Summer vacation officially started last Wednesday, but I have been working every day at school since. Boo. For the 3rd year in a row, I am having to move classrooms. Last year was because I changed schools, but the other two years is because I keep getting booted to a different room. It's so annoying. Yes, next year I will have a much bigger room, but that doesn't make up for all this extra (unpaid) work I'm doing to pack, clean, clean, unpack, lift, carry, haul, clean, arrange....and the list goes on. It's made worse this year because I am moving into the room of a woman who is retiring after 31 years. 31 years in the SAME ROOM. Can you believer it? There are so many pieces of CRAP in this room. And the filth!!! Oh my. The filth. Yech. So anyway. It's a lot of work. Tomorrow, I hope to be done for a while. At least until the floor in my new room gets waxed. Then I can go in and start to really arrange and place and organize. For now, all of the tables have to be stacked against the wall and all the shelves pushed into the corner. I can't even tell how/if the furniture is going to fit in there until the floors are done. Lame.
I started seeing a new therapist when I got back from Nova Scotia. She is actually an Art Therapist, which was something of a gamble for me. I'd never had Art Therapy before, but I've worked with Art therapists in my career in education and I have even taken some Art Therapy classes. As such, it wasn't weird to me. I just didn't know how I might benefit from it or if I would at all. Basically, at the start of every session, she has me do something that doesn't involve conversation. She once had me make a card for myself. Another time, she had me select a couple of trinkets from a box that spoke to me. The last time we met, she asked me to draw something that was related to my vision of this summer. She always offers a variety of media including pen and markers and oil pastels. We then talk about these things. It's pretty revealing. I like it so far. The rest of the time is either spent talking about what's most pressing or charting major moments on the timeline of my life. I don't enjoy that last one so much, even though it's one of the major reasons I started seeing a therapist again. I want to look at my history to see why I do what I do and what patterns I need to identify to stop getting the same results. I get so busy and I ignore so much in my life--relationships, emotions, stress. It's totally unhealthy and I am doing it on purpose. I need to figure out why. Drawing every week might not be the solution, but I'm willing to try.
I determined my vision for the summer is to shed things. I need to shed fears, insecurities, bad choices, unhealthy emotions, and physical weight. All of it is interconnected. I haven't done anything yet to start this process, but I am excited to admit that I'm going to a Pilates mat class again tomorrow for the first time in two years. I don't know why I've waited so long. I LOVE Pilates. I even aspired to get Pilates certified for a time. In preparation, I took a reformer class since then and didn't like it at all. I realized I needed to focus on mat. I just haven't gotten motivated to go to another mat class and tomorrow, I am finally changing that. Thanks to my twinstar, Angela. I brought it up to her at my birthday celebration and she agreed to join me. Even if she doesn't commit to going more than once in a blue moon, I plan to sign up for at least a month. If I truly love it, I'll find a way to fit the extra $100 a month into my budget. I need to feel better inside as well as better about my outside. STAT. Here's to taking the first step...
Monday, June 28, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
B'Day
It's been a tough week. Needless to say, I know. I don't want to go into what it's been like mourning with Nyella's family or visiting my old students or making myself sick with grief. Today is my birthday! As an only child, I have always been something of a primadonna about my birthday. I usually plan celebratory events than span a week...or 3! This year, for some reason, I didn't plan a thing. I'm not sure why. In the last few days, I'd completely forgotten about my birthday. My head has been in something of a fog. I think Josh has been afraid to push me to do anything. But my beautiful friend Erika sent me an email this morning with some of her wise words: "If senseless death and confusing loss teach us anything, I suppose it is that we must embrace the lives we ourselves continue to live." And thus, today I am taking a reprieve from heartbreak. I am going to do special things for myself today. If I've learned anything from aging, it's that I need to be my best friend and be good to myself or I'll never be truly open to receiving it from others. So Happy Birthday to Me! Let the celebration begin!
Monday, June 14, 2010
Nyella
On Saturday morning, a horrible tragedy happened in a nearby neighborhood. A townhouse caught on fire and 4 children and a 22-year old woman were trapped inside. When the fire was finally put out, the deceased bodies of the individuals were found huddled together in the bathroom upstairs. It was the worst fire tragedy in four decades in this city. They still haven't discovered what started it.
As I watched Last Comic Standing tonight, a preview of the upcoming nightly news came on during the commercials. On the screen was a large picture of one of my students last year. The sight of her face instantly made my heart glow. But the words that accompanied her face made no sense. It was like watching an old Kung Fu movie and hearing the soundtrack from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Still, I knew what I heard even if it didn't match what my eyes saw. I convinced my mind I had been mistaken and the picture was not of her--just another beautiful girl who was lucky enough to look like her. Josh was on his laptop and I smacked his arm in reflex and said, "Please. Look. Look up the story about the fire. It can't be her. They don't live in that neighborhood. That's not her." He was confused because he hadn't been watching the tv. But he knew what I meant when I said to look up the fire because everyone had heard of the tragedy.
There it was in black and white. Her name. Her picture. The story. All together. I kept staring. I screamed, "NO!" No. No. No. I felt tears. Such hot tears. My body unable to figure out what to do: stand, crouch, sit, arms encircling my legs, hands pulling at my hair. 'Who should I call? What should I do? How can this be???' No.
My eyes are swelled. My nose is stuffy. I'm tired from crying. I'm unable to rest. I feel....helpless.
This has never happened to me before. I have never lost a student. Because my students are so young, I hold them and kiss them and snuggle them. I kiss their bandaged hurts and stroke their hair when they feel cranky. I see them more than their parents do and they rely upon me to nurture and love them. And it was so easy to love her. She was full of love. She was full of light. I know it's easy to say that when you lose someone. But I said these things all the time during our days together. She simply was a magical child.
And now she's gone. And I don't know what to do.
As I watched Last Comic Standing tonight, a preview of the upcoming nightly news came on during the commercials. On the screen was a large picture of one of my students last year. The sight of her face instantly made my heart glow. But the words that accompanied her face made no sense. It was like watching an old Kung Fu movie and hearing the soundtrack from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Still, I knew what I heard even if it didn't match what my eyes saw. I convinced my mind I had been mistaken and the picture was not of her--just another beautiful girl who was lucky enough to look like her. Josh was on his laptop and I smacked his arm in reflex and said, "Please. Look. Look up the story about the fire. It can't be her. They don't live in that neighborhood. That's not her." He was confused because he hadn't been watching the tv. But he knew what I meant when I said to look up the fire because everyone had heard of the tragedy.
There it was in black and white. Her name. Her picture. The story. All together. I kept staring. I screamed, "NO!" No. No. No. I felt tears. Such hot tears. My body unable to figure out what to do: stand, crouch, sit, arms encircling my legs, hands pulling at my hair. 'Who should I call? What should I do? How can this be???' No.
My eyes are swelled. My nose is stuffy. I'm tired from crying. I'm unable to rest. I feel....helpless.
This has never happened to me before. I have never lost a student. Because my students are so young, I hold them and kiss them and snuggle them. I kiss their bandaged hurts and stroke their hair when they feel cranky. I see them more than their parents do and they rely upon me to nurture and love them. And it was so easy to love her. She was full of love. She was full of light. I know it's easy to say that when you lose someone. But I said these things all the time during our days together. She simply was a magical child.
And now she's gone. And I don't know what to do.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Talk Back
I know. I never post anymore. But I do read blogs still. I'm just bad about comments. It makes me feel like I'm spying. I don't like that and I hope to remedy it as soon as school is over. 7 more school days!! Only 4 more school days and then K graduation! I can't wait to get everything done this week that's looming over my head. My birthday is on Thursday, but I don't even care. I just have too much to do. That day seems like an inconvenience at this point. If I lived in Indiana, I'd be finished with school by now and I could enjoy it. But I don't. My parents do, and they celebrated the official start to summer break by leaving today for their vacation home in Brazil. Instead, I can look forward to teaching Summer School. Man, it sucks being poor.
Yesterday, I took my kids to the park for a field trip to meet their pen pals. All year, they have been writing to the kids in the classroom I would have taught in if I'd stayed at my old school. Because we have a district of neighborhood schools, there are great discrepancies between the schools socioeconomically, racially, and in quality. My old school is in the south end of the city. As such, the kids are poor, of African descent (some as recently as a year ago) and the school has no PTA (aka no funding). My current school is in the north end, in a neighborhood where the average home price falls just below $1M and the children are 98% white and the PTA pays for a music teacher, a swim program, and holds a yearly auction that nets on avg. 60 grand. It isn't right. I know this. But the city tried bussing and north and south end parents alike fought to go back to neighborhood schools. And thus, it looks the way it does. I knew when I transferred to this affluent school that I wanted to teach about diversity and I also wanted my kids to interact with others and gain an appreciation for diversity. I believe this pen pal program has helped. I can't express to you how magical it was to see my kids with their pen pals, linked by a written history. They were fast friends and never questioned the differences in their lives. They embraced them.
How surprised I was, then, to be approached by a woman at the park who was visiting with her kids and essentially ruined the day for me. Let me preface this story by saying that in the last 10 years, there has been massive gentrification of the south end neighborhoods. Developers have seen this part of the city as a potential goldmine. With north end prices so staggeringly high, it leaves a large population of the homebuyer market unattainable to most. By buying cheaper land in the south end and building modern condos and renovating storefronts, they are hoping to attract younger couples into buying and "hip" and funky stores into renting space to further attract these people into living there. The problem of course is that then the prices go up for the poor minorities that live there, forcing them to move away due to inability to afford to shop in their neighborhood. Some are even told they must move out because their building has been sold to a condo developer. In the last 5 years or so, it has become "cool" to move into these gentrified neighborhoods and the public spaces are becoming more and more filled with white people.
It didn't surprise me, then, to see so many nannies at the park near my old school, and some stay at home moms with their kids in tow. When one of these white moms approached me, though, the surprise was strong. "Are you really from Green Lake?" I didn't detect the sarcasm at first. "Yes. My students are meeting their penpals from the school right down the road for the very first time." I said this with great pride. "Seriously? You're *really* from Green Lake? I can't believe Green Lake parents would let their kids play south of the ship canal." Her smirk is etched in my mind and makes me want to spithim her face when I think of it. I was speechless. "And they would let them be pen pals with [the school down the street]?! That's amazing!" her sarcasm and apparent disdain for the parents at my neighborhood school was biting. She laughed then. It was a snarky, mean laugh. I gave her a disappointed look and walked away. Whether she knew it or not, it was me she was insulting. This was my project, my idea. I expected to be celebrated and instead I was insulted. I walked away, roaming to watch my kids and their pen pals on various play structures. For at least an hour, this ate at me. I began thinking of all of the great comebacks I could think of. It's always that way, isn't it? I never have an artillery ready like I want to. Finally I decided I would say something to her. I had it prepared. First I would say, "You know, your comments have really been bothering me. I just can't figure out what your problem is." Then I would follw with the first punch, "Are you just jealous that you can't afford a house north of the ship canal, or do you honestly believe you are culturally superior because you live in a gentrified neighborhood?" I would then finish with the piece de resistance, "Maybe you're just upset that your kids won't be eligible to go to Green Lake when they're school-aged. My guess is you won't be sending your kids to [the school down the street] when the time comes. You'll choose to pay for private school instead. Actually, even if you deny it, I know I'm right about that." In five years of teaching, I've only ever seen 3 white kids a year at mist attend Kindergarten at that school. By first grade, when they realize the state of the school, they leave.
I went confidently back to the area she'd been in with her kids. I looked all over. In the distance I saw her loading her kids into her mini van while blocking traffic and talking with another mom in a mini van. I'd missed my opportunity. Better that I did, I know. I'm a public servant as a public school teacher and it could have come back to slap me in the face. That woman would not have been worth it.
But damn if I don't still think it would have felt good.
Yesterday, I took my kids to the park for a field trip to meet their pen pals. All year, they have been writing to the kids in the classroom I would have taught in if I'd stayed at my old school. Because we have a district of neighborhood schools, there are great discrepancies between the schools socioeconomically, racially, and in quality. My old school is in the south end of the city. As such, the kids are poor, of African descent (some as recently as a year ago) and the school has no PTA (aka no funding). My current school is in the north end, in a neighborhood where the average home price falls just below $1M and the children are 98% white and the PTA pays for a music teacher, a swim program, and holds a yearly auction that nets on avg. 60 grand. It isn't right. I know this. But the city tried bussing and north and south end parents alike fought to go back to neighborhood schools. And thus, it looks the way it does. I knew when I transferred to this affluent school that I wanted to teach about diversity and I also wanted my kids to interact with others and gain an appreciation for diversity. I believe this pen pal program has helped. I can't express to you how magical it was to see my kids with their pen pals, linked by a written history. They were fast friends and never questioned the differences in their lives. They embraced them.
How surprised I was, then, to be approached by a woman at the park who was visiting with her kids and essentially ruined the day for me. Let me preface this story by saying that in the last 10 years, there has been massive gentrification of the south end neighborhoods. Developers have seen this part of the city as a potential goldmine. With north end prices so staggeringly high, it leaves a large population of the homebuyer market unattainable to most. By buying cheaper land in the south end and building modern condos and renovating storefronts, they are hoping to attract younger couples into buying and "hip" and funky stores into renting space to further attract these people into living there. The problem of course is that then the prices go up for the poor minorities that live there, forcing them to move away due to inability to afford to shop in their neighborhood. Some are even told they must move out because their building has been sold to a condo developer. In the last 5 years or so, it has become "cool" to move into these gentrified neighborhoods and the public spaces are becoming more and more filled with white people.
It didn't surprise me, then, to see so many nannies at the park near my old school, and some stay at home moms with their kids in tow. When one of these white moms approached me, though, the surprise was strong. "Are you really from Green Lake?" I didn't detect the sarcasm at first. "Yes. My students are meeting their penpals from the school right down the road for the very first time." I said this with great pride. "Seriously? You're *really* from Green Lake? I can't believe Green Lake parents would let their kids play south of the ship canal." Her smirk is etched in my mind and makes me want to spithim her face when I think of it. I was speechless. "And they would let them be pen pals with [the school down the street]?! That's amazing!" her sarcasm and apparent disdain for the parents at my neighborhood school was biting. She laughed then. It was a snarky, mean laugh. I gave her a disappointed look and walked away. Whether she knew it or not, it was me she was insulting. This was my project, my idea. I expected to be celebrated and instead I was insulted. I walked away, roaming to watch my kids and their pen pals on various play structures. For at least an hour, this ate at me. I began thinking of all of the great comebacks I could think of. It's always that way, isn't it? I never have an artillery ready like I want to. Finally I decided I would say something to her. I had it prepared. First I would say, "You know, your comments have really been bothering me. I just can't figure out what your problem is." Then I would follw with the first punch, "Are you just jealous that you can't afford a house north of the ship canal, or do you honestly believe you are culturally superior because you live in a gentrified neighborhood?" I would then finish with the piece de resistance, "Maybe you're just upset that your kids won't be eligible to go to Green Lake when they're school-aged. My guess is you won't be sending your kids to [the school down the street] when the time comes. You'll choose to pay for private school instead. Actually, even if you deny it, I know I'm right about that." In five years of teaching, I've only ever seen 3 white kids a year at mist attend Kindergarten at that school. By first grade, when they realize the state of the school, they leave.
I went confidently back to the area she'd been in with her kids. I looked all over. In the distance I saw her loading her kids into her mini van while blocking traffic and talking with another mom in a mini van. I'd missed my opportunity. Better that I did, I know. I'm a public servant as a public school teacher and it could have come back to slap me in the face. That woman would not have been worth it.
But damn if I don't still think it would have felt good.
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