Class of 2013

This is my requisite end-of-the-year post. Normal though, it is not. The faces you see above are the faces of the very first graduating class of our little school. 55 seniors will walk across a stage tonight and receive their high school diplomas. Some of them are fortunate enough to know exactly what they want to do with their lives, others are still searching. All have something special to offer the world.

I started with this group four years ago, teaching them as freshman and have been their teacher since. They have grown, both physically and emotionally. On more than one occasion I have wanted to punt their asses down 5th Avenue, and likewise, I'm sure they cursed me to hell. It has been a love/hate relationship, but somehow, despite whatever bumps we've had along the way, however many eye-rolls and f*ck-yous have been slung at my head (or silently, slung at theirs - let's be honest, I'm human), this motley crew has endeared themselves to me. How apropos the epithet this class chose for themselves: "Never Before, Never Again."

Never before have I been with a single group of students for four years, and never again will it happen. They are our first pancakes - you know the one that either turns out too blond and under cooked, or burnt altogether. These kids took a chance on us, and we did our best to educate and instill in them enough tools and tricks of the trade so that they have a fighting chance at making something of themselves. Tonight we send them off on the wings of Pomp & Circumstance. This group has challenged me, and in many ways, prepared me for motherhood.

My first lesson comes tonight.
55 reminders that while they were mine for a short while, I still have to let them go.

Success Story.

In 2004 I completed my first year of teaching. It was slightly overwhelming, but a lot of fun. I worked at a great high school and I got to teach some pretty cool seniors. One of those, L, found herself in an unexpected predicament; pregnant just months before graduating. L hid the pregnancy as best she could, but I was on to her. This normally petite and svelte young lady was wearing baggy clothes that poorly hid an ever blossoming round belly. I tried to pry the truth out of her, but she'd just look at me and smile. Finally, I got one of her friends to spill the beans, this after L had disappeared on "vacation." I asked L's friend to let her know that I didn't care, that the baby didn't change my opinion about her, and that I was there if she needed anything.

When L came back to school after having her baby boy, the first thing I did when I saw her was give her a great big hug. Her eyes welled up with tears only a mother who has left her child for the first time knows. When L graduated, I gave her a card and tried to write what I thought would be meaningful, goals on what to teach her son. It was something along the lines of being a loving man, to respect women, to work hard, and not be afraid of failure.  L and I remained in contact over the years having traded emails, and now keeping tabs on each other via FB. Her son is a handsome young man who by all accounts is a wonderful human being.

What I am most proud of is what L has done with her life. As a single mother she has managed to not let the unexpected gift of her son derail her life. She is gainfully employed and just closed on her first house; an impressive nine thousand square foot beauty in Las Vegas, complete with a gorgeous pool. It is more of a house than I ever expect to own. She posted a picture of it to which I left her a message telling her how proud I was to have been her teacher. This was her response:
                             Thank you so much, means a lot. The start of my change all started with
                             you. It's people like you who take that extra time to help people that make
                            all the difference. Thank you for that.

Many folks judged L for keeping the baby. And while at the time I was nervous for her, I tried very hard not to scoff at her decision. I don't know that I would have been able to do what she did at her age - hell, I'm still a little nervous about doing it now at thirty-three! She is the epitome of a success story, a young woman with her priorities straight, and a work ethic that would impress most people twice her age. Seeing what she has done with her life, not only fills me with hope, but reassures me that even though the unexpected sometimes happens, it's what you do with it that counts.

You see? Just another example of why teaching pretty much rocks. I get to meet, teach, and become friends with extraordinary young men and women. And in teaching them, they educate me.

So damn proud of you, L.

Validation.

Teaching high school students is largely and thankless job. Teenagers aren't exactly known for being appreciative. In fact they are quite self-centered; they are the axis of their universe. The gifts and thank yous that teachers get in elementary school or even in middle school are few and far between in high school. I remember leaving with a trunk full of gifts when I left my teaching stint at a middle school. It was amazing and a little shocking. That has never happened again.

Most of, if not all, my efforts throughout the school year go unnoticed by my students. Generally, some time around Teacher Appreciation week, one, maybe two students, will say thanks. I may get a gift. This year I got one gift card to Starbucks. While the gift card was nice, what I enjoyed more was the card that came with it and what the student wrote. I think you'll find, if you survey teachers, what resonates long after gift cards, baked goods, and crappy crafts, are notes and letters of thanks. I've saved every single letter, email, card, note - you name it - in a binder. I dubbed the binder "Validation." I have a Vol. I and now a Vol. II. It's what I pull out of my cabinet when I'm feeling down and need a little pick-me-up.

This year, year #8 of teaching, has been outstanding. It was the school year where I got to teach two classes of my own design. Post-Secondary Prep I, now my most favorite class to teach, was UHMAZING. It is, without a doubt, what I was meant to teach. I've written about it before (here and here), singing its praises. It's a class that helps fill in the blanks for students in terms of getting them ready for life after high school. Students are done with school on Wednesday (can I get a YAAAAAAAAAAHOOOOOOO!), and before they left for the summer I both surveyed them and had them reflect on the class.

If I get no other thanks as this school year closes, I won't miss it. What the students said and wrote was thanks enough. They have corroborated every effort I made for them this year. I don't think I've ever taught a class that has left a bigger impression or helped students as much as this one. Here's a bit of what they said/wrote:

• I’ve learned a lot from my caterpillar, Mrs. Marshall. While she doesn’t smoke a hookah, she is full of wise words. Through Post-Secondary Prep she has been able to place me under her mushroom and helped me to grow much more than I have ever thought I could.
• Mrs. Marshall has really taught me a lot in this class. My bond with Mrs. Marshall is closer because she knows that I like this class and I finally showed my true colors...
• I don’t know if it is you as a teacher being a person that we could easily talk to but also being a fierce figure that could strike fear in our hearts at any given second. I don’t think I’ll ever find another teacher and friend like you were to me. Above all you have taught me never to quit dreaming or chasing to a bigger goal in life.
• This class gave me the tools to decide where I want to go and who I want to become.  However, it also taught me that I cannot be anyone but me, no matter how hard I try to be someone or something else.  I cannot please everyone, but I can please myself.  I can make a difference, and I can be in control of what my future entails. 
• After all, just how often is it that you can have intelligent debates with amazing classmates about tear-jerking documentaries all under the tutelage of a truly awesome teacher? Apparently all the time in Post-Secondary Prep 1, right here in room 227.
• As a student in this class I have learned so much and gained a ton of information. From the beginning of this class to the end, I believe in myself more than I ever did before.
• I finally had someone who was supporting me, helping me figure out how to get to my goal and finally on how it was my life and I could do what I wanted even if my parents choose not to respect that. 
• Without this class and her teachings, I probably would have been bankrupt.
• By trusting us to talk about more controversial topics, you made me feel as though I could ask any question without being judged.

2011-12 school year - it's a wrap.

bringing healthy to students

Do you have any idea how much crap teenagers eat on a daily basis? It's revolting. But it's probably not that big of a surprise since we were all their age at one point. I distinctly remember purchasing, on a daily basis, a Hershey's Cookies 'n Cream chocolate bar. Yes, every day for snack I'd delight in this sugary treat. It never really occurred to me how bad this was - I wasn't thinking in those terms, and neither are my students, at least not until Mark showed up.

For the past two days my students were part of a seminar put on by one Mr. Mark from our local Whole Foods Market. This is what he does. He educates those willing to listen on the benefits of a plant-based, whole foods diet. And not whole foods like the name of the store, but rather food in its original state.

Mark showed up Thursday armed with a wonderful five minute presentation of an eleven year-old discussing why we should all consider paying the farmer and not the hospital. He had handouts on the myths of dairy, the real cost of healthy eating and a startling fun little fact sheet detailing the horrors of soda, or rather, pop as it's known on this side of the country. The kids were engaged, they asked questions - good questions, and listened to what Mark had to say. You could see their over-caffeinated minds start to work and think about what they'd been putting into their mouths. When reality started to settle in, some began to complain about the lack of nutrition and quality of school lunches - and they're right. What's served in the cafeteria on a daily basis is deplorable. Fresh? I don't think so. Processed? Yup. Tons of crap for a really cheap price.

Some students began to pull out their carbonated sugary drinks and read the labels. We all had a few good laughs when those reading got to ingredients they couldn't even pronounce. At that point it was clearly obvious that Mark's point about moving towards natural foods rather than artificial foods was sinking in.

On Friday, Mark once again came prepared to wow the kids, this time with a food show and some good eats. He showed up with his portable single burner, a couple of pans and some very fresh ingredients. He had 'em hooked. They watched intently as he put together what I'm calling the "Dorm Recipe." Prior to Mark showing up I'd asked him to put something together that would be tasty, quick and above all easy to make. He did not disappoint. Into the hot pan went diced red potatoes, red onion, red, yellow and green bell peppers, broccoli, mushrooms, quinoa, garlic, kale, marjoram, oregano, thyme, and a dash of salt and pepper. In ten minutes we whipped up a delicious breakfast option. The kids lined up with their bowls and forks, threw on some hot sauce and got down to tasting.

A few were skeptical, some were willing, most enjoyed it. What resonated most with me were the comments coming from students - the same chuggers of Mountain Dew were saying things like wow, I didn't know eating healthy could taste this good or this isn't so bad or what was the recipe again? I'd like to write it down and try it on my own. Many students left the two-day seminar thinking hard about their health and the food they were eating, and several were committed to eating better. I did speak with one young man who was particularly excited about this revamped way of eating, but at the same time frustrated because of his home environment. When I asked him what his family typically ate, he cited fried rich greasy foods. I asked him about the sides served with meals, suggesting that he serve himself more the sides and he reported that whatever it was, was typically cooked with a heavy dose of cheese or butter. He said he'd not eaten meat in several days (we previously watched the documentary Forks Over Knives) and has tried to make himself a salad with every meal to compensate for what's being served. Several students reported attempting to talk to their parents but quickly got shut down, and that was very sad to hear.

In a thank you email to Mark this morning, I wrote the following:

                         While they may not be able to buy their own food at the moment, I'm certain
                         you've planted a seed that will influence their choices when they gain some
                         independence in a couple of years.

This class is turning out to be more enjoyable than I could have ever imagined. I love that not only do I get to help students prepare for possible training and career paths, getting them to understand that money isn't everything and that doing what you love is worth more in the long run, but I also have the opportunity to help them become more well-rounded individuals. Through the viewing of documentaries, amazing group discussions, and with activities like Mark's seminar, I have no doubt that their sometimes narrow-minded views and one-track minds are now opening to infinite possibilities.

And that, dear readers, is what this job is all about.

Hanging in the Strip

I've finally found my way back to this blog. Truth is, there hasn't been much to mull over. I guess I could tell you the story of how at this year's staff holiday party, a colleague mistakenly thought I was pregnant. Yup. Actually put her hand on my belly, eyes all lit up and asked if I was pregnant. My response: Nope. I'm just really f*@$ing fat right now, but thanks for coming! Yeah, that was pretty awesome. I didn't go jump off one of the many bridges readily accessible to me, instead I reacted as any female would - I proceeded to stuff my face for the rest of the evening. And then the very next day moved the elliptical out from the corner of the storage room (which has since become overrun with construction crap) and into the family room. I aimed it right at the TV. The social faux pas happened a week ago. Since then I've been eating better, walking the dog, and riding the elliptical. I guess sometimes we need someone to overstep themselves to shake us out of our slumps. It's not like I haven't noticed; I've just been in denial. That's all I'm going to say about that.

As for the rest of my life, the usual has been going on - the hyper gluttony of Thanksgiving, pulling out the Christmas crap (I personally LOVE Christmas crap), and counting down the days until Winter Break when I get a respite from my students, and they get a break from me. Cause let's be honest, as much as they get under my skin, I'm sure they'd chirp in with a similar vein of thought. Or would it be a tweet instead of a chirp? I don't tweet, and I don't plan on tweeting. I don't even own a smart phone. I still have a flip up the front lid type of cell phone. Do I really need the Internet right at my fingertips at any given moment? Really? Nah. I'd rather spend my money on a digital photography class at the local center for the arts. T really wants to take the class and thinks it's a good idea. I think it's a great idea, but the tuition is a tough pill to swallow at the moment. I told her I'd be up for it (and the cost) this coming spring.

Speaking of photography, in my last post I mentioned a possible opportunity to photograph a couple on their wedding day. They chose to go with someone with a little more edge. I was SO okay with that. Like I said before, the idea of doing a wedding, even if it was just going to be the couple and no one else, makes me incredibly nervous. Perhaps someday down the line. Right now, I'm just content photographing newborns, pregnant ladies, and of course, Miss Daisy, T's daughter. I went over there recently and took some holiday pics of the little one. She's just too freaking cute. It's almost painful how cute she is. Her eyelashes are insane. That girl will never need to buy a tube of mascara.

I still have a lot to learn when it comes to snapping pics. That being the case, T and I decided to head down to the Strip District this morning. The Strip is about a half mile of shops, wholesale food markets, and all kinds of eateries, bakeries, and sidewalk food. We brought our cameras with us and had another go at practicing our art. Before heading to the strip we went to the West End Overlook, a great spot for getting an awesome shot of our little city.


I shot in RAW this time around. It's my first time shooting in this format. In the post-editing process, I did notice a difference. My ability to control the colors was much more acute. I dig it. I like how the images turned out.

I'm trying not to let myself get overwhelmed with how much there is to know in the world of photography - cause let me tell you, there is A LOT. At least if you want to do it right. I know much of pulling the trigger on a good image has a tremendous amount to do with the photographer's eye and instinct. I think I've a little bit of that in me. It's the technical stuff that I've got to study and practice. I'm hoping to add another lens to my bag, and a bag for that matter, this Christmas. Hopefully, Big Red - err, Santa, brings me the bag I've asked for. I sent Santa an email last week with a link to where to purchase said bag. It sure would be nice to travel to California for Christmas with my camera  tucked away safely in the perfect camera bag...

Thanks.

First and foremost, Happy Thanksgiving.

It's nearly 8 am, and I'm the only one up this early. Which is kind of ridiculous since I'm not even cooking anything today. There's a thick scarf of fog outside and the grass has been painted white with frost. When I let Olive outside this morning, I skipped the slippers, and my feet nearly burned from the chill of the concrete. Can you say, "winter?"

I haven't been around this blog lately, mostly because I haven't had much to write about. I guess that's a good thing in some respects. The biggest news as of lately is that I had an essay published on page 2 of the newspaper. It's the closest I've ever gotten to page 1. I received some lovely responses from readers, but the best response was a phone call from an 86 year-old man. He said he'd been the very first principal of one of the oldest high schools in our district. He told me he also took my same approach with students. He then said he was a little mad that he hadn't written the essay himself, as he saw it from his own voice. It was a tremendous compliment.

Big Red continues to slowly make progress on the bathroom downstairs. The walls have been insulated, the plumbing has been worked out. The next big step is to install the shower. We might even get to that today before heading over to his mom's house for dinner! He's also been making great progress on his personal happiness. I wrote about it some time ago, how he'd been struggling, and while I didn't outline all his daemons - those are his to share, I will say he has found himself in a much brighter space. There is a lightness about him that had been absent. His smile has returned and he's been able to tolerate work in a way that doesn't seem to drag him down.

As for me, a door may have opened for an opportunity to photograph a wedding - a small wedding. Just the groom and his fiance and whomever marries them. In all actuality, it would probably be more like an engagement session. While the simple utterance of the phrase photograph a wedding makes me want to turn and run, this scenario isn't the typical one. The couple may decide to go with someone else, and that's all well and good. I honestly don't know if I'd choose me either. In the email to the groom I basically laid out my current skills, my current equipment - one camera and one lens. Not so much to scare him off, but just to make sure all expectations are super-duper clear. But if they do choose me, I'll be grateful for the opportunity to continue working on my photography and for being the person who gets to document their special day. I'll let you know what happens.

I am grateful for a job in this very volatile economic climate, especially in my school district where a measure just passed to close several schools therefore cutting 400 jobs. Yes, 400 - and I still have my job. I am grateful for my students and their willingness to let me be me in the classroom.

As silly as it may sound I am grateful for having had the means to purchase my camera - a little piece of wondrous technology that allows me to have fun, express myself and record tiny slices of peoples' lives, as well as mine.

I am most grateful for modern medicine and its ability to bring smiles back on sad faces.

There is so much to be grateful for this morning, and every morning, really. To list them all would seem cliche.

Student taken photograph of me at my desk.

I love and I am loved. For this, I am most thankful.

untitled.

There are events in life that prompt you to come to a screeching halt. And after that, in a vacuum of quiet, you are afforded a moment of contemplation. And after that moment, if you are lucky, you are awash in thanks.

Today I am thankful for the two parents I had growing up. Two parents who sometimes drove me nuts (no doubt the inverse is more than accurate as well), and asked questions, and showed up for parent/teacher conferences, and drove me to soccer practices, and girl scout meetings. Two parents who sat down every single night at the dinner table and spoke to me and my brother about our days. Two parents that threw birthday parties and kept up the masquerade of Santa Claus long after we already knew. Two parents who took us on summer vacations and showed up at games and who bought us back-to-school clothes and supplies.

As a teacher of eight years, by my best approximation, I have known somewhere in the vicinity of 900 students. 900 lives. Today, it's one particular life that stands out.

Imagine you are a teenager and have not one single adult in your life who cares about you and bothers to check up on you. Imagine that you've lost your mother to a life of drugs and mental health problems. Imagine that your father works six of seven days a week and doesn't come home until late. Some nights, drunk. Imagine you have no siblings, cousins, aunts or uncles with which to speak or confide in. You are sixteen and responsible for your entire life.

Imagine how lonely you would be.

I know this student. It's maddening. I asked Big Red how he would feel if I brought one sad case home with me for Thanksgiving. He was incredibly hesitant and I can understand why. I realize it's not my job to save students, but I can't help but want to. And I'm not talking about save in the educational sense. I'm talking about saving a kid from their own life. But it's bigger than just a trip home for Thanksgiving. The responsibility of crossing over from teaching life into personal life might be too big at the moment. Too dangerous. And this fear stops me.

So I do other things.

Check up on this particular pound puppy, give them my cell, ask if they're doing alright. Offer hugs and a quiet classroom at lunchtime if they want/need to talk.  There are so many pups I want to throw my arms around and bring home to sit at the dinner table with me and Big Red. I want to show them a warm home, a lovely dog, and a hot meal. I want to give them my couch to lay down on, a thick blanket to throw over their shoulders, a movie in the DVD player. A house filled with conversation, not silence.

Teaching can be just about teaching if that's all you allow. You can deliver content, grade your papers, enter marks into the computer and print out a report. But how can anyone ignore the human side of teaching? The sometimes screwed-up, tangled mess of beauty each kid is that walks through the classroom doors? How can I ignore that?  The simple truth is, I can't. As frustrating and infuriating as it may be, I consider getting to know these kids, hands down, THE BEST part of my job. It's cool if I can turn a skeptic onto poetry, but learning about their lives and finding out what drives them, what frightens them - what makes them people, is awesome. Unfortunately, this excavation and discovery often brings harsh truth. Realities of abandonment, drugs, death, discrimination and all the other horrors of the world.

Tonight, as I snuggle under an over-sized blanket on the big brown couch, Big Red on one end, Olive somewhere between us, I will be thankful for the stroke of a lucky life I've been given.

Christmas, last year at our house. I wish all my students had a picture like this they could call their own.

this is why.

After going through my inbox this morning, I checked, on a whim, the folder labeled "Junk E-mail." In the junk, right at the top of the pile, was an email from a former student. This young man was at our school for two years, but has since moved on to another location. He struggled to keep his grades up, and was starting to become a discipline issue. This kid was the perfect example of an iceberg: what you saw everyday was just the tip of a crappy hand dealt below the surface. He had more than enough reason to be pissed at the universe. For whatever reason, this young man and I had a great rapport. We connected.

Hey...I'm hoping this is your email address but I just want to let you I miss being in your class and that I was thinking about you. I wanted to let you know your still my favorite teacher and I am doing good. Hope this is your email and hope your doing good.


Of course I immediately replied with nothing short of a full-throttle inquisition. I was curious and wanted to know how he was faring. Word on the street is he had a baby. I sincerely hope he's "doing good."  


I forwarded the email to our school nurse, a woman who always looked after this young man and bent over backwards trying to help him out.  Her response was simply, This is why we do what we do. And she's right. 


I see my colleagues, good people with kind souls and work ethic like you wouldn't believe, breaking their backs over hours spent at their laptops. They work tirelessly to create amazing and intricate lesson plans that are water-tight and second to none. Because of this insurmountably high standard, at the start of this school year I was feeling a little, well, sub-par. Here's the deal: I will admit to anyone who asks that I don't work nearly as hard as my counterparts. That has been a conscious decision from day one. It has nothing to do with the fact that I currently have this unbelievably light load of students and classes. Even when I was working with five classes of 30+ students a day in California, I still made a conscious decision not to take work home with me. I have always vowed to keep balance in my life and never hid that from anyone. Since working at this school, going on three years now, I make it a point to let parents know, from the get-go, that I have a life outside of my job. When that bell rings at 3:20, I choose not to be a teacher anymore. I'm a wife, and a daughter, and a friend. Those other facets of my life are just as important, if not more important in the fabric of who I am and what constitutes my definition of living. I love my job, but it will never rule my life.


Likewise, I will never fault my colleagues for busting their humps and working long hours into the night. If that's how they choose to roll, then I support them. I just cannot commit to that. While teaching is about teaching, it's also about the connections. I love getting to know the people my students are. I want to know about their lives. It's fascinating and wonderful. I want them to know that I care about more than just what they've scored on a recent test or essay. Call me a naval-gazing fool. I'm alright with that. Sometimes I think I should have been a counselor. You know, I was once accused of being a "cheerleader," and not a "coach," while student-teaching in NYC. Apparently my teaching was more rah-rah and not enough of something else. My response was, so what? Why can't I be both? What if I am just a cheerleader in teacher's clothes? Would that be so bad? I have no desire to rest on my laurels and wax poetic all day long with my students. In fact, I'm pretty sure students, while in my class, are learning. Go ahead, ask 'em. I dare you. So long as my students continue to learn, then I'll be okay if my powerpoint slides aren't multi-colored with seventy-two pictures and intricate workings, and if my teacher web page is minimalist at best. That kind of stuff just doesn't interest me. I want my students to do. Susan Schlechter, my most favorite and memorable instructor at NYU once said something I've taken to heart and have never forgotten: The learning is in the doing.


Long after they have turned in their poems and short stories, long after I've assigned them a grade or helped them decide where to apply for college, my hope is that I was able to teach them something about who they are, and the kind of person they want to be. Yes, I want them to have some knowledge about the arc of a story, and what makes for a good line break. Yes, yes, yes. But, I also want to foster their humanity.


I may be wrong, but even if taken at face value, I think that email I received is good evidence I'm on the right track.

September 11, 2001: I was there.

September 11, 2001

I am there.

It is a Tuesday. As a graduate student in the Steinhardt School of Education at NYU, I am scheduled to go in for my student-teaching. The school is located on East 22^nd street, between Madison and 3^rd Avenue. Right near Gramercy Park.

Just about 2.5 miles from the World Trade Center.

I get up, eat breakfast, get dressed, and gather my materials. I leave my rented room with blue walls, a tiny room on the third floor of an old Victorian house, in Flatbush, Brooklyn. I hop on the D train at Beverly Rd., and take a seat near the window as I always do. There is graffiti scratched into the window of the train’s car. Maybe done with a key? Someone bored on their way into the city? On their way home from a long day? We move underground for some bit and then pop up again as the train rises to cross the East River by way of the Manhattan Bridge.

At some point the lull of the train stops. We are stopped on the bridge. I don’t make anything of it as trains often do funny things like stop for no apparent reason. But then people scream. And then the screaming people all get up out of their seats and move to the left side of the train, their faces pasted to the windows.

Just as I look up and see the smoke, a woman sitting near me, with fingertips pressed to her lips, and  utter disbelief in her voice, says, “Oh my God. That’s my office.”  Something turns inside me.

Because the memory of what I saw and the time at which I saw it is hazy, I don’t remember if both towers had been hit yet. At the very least, one was already blaze. Probably both had already been hit.

Black smoke spirals from the mercurial obelisk into the sky.

The train begins to move again. I am unnervingly uncertain of what I’ve just seen, but am feeling a nagging suspicion that something is very, very wrong. There is talk on the train of a “small” plane “accidentally” crashing into the tower and honestly, it seems plausible given the closeness of the skyscrapers to La Guardia and JFK. They share airspace. After getting off the train at my stop and walking to the school, I quickly make my way into the classroom. My friend Chris is there. We have the same Master teacher. If I remember correctly, he is finishing up his class. The bell rings and students shuffle out of the classroom into the halls. My class comes into the room. I whisper to Chris that the World Trade Center is on fire, and that a plane (or two?) has crashed there.

And then this is what I remember happening next:

The voice of the principal crackles over the PA system.

He says that the school is on lockdown.

A student takes out an electronic device of some kind that has a radio, and he/she listens.

I lean out of a classroom window trying to look downtown towards the WTC.

The student reports that the South tower has collapsed.

Chris and I look at each other.

Our Master teacher becomes hysterical talking of war and being under attack.

We try to calm her down explaining that she cannot lose it in front of the students.

The student with the radio reports that the North tower has collapsed.

I may or may not have leaned outside the window again.

I think I remember smelling smoke.

The students are confused.

We are incredulous.

At some point we are all released, and I walk the empty streets of Manhattan with Chris. There is virtually no body, no car to be seen anywhere. Manhattan is an empty movie set long since abandoned after the director has called it’s a wrap. I try a payphone on our walk back to his dorm room, but there is no dial tone. Silence on the streets, silence on the phone.

All I can think is to call Big Red who is living back in the Steel Town.  We have been dating just a year and a half at that point. I am unaware that another plane has gone down near our Steel Town.

All I can think is to call my parents and let them know I’m okay.

We walk some more. There is no train service. All transportation is shut-down, Manhattan itself is on lockdown. We make it back to Chris’ place, and I try my cellphone to no avail. Chris points out that he has internet via his cable line. I send out an email to friends asking them to call both Big Red and my parents. I find out later that someone has reached them all and let them know I’m okay.

But I am still stuck on Manhattan. But I am not scared. I just want to get home.

We watch some of the news and sometime later the city decides to reopen a select few train lines.  I am able to find one that will go to Brooklyn. Unfortunately the closest stop is still miles from where I’m living. Miles through some shady areas. I have no choice but to ride anyway.  The train is crammed with the ragged and the weary.  The train lurches to a stop somewhere in Brooklyn. I do my best to orient myself as I climb the steps out of the ground, trying to figure out in what direction I need to begin walking.  After what seems like several blocks, I am still uncertain if I’m headed in the right direction, and that is when I spot an ambulance. I knock on the window startling the two men inside. The passenger rolls down his window. I explain my situation and ask them if I’m headed in the right direction. They confirm that my instincts are right, but that I still have a long way to go. I thank them and continue.

By now it is dark and I don’t want to dillydally any longer in suspicious neighborhoods. So I walk and walk and walk some more, keeping a quick pace. And then lights began to flash: blue and red. The ambulance. They pull up beside me and tell me to get in. They take me all the way home. I thank them profusely. I don’t know if they felt sorry for me, if they knew I’d be walking through danger or what. All I know is they chose not to ignore me.

I turn the lock with my key, and go inside. 

Awesome Start.

Day 1 is in the books (179 to go?). And a good one it was. Because I don't teach first period, I'm assigned to "metals." That's where you stand at tables and check students' backpacks and purses while they go through the metal detectors. It's kind of annoying, but nice in that you have a chance to greet everyone as they come in the door at the start of the day. Today at metals, I got many hugs, and even a gift:

One of my students was lucky enough to enjoy a cruise to the Caribbean this summer and this is what she brought back for me. A beautiful and sparkly purple necklace made of wood and sequence. Love it. I wore it all day. This was so unusual and unexpected. And wonderful.

My creative writing class is stellar. It's a fabulous group of students, all of whom I know well; I've had them for the past two years. These first nine weeks with them will be delightful. I can't think of a better way of kicking off this new elective class. What a treat to have students who want to be in class because they chose to be there. I've been waiting 8 years for this, and dammit if I'm not going to enjoy every minute with them.

By the end of the day the rest of my colleagues were reporting similar tales. Tales of students responding to direction and correction. Minimal disruptions and cooperative learning environments. While it's all well and good now, I'm still more than prepared for the other shoe to drop. However, I'm not saying it actually will. Who knows, this could finally be the year that our tiny school gets its kinks worked out and we're not frazzled by February. The punks are still there, but we know their numbers (fyi: when I say "punks" I mean it affectionately). Morale is high; higher than it has ever been. I think if we can all collectively keep our spirits up, we're going to have a banner year.

It's amazing how being gone for an entire summer really changes nothing. Today we all stepped right back into our routines without a hiccup. I wonder what a first day back to school will be like with a baby? There's no baby to speak of yet, but take this morning for instance. I woke up at 5:45, and at my leisure had breakfast, watched the news, made my lunch, did my hair and makeup and then got dressed. Big Red's alarm went off just as I was getting dressed and we seamlessly waltzed through our morning routine. I kissed him goodbye, and was on my way by ten to 7. What will change once there's a little one? Will I be getting up at 4 am? Will Big Red be getting up sooner? My guess is: YES. To all questions. And even after school. I was able to pack up my belongings and then casually chat with a few colleagues before making my way home. With a baby will I need to bolt out the door to pick him/her up from daycare?

Look at me now: blogging with not a care in the world and no one that needs my attention. Except for Olive. But she's near my feet and snoozing. I'm guessing she's doing just fine.

I hope when it's my turn to be a mommy that I'll be able to manage my time as effectively as I do now and that life won't become some hectic whirlpool of days smashed into one another. I am a hyper-organized woman. Someone please tell me I'll be able to manage and make it work. How do you make it work?

ps: Want an example of true love? Big Red gave me the last piece! of his birthday cheesecake. The only condition was that I not inhale it. It took everything I had, but I made that piece last for ten whole delicious minutes.

fin.

Checkmate.

Yesterday was the final day with students.  We can unofficially close out the 2010-11 school year; unofficial only because my colleagues and I still have to show up to work until June 20th.  I only had one more final to give yesterday, and surprisingly all my students showed up.  I only say this because this particular class, a class I’ve written about before, has had a sketchy attendance record.  There are a few students who pretty much wrapped up their year months ago.  They knew they would be leaving and so made no effort to come to my first period class, and do any work.  Today they showed up.  One got called down to the office for some kind of trouble, another remained in class and took the test, and the last – well, the last one remained physically in my room, but did not take the test.

This particular student just put his head down.  I asked him if he was going to make an attempt at the final, and he said no.  I entered a zero into the grade book, and then exchanged his blank bubble sheet for a Rubik’s Cube.  His face immediately lit up.  I whispered: solve it.

What will happen to him next year?  He’s not returning to our school; his grades just weren’t good enough, and he had become very problematic.  He’s not a bad human by any stretch. My guess is he came to this school severely unprepared for the caliber of work he would be expected to do, and he failed one too many times.  Failing repeatedly would wear on anyone.  We offered him supports, made phone calls home, spoke to him individually and collectively.  There were safety nets all around this kid, but somehow he still found a rip and fell through.  Next year he’ll be in a more traditional setting without the pressures of a rigorous curriculum, no dress code to worry about really, and he’ll be surrounded by more of his friends.  And, he’s got football.  We don’t have sports at our school, and trust me when I say that not having athletic teams has hurt our abilities to create any kind of school spirit.  Kids just attend our school.  They’re not really part of it. Not yet anyhow.  Although I’m not particularly fond of this kid, I do wish him well.  I hope he finds his way somehow, and makes something of himself.

As for the rest of my Goonies, I’m pleased with most of the work they’ve done and the human beings into which they are becoming. There were some glitches and ugly spots along the way, I like some more than I like others, but in the end it’s all good.

This is my second year with these kids.  Next year, I’ll have them all again. And the following year, the year they graduate, I’ll have them for the fourth year in a row.  It’s a unique situation, but one that I love.  In a traditional setting, while I would have gotten to know my students, it would never have been with the depth and breadth that I know this particular group. It’s certainly a unique circumstance, and as of yesterday, we are halfway through their high school careers.  I once had a reflective piece of writing published in a newspaper about how every September I’m a skeptic with my new crop of students.  The new group never seems to measure up to the class from the year before.  It was comfortable with the old class, familiar. What will happen when the class of 2013 says their good-byes? It will be hard to let this group go.  I guess I don't have to worry about that for another two years. This frightens me.

This was also my last year as a traditional English teacher. I honestly can’t say I’m sad about it. Yeah, I know I spent $60k on an MA from NYU in English Education – how can I forget with my nearly $500 student loan payment every month – but what I have realized over the course of these past seven years is that the joy I find in teaching is less about the content and much more about the relationships I create with my students.  In the aforementioned pricey graduate school program I completed, I was adamant about wanting to be an inspiration to my students.  I wanted to be able to inspire them to be greater more open-minded, risk-taking human beings.  I can do that with English, and I can do it just as well with Creative Writing. The beauty in teaching Creative Writing, is that now I’ve gained autonomy over my classroom, and autonomy for this gal, dear readers, is highly valued. I don’t do well in boxes, and I don’t do well with rules.  I also get to become my students’ cheerleader as I help them get into college and figure out possible career paths in the other new course I'm teaching. Next year remains promising...

On a sad note, a colleague is being bounced out of our building and into a less desirable 50/50 split between two schools. The person replacing her has more seniority and was furloughed from another school.  Because she had the more desirable job, staying full-time in one spot, she was the one who lost out. She’ll teach half-time at one middle school, and half-time at another.  She becomes itinerant.  She was nothing but tears yesterday afternoon and I felt deeply for her. Seven years ago, I was in her very same position. I’d been hired as a full-time teacher, it was my very first year, I fell in love with my colleagues, the school where I was working, and just a couple weeks before the end of the year, I was displaced. I was being bumped by a teacher with more seniority returning from a leave of absence. Seven years ago I was all tears.  And I continued to cry for several months afterwards. There’s nothing anyone can say to you at that point, and whatever consoling they attempt, compares nothing to the amount of FUCK-OFFS you want to lay out into the world.  So to this colleague, a young girl, I told her only that I understood and to find a way to get through it. I only offered validation and affirmed that it does suck and yes, it is a shitty situation.

Our little campus is slowly growing, and our learning curve remains steep. We remain a tight-knit staff with plenty of moxie and dedication. I still believe we have the potential for greatness, but it is going to come at a price. This end of the school year somehow has come around in an anticlimactic fashion. It’s just another day – except there are no students. I have discovered new friends (yeah, Z, you totally rock, and yes, forever friends), and have deepened ties with others (P, my barometer, my vault).

Seven years in the books.

I’m still happy I’m a teacher.

And as a gift to myself for the seventh-inning-career stretch, I bought a subscription to The New Yorker. I know, right? Just trying to rev up my sophistication meter, and read good reads. Who knows, maybe someday my words will appear in the magazine...