This has to be one of my all-time faves...
"To the guy sailing across Mission Bay with a porch umbrella
I suppose you were windsurfing. I've never seen anyone windsurf with a porch umbrella for a sail, boldly charging across the bay like a cross between Admiral Nelson and Mary Poppins. I was amazed -- you didn't just sail downwind, I swear I saw you tacking. You, sir, are my hero. I wanted to tell you so, but alas, I was on the shore. I had so many questions. No, I really only had one question (why?) but it seemed like a really, really good question. Every time I went back, I hoped to see you again, Umbrella Man, but alas, I have not seen you since. Should you happen to read this, could I trouble you for the story behind your brave voyage?"
(http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sdo/590709564.html)
and this is why i love america.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
I just remembered something....I'm a Jr. High teacher
I'm sitting here on my futon on a Saturday night working on a project for my student teaching/credential that I didn't know was actually due over a month ago and I now need to submit on Monday, and I'm writing about all this teaching I did over the last months, and a thought hit me:
I am a Junior High School teacher.
When people ask me what I do (and now that I'm all grown up and stuff and get to answer that question with something REAL) they tend to sort of cringe and turn inward to their happy place as soon as I say, "I teach Jr. High." I can't imagine why. After all, what's so horrible about having to endure 7 hours surrounded by 25-ish 12 and 13-year-olds who haven't yet realized that deodorant could potentially be the solution to the monkey-house smell in the room after lunch? What's wrong with having to confiscate notes of "I dnt no y ur mad at me. I luv u n dnt say nething 2 him bout ur crush. Ask ________ cuz she said he dnt no y ur not talkng 2 him nemore. K? Les b frends n not mad, k? Luv u 4eva!" multiple times throughout the day and having to decipher their code to ensure that it truly is just a great work of genius and that there isn't anything of serious consequence happening amongst the students? Who wouldn't want to have to constantly remind recently-gangly-limbed boys that they can't sit on a desk like that? Or remind them that it is actually inappropriate to discuss bathroom-related functions in anticipation of one day hoping to have a girlfriend? And speaking of those girlfriends, who wouldn't want to have that heart-to-heart about what clothes communicate and why it's really not a good idea to wear that top with those pants? And after the forty-fifth reminder in one 50-minute period to stop talking and listen while I explain this, why would a person feel compelled to throw a shoe or coffee mug or any other easily-accessible object at the primary instigator of said annoyance?
But then, without those 5 days a week, 7 hours a day exposure sessions, I wouldn't know quite as much about the nature of humanity. I wouldn't have as many good stories, either. I get to see students react to each other and situations with grace and maturity. I learn what interests them, and discover just how different each worldview can be. I get to marvel at the fact that they're really just people, but not as big and not as jaded, and very lacking in impulse control. They still think the world revolves around them and are stunned to realize not every experience is the same as theirs. They have personalities and strengths, and they are struggling to figure out who they are, and as scary and impossible as that definition of self is, they pursue it. These chatty, absent-minded smelly little people remind me of where I once was, where I am now, what I wanted then, what I want now, what I knew then, what I know now.
They remind me that I am, from time-to-time, in need of a command to stop talking to learn something new. They remind me to evaluate my presentation of self to ensure I communicate what I mean to. They remind me to keep drama to a minimum and to avoid making enemies. They remind me to use furniture correctly and try to not annoy people in charge of me for fear of flying objects. And the most important lesson I've learned thus far: they remind me to take showers on a regular basis.
I am a Junior High School teacher.
When people ask me what I do (and now that I'm all grown up and stuff and get to answer that question with something REAL) they tend to sort of cringe and turn inward to their happy place as soon as I say, "I teach Jr. High." I can't imagine why. After all, what's so horrible about having to endure 7 hours surrounded by 25-ish 12 and 13-year-olds who haven't yet realized that deodorant could potentially be the solution to the monkey-house smell in the room after lunch? What's wrong with having to confiscate notes of "I dnt no y ur mad at me. I luv u n dnt say nething 2 him bout ur crush. Ask ________ cuz she said he dnt no y ur not talkng 2 him nemore. K? Les b frends n not mad, k? Luv u 4eva!" multiple times throughout the day and having to decipher their code to ensure that it truly is just a great work of genius and that there isn't anything of serious consequence happening amongst the students? Who wouldn't want to have to constantly remind recently-gangly-limbed boys that they can't sit on a desk like that? Or remind them that it is actually inappropriate to discuss bathroom-related functions in anticipation of one day hoping to have a girlfriend? And speaking of those girlfriends, who wouldn't want to have that heart-to-heart about what clothes communicate and why it's really not a good idea to wear that top with those pants? And after the forty-fifth reminder in one 50-minute period to stop talking and listen while I explain this, why would a person feel compelled to throw a shoe or coffee mug or any other easily-accessible object at the primary instigator of said annoyance?
But then, without those 5 days a week, 7 hours a day exposure sessions, I wouldn't know quite as much about the nature of humanity. I wouldn't have as many good stories, either. I get to see students react to each other and situations with grace and maturity. I learn what interests them, and discover just how different each worldview can be. I get to marvel at the fact that they're really just people, but not as big and not as jaded, and very lacking in impulse control. They still think the world revolves around them and are stunned to realize not every experience is the same as theirs. They have personalities and strengths, and they are struggling to figure out who they are, and as scary and impossible as that definition of self is, they pursue it. These chatty, absent-minded smelly little people remind me of where I once was, where I am now, what I wanted then, what I want now, what I knew then, what I know now.
They remind me that I am, from time-to-time, in need of a command to stop talking to learn something new. They remind me to evaluate my presentation of self to ensure I communicate what I mean to. They remind me to keep drama to a minimum and to avoid making enemies. They remind me to use furniture correctly and try to not annoy people in charge of me for fear of flying objects. And the most important lesson I've learned thus far: they remind me to take showers on a regular basis.
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