappeared after a four song encore. I wished them safe travels and an enjoyable time in Nashville. I left the Ryman and walked back to my car, only making one wrong turn trying to find my car in the parking garage itself.

I drove home and kept the radio off, preferring the wind rushing through my cracked window. When I got home, I shut off the engine and sat in the driveway. I had seen a band I treasured. I had done it alone. I had met two random strangers who shared their lives with me momentarily. Somehow, a Tuesday night concert had restored my faith in strangers and myself.

Groundhog Day!

This will have very little to do with Groundhog Day, but since that day is today, I felt like marking its passage somehow. Apparently the groundhog saw his shadow, but I slept through the news coverage of it all. Such is Thursdays, one of the few days I get to sleep in.
But here are some Things I've Been Loving Lately:

1. THE WEATHER. We have somehow been blessed by the mildest winter (so far) that I can remember. There have been days of cold, but not the unbearable chill that seeps into the bones and you can't shake until you're home in sweatpants and with hot tea. And every time someone mentions how awesome the weather is, or how much they miss winter, I throw up the trusty Karma Kap and hope that nothing changes between now and April.

2. FITZ AND THE TANTRUMS This album is in my car, on my phone, and on my computer. It has been playing on repeat for the past two weeks. Their sound is unique, and I find it impossible to be in a bad mood when I'm bopping around my room (or car or back space at work) to their music.

3. THE PARIS WIFE This is next month's book club book, but I'm flying through it, often staying up entirely too late to read just one more page (or screen, since I'm a Kindle reader). I studied Hemingway intensely in my undergrad schooling, and I was familiar with his war background, but I never read anything about his writing life. This novel, written from the point of view of his first wife, captures a young Hemingway trying to break into the writing scene. Most of it is set in Paris, the creative capital of the early 1900s, and I've learned fascinating details about an artist trying to provide for his family.

4. BECOMING A TEACHER. There are so many distractions in the journey of becoming an educator. My classes have lots of work required, there's always the challenge of balancing time, and the talk of most teachers in the field currently is negative (Tennessee is currently employing a really restrictive teacher evaluation system). But I'm constantly reminded that all those things are just what I said - distractions. Ultimately I love children and spending time with them and that lightbulb face they show when they understand something. That is what I must remember as I make posters and type my notes to turn in as a grade for grad school. I have a passion, and while it's been quite a journey to realize that I'm called to be a teacher, I can't let the little things stand in the way.

So here's to a decent 2012 thus far!
 


All thoughts and opinions are my own and true to my experience.

Slowly slips the spring

So I thought the whole spring/early summer season was supposed to be beautiful, full of hope and joy before the heat of summer slowly sucked the life of everything. I feel like these past few months have been anything but.

Before I launch into writing something full of self-pity and stress, let me say this: these months had their highlights. I finished my first season of teaching winter guard, started my first season of teaching drum corps, and started the first season of Franklin where all the girls are my own. I think I have my future somewhat mapped out and planned. My family continues to let me bum off their financial stability and live under their roof. But like any rollercoaster (the perfect image for these past few months), amid the high points are the low.

And these low points seemed to sting for much longer than the euphoria of the high points. My grandfather passed away. I have mixed emotions on this. He was sick and miserable, and he had time to fully prepare to leave here. My mom had a wonderful few weeks with him. My garndmother seems to be doing okay. But last week, when my mom and I stopped by her (can't call it “their” any more) house to see how she was doing, I kept expecting him to appear as we sat in the living room. As I stretched out on the couch and we watched the Weather Channel, I wanted him to come in from doing something in the yard and ask for the control, because he was the master of the television. But he wasn't there. And he won't be there. But I know that he'd fuss at us for crying so much since he's gone now, because if anything he wants us to be happy and to laugh.

Also, the month of May is usually my favorite. For the past 17 years of my existence, it meant the end of a school year and the excitement of having time for myself. I usually set some lofty goal which I barely made progress on, but during May it seemed like hope floated on the thick, humid air. May was the end of the cool weather and the beginning of the heat, the time when the pool water finally warmed up enough to dive straight in. May was packing and getting things ready for drum corps. And while this prep for corps is the same, it's markedly different. I'm going to teach, not to perform. I have to pack nice clothes to wear at shows. I have to figure out what will wrinkle in my bag and what won't. I have to make arrangements to get home before Finals night. And for once in the 22 (almost 23) years of my existence, I don't have a lofty goal.

Maybe that is what is missing. Maybe I need to come up with something crazy that I can set all my sights on and forget the crazy rollercoaster of the past few months. Because if there is anything that all the past Mays have taught me, it's that summer never disappoints – it's always hot, I always sweat, I'm surrounded by people who have similar passions as me, and it always passes too quickly.

Life Lessons Through Work

I have been lucky enough to work enough part-time jobs recently to keep payments current on my giant student loans. My jobs have taught me a few things while I'm trying to figure out what I exactly want to do with my life, because I can't live on part-time jobs forever. So What I Have Learned:

1) From my internship-turned-part-time-low-paying, I am not a fan of the business world. I like schedules, having to-do lists, and other things that made me think I would enjoy a “desk job.” False. My boss has been nice enough to let me tag along to Chamber of Commerce meetings, press conferences, and the like. But I don't like it. I hate business dress – having to make sure my dress pants were hung up properly, making sure I have matching knee-high trouser socks, making sure my dark blue sweater really is dark blue and not black. I don't like passing out my business cards, networking, the like. It hit me at a Chamber of Commerce breakfast when a very nice man was talking about his passion for life insurance. I was inspired by his passion, but I really could care less about life insurance or him trying to sell me a policy. I just got the uneasy feeling that the business world was about constantly having to fake an interest in stuff that is really of no interest to you at all. No thank you.

2) From my paperwork and tutoring job at a local tutoring program chain, I have learned that I like kids. A lot. I have also learned that the atmosphere of your workplace can make your experience – or break it. Paperwork days are Tuesdays and Wednesdays, usually starting around 9:30. These days are usually a little mind-numbing. We record graded work, and then pull worksheets in a specific order for each kid, and then staple-tear-and-date each worksheet. Usually for two weeks worth. Yet these days have turned into some of my favorite. My boss ladies (two women who I have known for years since their kids went to elementary school with me) play classic rock radio, keep diet sodas stocked in the mini-fridge, and we talk. We've covered pretty much every topic, and I couldn't possibly outline all that I've learned. We also have sunshine breaks Days that could be boring are turned into days that I look forward to merely with some small details added to our workplace. Second, I really like working with the kids. Most are younger than the high-school age kids I work with, but for the most part they are cute, funny, and they try really hard. There are the difficult ones, but if you either make an effort to find some common ground or lay down the law immediately, they respect you and listen to you and try to do their work. During tutoring hours, it's the parents I can't stand. Some just let the kids do their thing and let us do our thing, and everything is golden. Some hover obnoxiously, asking if their kids are doing okay and pestering the kids when they work a little slow. But the helicopter parents aren't that bad either. It's the ones who either completely ignore their kids and don't care, or the ones who humiliate their kids during tutoring hours that disappoint me. Some parents bring their kids to us because “it's the right thing to do,” but they could really care less. They're more worried about the latest gossip and keeping up with appearances. And then there are some who openly criticize their kids, saying one is smarter than the other. Or, as I observed earlier this week, a father stormed in, told his kid he was taking way too long, criticized the amount of work the kid had done in a long period of time, and then pulled his kid out of room. What do you do about that? A few parents observed this, and when we made eye contact, the looks on our faces were similar – disgust at the father, sympathy for the kid.

So in all of this, I have come to one conclusion - I want to teach. I like kids, kids like me, and I think that I have knowledge I could pass on. But most of all, I think kids need someone to stick up for them when things aren't going too well, or when their parents say that their the slow one out of the family. I am in the process of getting info for post-degree teacher license programs at local colleges. So, here's to thinking I know what I want to do with my life.

Benedict Arnold

I have a confession.

I'm a traitor. I have grown up in Brentwood, still live in Brentwood, and even work for a Brentwood-based business. But I love Franklin.

This is a big deal. Considering that these two cities are very different, the people who are respectively from each city hold their home dear in their hearts. Loyalties run deep in everyone, except me.

Brentwood is great. Don't get me wrong. But whenever I tell someone I live in Brentwood, they immediately roll their eyes, or ask if I live in a mansion. No, we live in the Brentwood slums or low-rent district, I laugh. We jokingly call it "The Bubble" because not too much happens here. It's a wonderful place to grow up in. But my main complaint is that Brentwood does not feel like a town. There's no town center. We don't have any festivals. All in all, Brentwood is kind of boring.

Then, just a few miles south, is Franklin. I help with band at Franklin High (although how I got that job is unrelated to my love for the city). I drive through Franklin at least once a week on work-related errands, and every time that I drive through the downtown square and past the historic homes, I fall in love all over again. There are sidewalks in front of beautiful homes that have porches. There is a town square. People park and walk around downtown Franklin purely for fun. But the real reason I love Franklin is that it doesn't have the bubble feel that Brentwood does. It's got a grittiness about it. There are not-so-nicer parts of town, and Franklin people are not ashamed of this.

So there it is - a secret close to my heart. I drive by the houses for sale with a dream of living there, walking my dog on the sidewalks, going downtown to eat on a nice evening.

Maybe it's not too late for Brentwood to learn a few things from its southern neighbor. Then two places would have my heart.