The Condition of my Back

Probably I shouldn’t write about my school in any form that can later be downloaded and printed off for lawyers to peruse for my trial – the one that happens after I’ve completely cracked and phoned every student or parent who was ever mean and told them what they could go and do with themselves. And you know I would never actually mention names in my writing.. mostly because I can’t remember them. HOWEVER, I do need to mention the fact that tomorrow I step into an entirely new academic dimension – one where there is no mask about privilege ruling supreme, where kids are treated as royalty, probably because they actually are royals.


Tomorrow is the first day of school.

Before I go into specifics about the knots in my back, I should mention a particular time in Montezuma, New Mexico, a day where all stress induced back aches disappeared and I felt free. Montezuma is host to a gorgeous international school where they occasionally hold what I affectionately call “teacher camp” for international teachers. It was a usual IB training with booklets and coffee breaks, but because it was in the mountains, there were also obstacle courses and “trust game” activities. For me and some newly made friends, there was spinning and dancing in an open field under the stars on a particularly magical, musical night. There was laughter and camaraderie, and skinny dipping in hot springs. It was lovely breathing fresh, crisp air and being so alive! It was a time when the teachers felt like kids again, where we actually felt important, like what we do for kids in the classroom matters.

At this camp, not only did I learn what I would consider the true nature of IB – organic, inquiry based learning where marks are given for ingenuity and insight, not taken away for mistakes – but I learned that I HAD to be part of the international teaching community. It was my niche, something I already knew about myself but hadn’t, until then, understood the urgency. The school in Montezuma was a scholarship school which to me said “level playing field.” In other words, everyone had an opportunity to play. No one had to pay. Everyone was valued and valuable.

Unfortunately most international schools are not like Montezuma. Most international schools have an agenda, the top three being religious, governmental, or for profit. This isn’t a new revelation. In fact it is the same in the states in public schools whether we care to admit it or not. It’s the wealthy elite enjoying excellent education via privatization and neighborhood privilege while the poor marginalized are left to beg for their intellectual bread. Generally international schools are for kids whose parents are “relocated” by their jobs or who have choice (i.e. money) about where they get to go to school.

My longing to be part of the international teaching community – and fitting in with those who are free spirited, educational gypsies - went to war with my integrity about what I think education should be: something organic, equalizing, and rooted deeply in community. I signed up anyway, giving-in to my selfish (perhaps that’s too strong of a word) need to feed my personal desire instead of huddling in the trenches with those who are fighting for the ideal promised to us as part of “the American dream”, and which is, in my opinion, a basic human right.

So back to my back. It hurts. Tomorrow is the first day at my new international school, and I’m stepping across the threshold with stories about how certain crown princes must carry their cell phones at all times in case of diplomatic emergencies; how certain affluent mothers squealed at seeing a washing machine for the first time and asked the dorm parent who would be doing her son’s laundry; how certain kids go for walks on sunny days instead of coming to class because they’ve never had to adhere to anyone else’s agenda; how the school is elite academically because they know the “strategies” involved with squeezing out the best test scores for programs like IB and AP, organic learning be damned; how the parents tend to overstep their bounds by being too involved.

I have to admit I’m afraid. Mostly I’m worried about connecting with my kids. Tomorrow is the first time I will be formally acquainted with elitism beyond anything I’ve ever seen (and I’m from Texas, folks!). I know kids are kids. I’m sure I will connect with many of them. I also know that most people are good people as Desmund Tutu reiterated regardless of what's in or not in their bank accounts. Also, the nature of my school almost forces community because we are all new here- teachers, students and parents alike. Still. This is most definitely a surreal leap.

I hope I’m cut out for it.

Gripe Interrupted

So, I've pretended to be stoic about this school year, so far, in that I have tried NOT to complain about the silly things that "settled" teachers get huffy about - the things that normal people would laugh at - as in, "I'm so angry that the lanyards for the school ID's are silver this year. Every other year, they've been green. Silver isn't even a school color. The world is going to hell and my life is over because the lanyards aren't GREEN! Whoever picked silver lanyards must be an agent of darkness from Satan's lair. I wonder what the Mansfield school district is like. I bet their ID lanyards aren't silver."

I'll be the first to admit that people who have spent any time in my profession (i.e. longer than 3 years)may have shorter fuses than the rest of the population, save the postal service. And probably we drink more and binge eat more than folks in any other profession. And we may or may not have good reason to be cantankerous since our brand of "customer service" is different from any other kind. But I generally work really hard at avoiding that petty sort of pissy attitude. In fact, I'm the girl in the back of the faculty meeting who is laughing hysterically at those who are interrupting the meeting with "serious concerns" about the color of lanyards, which is why I hesitate to share what's coming next.

My patience has been tested. My job is HARD enough without the added constraints of tedious extra paperwork, special accommodations, in school suspension assignments, lunch monitoring, mothering, micromanaging, and everything else extra that we are "expected" to do. This year I do not have my conference periods in my classroom because other teachers have to float into it. That means that I do not have access to my files or to any paperwork that I forget to pack in the 8 minute passing period during which kids are climbing over each other to ask questions/have dialogue with me about grades, personal matters. etc. Forget about having a parent conference during my conference period. I have no place to conference. It's like telling an office executive, "You have to complete all of your tasks every day without the use of files, a phone, a computer, or a quiet workspace."

You're thinking that I could stay after school to accomplish my tasks, but this year there isn't enough parking for teachers who didn't buy spots. I have to move my car 20 minutes after school so that the marching band can practice in the parking lot, otherwise it gets towed.

Are you laughing, yet?

That means I have to leave early on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. I do not have access to my computer except for during what's supposed to be my "duty free" lunch. In the mean time, jobs are not being accomplished and I am in trouble often with people who need my input to complete their tasks.

I am a good teacher and take pride in what I do, which is why it kills me to be mediocre for any reason, let alone because I am displaced and literally haven't figured out how I can accomplish my tasks without being in my classroom with all of my files and computer. My usual list of "things to do" isn't working since I can't get to what I need.

BUT

Today as I was stewing over this dilemma at lunch (the only time, other than the 8 minute passing period or Wednesday or Friday after school, that kids can come to me to discuss something they don't understand), a kid came to talk to me. The conversation went like this:

Lovely Kid: Hi Ms. H. May I get a pass to the library? I want to make sure to have my research done for tomorrow's class.

Me: Wow! That's super responsible! Of course I can write a pass for you!

[LK goes to the library and comes back later]

LK: Thanks for the pass, Mrs. H. And also, I wanted to say that the other day I think I spoke harshly to you when I said that I didn't get an assignment that you handed out to us. I probably did get it, but for the life of me, I can't find it.

Me: You know what? After class, I thought about it and wasn't sure if you did get the assignment since you entered my class later than the others, so I didn't penalize you for it.

LK: Well, whether I got the assignment or not, I should not have back talked you or had any sort of attitude about it, so I just wanted to apologize for that. I was having a really hard day, and, really, there is no excuse to talk to anyone like that. I'm sorry.

Me: (fumbling for words since this NEVER happens and since the incident about which he was speaking barely registered in my memory. plus confrontation is a daily occurrence in teaching, as is daily forgiveness) Ok. Thanks.

LK: I guess I better go eat lunch.

[Bell rings for class to start - too late for him to eat]

LK: Oh well.

Me: (Realizing that this kid doesn't get to eat lunch everyday for various reasons) Hey, do you like Goldfish crackers? I have an extra package of them and an apple. Are you hungry?

LK: (big grin) Thanks!

And that's it. This exchange erased all of the petty gripes I was internalizing today. All of that negative stuff is such shit compared to what teaching is really about! School isn't about assignments or grades or files or workspace or anything else. It's about sharing knowledge and life experiences. Yes, book learning happens in the classroom, but more than that, teaching is about helping kids to build strong personal foundations that they can reley on later when they need to make life changing decisions. Teaching is a service of sharing.

What a LOVELY kid!! I MUST hug his mother for teaching him such amazing manners. Because of kids like him, I think I'll survive the year, whether the lanyards are green or not.

Is this wrong, OR is it genius?

In class today I used "The Colonel" as a model story for how my students will prepare for their research papers (pre-writing and whatnot)which happens to be literary analysis. As we considered the story and talked about striking images, I ate dried peach halves and made a spectacle of myself by doing so. Not only did I delight in seeing them make faces and squirm, but I laughed and laughed (with my whole body) at their disgust. Then I offered to share with them. Maybe it wasn't so much of a surprise that no one wanted to share with me.. But then, that's the way I roll (wink!). By the end, they'll love me... I hope.

The Colonel

by Carolyn Forche

What you have heard is true. I was in his house. His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar. His daughter filed her nails, his son went out for the night. There were daily papers, pet dogs, a pistol on the cushion beside him. The moon swung bare on its black cord over the house. On the television was a cop show. It was in English. Broken bottles were embedded in the walls around the house to scoop the kneecaps from a man's legs or cut his hands to lace. On the windows there were gratings like those in liquor stores. We had dinner, rack of lamb, good wine, a gold bell was on the table for calling the maid. The maid brought green mangoes, salt, a type of bread. I was asked how I enjoyed the country. There was a brief commercial in Spanish. His wife took everything away. There was some talk then of how difficult it had become to govern. The parrot said hello on the terrace. The colonel told it to shut up, and pushed himself from the table. My friend said to me with his eyes: say nothing. The colonel returned with a sack used to bring groceries home. He spilled many human ears on the table. They were like dried peach halves.
There is no other way to say this. He took one of them in his hands, shook it in our faces, dropped it into a water glass. It came alive there. I am tired of fooling around, he said. As for the rights of anyone, tell your people they can go f--- themselves. He swept the ears to the floor with his arm and held the last of his wine in the air. Something for your poetry, no? he said. Some of the ears on the floor caught this scrap of his voice. Some of the ears on the floor were pressed to the ground.

And Scene...to be continued

So Mr. A, the principal of my school (my boss), walks into my room before the students arrive on the first day of school, as he does every first day of school, to have the same exact first day back conversation that we have every year. It's a bit and it goes like this:

Mr. A: Good morning, Ms. Haag!

Me: Good morning, sir. (large sigh) - (what? I'm allowed a sigh at freaking 7:00 A.M.) (AND I'm allowed as many stage directions as I want.)

Mr A: Don't you just love the first day of school?

Me: (pause before I carefully say) Mr A, I love the second semester.

(Mr. A grins at my smartassitude (probably because it's not unlike his own personality) and walks out of the room)

And scene...usually!

This year, the scene didn't end, as it ought to have done. In fact, the scene took a drastic turn for the worse in a way that happens only when the planets are disturbingly misaligned or when the 7th dimension devours the first and second ones in a spiraling wormhole of doom, leaving putrid detritus smeared on the walls of the subconscious mind. OK. I'm being dramatic. I don't think a 7th dimension exists. But if it does and if it decides to devour the first two leaving smeared detritus on walls and stuff, it would look something like this:

(On his way out of the room, Mr. A stops and glances at my peace corner (messages of peace from Einstein and Gandhi, in poster forms, and a huge rainbow peace flag that says 'pace' which is 'peace' in Italian - you know the one that my students consistently and "rationally" interpret as a banner homage to my adoration of gay picante sauce - ??). He stops, looks at me, points to my peace corner.)

Mr. A: There will never be peace, you know.

Me: (large gasp coordinated with a truly puzzled/horrified look on my face)

(Mr. A walks out of the room.)

Me: (turning to face the audience listening at home) But that's not how it goes! And what a shitty way to start the school year! Where's my coffee? Where's Christine?

And Scene... for reals, this time.

Because I knew I had to survive the first day of school, I put the conversation out of my mind until I could skip over to Christine's room for another rendition of the very popular, highly rated, and sometimes forced (as is the case on the first day of school) comedy hour called The Ginger and Christine Show. (We usually do the 'Ta da!" pose here, but alas, I am typing now which makes spirit fingers very difficult.) So, I go to her room and we decide to make the quarter of a mile trek (not kidding) to the main office to say hello to the office staff and because Mr. A's wonderful secretary told us that she had some money for us to pick up. Off we skip. (Loads of skipping happens in my school.. get it? skipping.. in high school.. HAHAHAHA. Dude. I promise. The only questionable substance in my body right now is Folgers medium/dark roast Colombian coffee with a shot of Cinnamon Vanilla Coffeemate.)

When we get to the office, I see Mr. A for the first time since he made that turbulent comment to me that morning. I poke my head into his office and we have this conversation:

Me: Mr. A, do you really think there can never be peace?

Mr. A: Actually I've thought about it and I think there can be peace.. (long pause) but only if we annihilate all of mankind.

Me: (intake of breath to say something, I'm still not sure what)

Mr. A: No wait. We'd have to get rid of all of the animals, too, because of that whole 'dog eat dog' thing.

Me: (grinning at my own discomfort with the understanding that he's doing this on purpose)

Mr. A: AND we'd have to get rid of all plants too. You know. Venus Fly Traps and what not. (smirks)

Me: (full on smile) So, you're saying that there will only be peace if we get rid of all living things, and the world is a cold, dead rock.

Mr. A: Or if everyone were naked. If everyone were naked, no one would want to fight.

Me: Why? Because they would be too horrified? Or is it because we would all be laughing, pointing at each other, and saying things like, "That can't happen!"

All: (laughter)

So now we have a new bit. Every time I see Mr. A, even in passing, we have a conversation about peace:

"Did you figure it out, yet?"
"Nope. You?"
"Well, what if..."

And I think it's good that we're working on it, even if some of the solutions seem sarcastic or unreasonable. In fact, I love that we're working on it. If only we all were.

And what a great way to start the year!

to be continued..

It's that time

It's that time. School starts in a week and teachers officially report back on Monday, though several of us are already working and have been all summer. I always find it funny when Corporate Joe makes a remark like, "It must be nice to have the summer off," usually said with a hint of sarcasm in his tone that makes the statement sound more like, "Must be really nice to have so much vacation time where you do NOTHING and get paid for it while I work year round and only get a measly two weeks vacation time and that includes sick days. Jerk. (eye roll)"

So go be a teacher, dude. The system needs you. I have several other scathing retorts that I could mouth off to him, but generally I am good about swallowing that particular bile. And for the record, of course we don't get paid for our "vacation time". We get paid for our required clock time for the school year only, without overtime which inevitably good teachers HAVE to put in since papers, unfortunately, do not grade themselves. Most of us choose to stretch the wage over 12 months so that we don't, um I don't know, starve in the summer.

(sigh)

Please don't misunderstand. I have to acknowledge that to an extent, CJ is right to be jealous. Depending on the teacher, we can make each summer whatever we want it to be. I, for example, use my summer to feed my travel addiction and to read and sunbathe as much as I want. Also, this summer I happily attended two International Baccalaureate conferences, have had several meetings with the Fougs to plan for this year, have organized my lesson plan book for the entire year and have been to the schoolhouse to get my room ready. In July I had the opportunity to judge literary magazines for the Columbia Scholastic Press Association and decided to try it so that I can do better at advising our school's mag. Also, I've been reading different texts all summer so that I can vary the reading for my literature courses. Today I'll attend a senior level meeting.

There aren't many jobs that get a "do over" every 9 months, and the summer cleanses the palate and lets us catch our breath a little. Summer allows teachers the opportunity to reflect and revise so as to avoid last year's shit smear. Or as Rich wisely (and more eloquently) puts it, "They give teachers the summers off so that some of us will come back." Amen.

But I love the work. I love all of it. A lot.

So, hey CJ! You should be jealous. And even though I do feel a little bit sad that summer is ending, especially since it means that I'll have to stay put for a while, I am optimistic about this school year. Bring it.

TAKS SCHMAKS

I hate that TAKS makes teachers feel like they haven't done their jobs properly. What's worse is when the administrators put undue pressure on their teachers or judge them according to their students' test results. When I taught juniors (exit level TAKS), I had one class that performed beautifully! I think 98% of them passed. In my other class, I had something like 74% pass. I used the same strategies in both classes. There was little variation in my teaching. So why the huge difference?

Because kids are all different!

I read in the Arlington Star Telegram that over 40,000 kids in Texas did not graduate this year because of TAKS. This is an indication that there is something wrong with the test and the system, not the teachers.

I find it wildly hilarious that W thinks he is improving the national educational system with policies that hurt the teachers and the children (see No Child Left Behind, for example), and he comes from the state that is low man on the totem pole (nationally)as far as education is concerned. What are we? Third from the bottom?

There is a bright spot, though. TAKS is on its way out, at least for higher levels, and so is W. Maybe there is hope for education.All of that means that it isn't about how well you do your job!

When I interviewed at my high school, I asked my wonderful principal, "How are the TAKS scores at AHS?" He said, "Oh, I can't remember. I think the results are buried on my desk somewhere." I grinned and knew that I wanted to work for him. He also constantly talks about the fact the what's important to our kids is not a test that tells them whether or not they can take a test well. What's important is the character building and the experiences they take with them into the real world.

That's not to say that curriculum is not important. It is! It just means that there is no pressure to teach to the test. It turns out that our school is one of the top ten schools in the metroplex. We are among the top 10 who have the fewest number of kids who need remedial classes when they get to college. Is there a correlation between not teaching to the TAKS and college preparedness? I am starting to think so.

I do think there needs to be some sort of standard for graduation, and I think there needs to be some sort of measure of teacher effectiveness in the classroom. Both of these make for better students and teachers. The TAKS test is not that measure for either.

Whew.

The point is:

HEY TEACHERS!

Don't worry about those stupid numbers. They really don't say anything about you OR about your kids.

Oh and Happy Summer in 5 days!

Quote of the Day

"Mrs. H, it's not our fault you have such a crappy attention span. Seriously. You make a gold fish look attentive!" -Ruben G.

He's right. Remember. This is how my brain works. No wait. It's like this.

Temp U? Yes, Please

New Shoes by Paolo Nutini


This amazing staff of pirate ninja scalawags:

created this brilliant magazine:

and released it at this party:
For more vibrant pics of the new mag and of Temporary Utopia, Spring 2007 (complete with musicians, food, and a sidewalk chalk competition) click here.

This is where the magic happens:

So, it's almost the end of the school year. Pretty much my kids are done; when I say done I mean that they have flat out stopped working. They're seniors. The painful irony of trying to effectively teach Lord of the Flies to these chaotic big'uns - while they are trying to ignore the approaching "last summer as a high school kid", their bouncing spring hormones, and the fact that the biggest event in their lives is coming, senior prom - is not lost on me. The poor seniors are blissfully running around, passing out senior pics, sealing graduation announcements, and discussing dresses and tuxes and summer trips to the beach.

Little do they know or little do they care that they STILL HAVE TO PASS MY CLASS to get a diploma.

I genuinely appreciate those who are still working hard (because they love me and hope that I don't really go insane, or because they need to pass this six weeks in order to graduate..whatever). Thank you!!!

Either way, the end of the road is only three feet in front of them. Before this class leaves, I thought I should share a few of their funnies that I will eventually need to publish in my future book called, Holy Hell, I Made It Through 30 Years Of Teaching! (only 21 years to go.. shit. :) )

Some of these may seem inappropriate, but I assure you none of them were meant to be scandalous. Also, I'm curious to know how you, the sane, productive members in society would handle some of these, as my reaction was generally stunned silence or silent laughter..(not at the kids of course... well ok, at some of them)

#1: We're reading Frankenstein.

Me: When we read Macbeth, we talked about a literary device called pathetic fallacy and we are seeing another instance of that device in this particular chapter. Do any of you remember what pathetic fallacy is and can you explain how Mary Shelly is using it in this chapter?
Class: (blink. blink.)
Me: Anyone?
Class: (looking for a savior among their peers... blink. blink.)
Me: Can someone at least define pathetic fallacy?
Boy: (shyly raising his hand) Isn't pathetic fallacy when a man has a very uh... small man part?
Class: (not sure whether to laugh or nod, after all this is Frankenstein)
Me: (trying not to laugh and trying to maintain a dignified classroom) I think we need to check the spelling. You see I'm saying fallacy with an f. You're talking about a word that begins with ph...(oh crap. what have I gotten into..)

#2: We're reading Inferno.

Me: Who remembers what an allegory is?
Sweet girl: Oh! Isn't that when animals talk in stories?
Me: Actually, that's...
Over-confident football boy: (interrupting) NO! When animals talk it's called bestiality!
Me: (silent laughter of doom.. falling off of chair)
Class: (blink. blink. except for the super smart boy who mutters "moron" under his breath) Ms. H, What's so funny?
Me: Because bestiality is when (oh crap. what have I gotten into..)

#3: We're reading Candide.

Student in the back of the room: Ms. H, What's a mulatto?
Me: (thinking about political correctness, wording is important.. thinking)
Cheerleader: It totally sounds like something you can get at Starbucks! I'll have a grande mulatto with whip! (sparkle smile)
Me: (silent laughter of doom.. falling off of chair)

More Than a Monkey Trial

We're studying some pretty heavy stuff in my English IV class. I've probably (definitely)crossed some sort of state vs. church line seeing as I asked the students to read and respond to a religious article called "Where Was God?" The article compares the 2005 Indian Ocean tsunami to the 1755 cataclysmic Lisbon earthquake, Voltaire's "inspiration" for writing Candide, and then asks the million dollar question, "Where was God?".

The students are supposed to respond to the article which, in the end, suggests that it is not our place to ask any questions, but says that we should instead spend our time helping each other and loving each other (no matter our religious or non-religious inclinations), especially in times of crisis. After all, we are co-contributors to this earthly chaos! The kids can choose to agree or disagree with the author (who happens to be a rabbi). They can write about how reading the article makes them feel, or about the points they think are relevant or those they would change.

We talk about whether or not God, if he or she does indeed exist, is (can be) benevolent since he /she/it allows horrific things to happen to good people. We talk about what that means exactly to us, and I am always horrified and have to swallow my self-righteous anger when students suggest the idea that God, through a tsunami or earthquake or hurricane, was getting rid of the "non-believers" or "sinners" in his wrathful vengeance. (I've heard the same ridiculous bullshit reaction in response to New Orleans and hurricane Katrina.) These students are, unfortunately, speaking of the Christian God when they respond like that here in Bible Belt, USA.

Despite my internal upheaval, I do think that it is extremely valuable for the kids to think about these things, whatever their belief systems.

I, for one, absolutely refuse to believe in a God who would intentionally hurt people to prove a point. Even the stories of Noah (where God implements a global human "do over" by drowning all) and Job (who gets everything back 10 fold (and in a different order), even though he was tested beyond measure so that God could win a bet against Lucifer, the fallen angel he created in all of his omnipotent power) grate on my nerves, but then again the Old Testament differs greatly from the New testament where Jesus on the cross takes on the sins of the world, an act that demonstrates that the wrath of God is unnecessary. If we are being literal, then that sacrifice alone atones for the "non-believer's" non-belief. Therefore no tsunami, earthquake, flood, or anything else would be instituted by God to prove any point.

Voltaire challenged the philosophy and religion of his day in order to show that in his estimation, God could never be defined as benevolent OR wrathful and that time spent philosophizing anything was time wasted since in this human form we will NEVER know.

I would respond in the same way to those who think that their definition of God involves hell -fire and damnation, as if they know.

GO and DO is the important thing. We know nothing else other than that we should love each other and take care of each other here and now. There is no exception.

I'm calling for an all out grace and mercy type of love thy neighbor in teaching this lesson... and I'll probably lose my job for it someday.

A new homework excuse

This is the last week in the fourth six weeks grading period - which is really the seventh week this six weeks because we have to throw in an extra "ghost week" somewhere in order to meet the state's required number of school days, and we couldn't have put it at the end of the school year (final exam week) but whatever (stupid school district) - and so I've been dealing with the furious frenzy of marking last minute papers, incompletes due to absences from the "B" flu strain (everyone got vaccinated for the "A" strain) and, of course, this sort of thing:

That student: Mrs. H, I realize I did nothing but make your life really difficult this six weeks with all of my sleeping while you were lecturing/yelling out inappropriately/not doing any work/telling you that your hair is ugly and your shoes don't match your outfit, and today is the last day before grades are due, so what can I do to pass?

Me: Honey, do you really think there is anything you can do that will help bring up your 27 average? Also, no. I'm not sure you CAN do anything, seeing as you have chosen not to do anything for the last six weeks. Do better next year and YSEABOS.

I wish.
Really my reply is more like:

Me: Get me all 25 missing assignments by Tuesday, and if I can grade them by the end of the day (which I will bend over backwards to do because I'd rather do that than tell you that you won't graduate), that will bring up your average. Thanks and have a great week-end.

What's worse is when the parents call.

That student's parent: Hi Mrs. H. My son/daughter has a 27 in your class and is in danger of not graduating. Is there any extra credit I can do..uh.. I mean my son/daughter can do to bring up his/her grade?

Me: (SIGH)

I'm such a WUSS when it comes to these situations, but at the same time it's worth dealing with them in a passive manner since being a hard ass pretty much merits a hand-delivered invitation to parent/teacher/administrator conferences (notice no student is involved), extra tears from all, and it leads to that student further poisoning my room (a new personal vendetta implemented, after all it's not like he has any schoolwork to do) for the remainder of the school year! Plus, the grade outcome usually ends-up the same.

The point is that I have have been a neglectful blogger as a result, BUT I did invite (entice) one of my coolest friends to write for us again.

SO, following this post is a new one from the BRILLIANT and talented Jamie. You might remember him from the beloved Zombie Jesus post. To continue our monster theme, this one has to do with the vampires in corporate America, especially in the futbol arena. You'll love it!

Zombies (all together): I pledge allegiance to "the corporate man" of the United States of America..

ENJOY!

Naomi Shihab-Nye in Person

Today Naomi Shihab-Nye came to talk to our classes and she was MARVELOUS!

First of all, she wasn't the person I expected which says something, I think, about expectations. I thought she would be ethereal somehow, or maybe abstract - airy. I don't know. But I can describe the reality of her through my experience.

Fougs and I had been a bit stressed about the visit just because we wanted it to be perfect. We spent weeks researching and learning. We prepped the kids for the visit and had them color mark her poems. We asked them to think about who she might be as a person based on all of the introductions and jacket covers in/on her books. We wanted them to come up with three questions each based on this information in case an awkward silence descended upon the classroom. We studied and stressed and wondered and thought for days, and finally today came.

Thanks to our amazing librarian, MJ O' Beane (pseudonym of destruction!), we had an amazing lunch with Naomi Nye around a small round table in our tiny, beach muraled (thanks to an ambitious art department) B-hall lounge. Here is where I realized that all of the prep work we had done was in vain (as in vanity). Naomi Nye is one of the most friendly, talkative, easy-going people I have ever met.

We knew that Naomi liked food - she uses figs and melons and Palestinian cookies as imagery in her poems - but we did not know to what extent. Food for her is a sharing; it is an experience that brings us together using all of our senses. As we passed bowls of delicious, fragrant food around the table, we realized that we were not only enjoying a nice meal together, but we literally tasted the true meaning of communion. We were having family time and sharing with a complete stranger, who wasn't a stranger after all because she is a person and we are people. We are we.

Naomi told us that her dad says that if more people would share meals together, we wouldn't have any wars, which is a similar message, my mom says, to that of a country song about sitting together on the front porch...

Anyway, at lunch I discovered that I shouldn't have stressed, and that there wouldn't be an awkward moment because, unlike me, Naomi Nye is completely comfortable and confident in her own skin. In fact, she is so self-aware that no one notices anything other than the beauty of who she is: a dear, hilarious, out-going, spirited individual who is supremely aware of people's need for human connection - for pointing out the loveliness in them, and for praising their individual and collective voices.

She spoke very eloquently to the kids who sincerely absorbed her wisdom. She taught them about writing, about poetry, and about her life as a Palestinian Texan. She encouraged them to use all of their voices (we don't have just one) in their writing. She gave them mini writing assignments, had them share what they penned, and applauded them for creating something beautiful.

Naomi addressed the fact that one should not analyze poetry like one might analyze the polyester/cotton blend of a shirt, but that instead they should allow poetry to say something to them, to give them a reason to look at the world a little bit differently, and to share that experience in their own forms. Then she read some of her favorite poems from other writers and we breathed them in and let them become a part of us, as well.

She talked about the "miracle" of blogs and how people are reaching out across oceans with them. She especially likes Riverbend's blog called "Baghdad Burning" and Sunshine's, "Days of My Life".

She wanted us to remember that good writing isn't about something of the air. It is grounded and relatable, recognizable and beautiful like the “duende”; it is beautiful even if the subject is uncomfortable, ugly, funny, or disturbing. Poetry is community.

Naomi was so brilliant that though the bell rang for school to let out, several of the kids waited to actually shake her hand and tell her what an honor it was to meet her. She gave them her email address. She took pictures with them, and told them that they are beautiful.

And they are.

Here's how you know you've had a crappy day:

1. The alarm goes off, but it doesn't matter because the cat has already alerted you (via obnoxious yowls) to the fact that your alarm is about to go off... in an hour.

2. You have to rush to get ready because, even though you were awake earlier than usual, you were pissed off and refused to get out of bed until you hit the snooze button one extra time. Because of this point that you were making to your.. uh.. alarm clock? cat? Whatever. Because of this, you have no time for proper hair teasing so you look like (or at least feel like you look like) the bride of Frankenstein, only more frizzy!

3. You get to your job and you're met with immediate jackholery (thanks for the word, Lisa). In my case, here's how it went:

I walked into the schoolhouse. I saw a cluster of students. They were all wearing hats which is against the school dress code.
Me: Good morning, guys. Please take off your hats.
Them: (look around like they hear something, but can't tell where from): What? Did someone say something?
Me: Just please take off your hats. You're inside of a building; it's polite to take off your hats. Plus it's the rule. Please take them off.
Them: (dig their fingers around in their ears as if something is obstructing their hearing - a move that had clearly been planned and implemented before): Did someone say something?
Me: Are you serious? I asked nicely. OK. STOP. BEING. JERKS. Take your hats off.
Them: She did not just say that.. We're going to get her fired. She called us jerks.
Me: Do it now!
Them: (Barely lift their hats a quarter inch off of their heads and hold them there (as a statement of what they think of me and my mother) so that when I turn the corner, they can put them back on).

4. You're still walking to your room/floor/cubicle/space etc. and you are met with further insult. Here's my version:

I'm hurrying around the corner and nearly bump into one of my favorite kids.
Me: (brushing off the incident that happened two seconds ago because, as a teacher, that's what you do.) Good Morning!
Him: Ewww!!
Me: ( apparent sad face)
Him: (yelling from down the hall) Sorry, Mrs. Haag! (while laughing)

5. 30% of those to whom you are speaking go to sleep while you are talking, even though you've studied for days, have practiced your presentation AND it is over something you love on a profound level. Also, you are working so hard - enthusiastically gesturing and changing the tone of your voice, doing everything you can possibly think of short of lighting yourself on fire - to entertain your audience. They can't be bothered to look at you.

This happens every other hour, all day.

6. You are supposed to set up a meeting with someone but can't find a place in your calendar because it is so full of meetings that there are NO open spaces.

7. That being said, you honestly can't remember the last time you got to use your time at work to actually do your job.

8. You go to the eye doctor and you hear words/phrases like "glaucoma", "you're too young", "medication," and "your insurance won't cover it".

9. You're called a soccer mom, though you have no kids, you don't drive a minivan, and your hair is not soccer-mom-ish. Frankenstein-ish, yes. Actually, by now it's more wet-cat-ish. But not soccer-mom-ish! You think, "Honestly! When did I become old enough to look like I have a kid who is old enough to play soccer? Wait. I could be a soccer mom! Biological clock IS BROKEN!"

10. You get home and all you can think about is a TALL glass of wine, a hot bubble bath, and a vacation...

(AND you feel like an ass because, though you've had a seriously CRAPPY day, you recognize that you still have it good: 100+ people died in Iraq today - none of whom were your family... and you're at least grateful for that.)

Hey kids! Pay attention!

Fougs sent me this article via her dad in Cape Cod. This is pulled from the Cape Cod Times, and I think it's a GREAT idea!

At D-Y, students take a stand
By K.C. MYERSSTAFF WRITERSOUTH YARMOUTH -

What with the dress, the tux, and the limo, the average high school student spends $500 to $600 on prom night.

A group of Dennis-Yarmouth students - who call the single-night expenditure frivolous and ridiculous - have a better idea. Zak Jason, and other D-Y Amnesty International members, review a presentation on the crisis in Darfur. The group is planning "No Prom for Darfur," an alternative dance and fundraiser.

Members of Students Take Action Now: Darfur, or STAND, are planning a ''No Prom for Darfur'' party sometime in March. Although the date and place have yet to be finalized, the group is inviting students Capewide to skip the formal wear, updos and corsages, in favor of a big fundraising party to help stop the mass murder of black Africans in the Sudan.

''The original idea was, quite frankly, the prom is ridiculous, particularly when you think what $500 could do for Doctors Without Borders, for example,'' said Jeffrey Howell, a Dennis-Yarmouth High School English teacher and the staff adviser of STAND. This thought was reinforced when Zak Jason, the president of D-Y's student branch of Amnesty International, and fellow Amnesty member Ross Desmarais, studied Darfur for separate school projects last year. The Thursday afternoon Amnesty International discussions were soon dominated by talk of the horrors in Darfur.

''We found all these crazy statistics,'' Jason said. At this time last year, he said, there were 300,000 deaths and 15,000 rape victims. In November, several members of Amnesty went to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge to listen to Eric Reeves, author of ''A Long Day's Dying,'' a book about Darfur.

''It was too dramatic to ignore,'' Howell said. Amnesty members formed a chapter of STAND the next day, Howell said. ''I was disheartened (after his talk),'' said Sarah Hodgdon, vice president of STAND. ''He said nothing will happen unless enough people get together.''

Since 2003, militia known as Janjaweed have been systemically raiding black villages, burning the houses, and murdering and torturing civilians in an attempt to drive black Africans from the area. The death toll is numbing. To put it into perspective, STAND member Connor Gramazio estimated that at the rate of 10,000 deaths a month, small towns like Harwich and Chatham would be gone in two months.

Unfortunately, the group of about 50 concerned students were met with blank stares and angry words when they tried to schedule the ''No Prom'' on prom night.
''There was a lot of drama,'' Hodgdon said. ''People said, 'What's Darfur? Why should we give up our prom for them?' The thing is, if people saw the movies we've seen, they wouldn't feel that way.''

Though the controversy got students talking and raised awareness about Darfur, STAND members ultimately relented. They now plan to hold the event on a non-prom weekend, probably in March. They are exploring venues, such as Cape Cod Community College or Barnstable High School, because they want students from all over the region to attend.
And they're hoping to raise big bucks to donate to humanitarian efforts in Darfur.

But are STAND and Amnesty members ready to give up their prom?
''We haven't thought that far yet,'' Hodgdon admitted.

K.C. Myers can be reached at kcmyers@capecodonline.com.
(Published: January 16, 2007)

The Scholastic Press Association at Columbia University just announced the Crown Award finalists for this year. I'm thrilled (and proud) to say that In The Margins made the final cut in the competition and we are guaranteed either a silver or a gold crown award. This is an amazing accomplishment for my staff! What a brilliant recognition! (And we are the only public school in Texas to receive this nod.)

Yay, you stealthy pirate ninjas, what with all of your amazing litmagination!!! Now. How do we get to NYC to pick up our award....(?) Suggestions?

Here's a glimpse of the winning mag :

cover design Patrick H. (design editor 2005-06)

design by Parker J. (design editor /co-editor-in-chief 2006-07)

design by Ian M.

design by Julia C. (editor-in-chief 2005-06)

design by (I can't remember, but I LOVE this spread!)

design by Neal M.

design by Patrick H.

(sorry about the poor picture quality... it doesn't do the mag justice!)