In case you missed the first of these a couple of weeks back, I'll catch you up. These lists of Pointless Observations are a sampling of my internal monologue during a time I'm running through a lot of snarky comments to keep myself amused. (And seriously, has "snarky" still not earned its way deep enough into the established lexicon to earn a pass from the online spellcheck?) So, I went to the state fair yesterday with my sister, her husband, and a couple of nephews. Here's some of what I was thinking:
**Whoa, whoa, whoa -- where do you think you're taking that stroller, lady? Cutting me off like that would be a bad move.
**I wonder how many of the t-shirts being worn here today are XXL or higher. I'm guessing 40%.
**We've reached the critical tipping point where I can't distinguish between the smells coming from the food stands or the body odor drifting off of the other 700,000 people here. The only thing that stands out anymore is when someone lights up a smoke. And usually when I'm five feet downwind.
**I think I now understand why Bruce Springsteen's "Girls in Their Summer Clothes" has been playing in my head for the past two hours.
**I don't think I've ever eaten anywhere less sanitary than the state fair food building.
**Oh! Thank you, state fair worker, who thought that dollar bill on the ground belonged to me.
**I am so thirsty I can feel the tissue on the inside of my mouth absorbing this Diet Coke like a sponge before I even have the chance to swallow it.
**Aaaanndd... it took me exactly 35 minutes before I saw some kid from school. Never fails. I think Washington State was the only place all summer I was able to experience pure anonymity.
**Are you kidding me?! The Space Tower is only three bucks? I am so talking at least Matt into going on that with me.
**This is ridiculous. St. Cloud State has a booth. St. Mary's has a booth. Education Minnesota has a booth. And despite all of the tuition and union dues I have ponied up in my life, none of them are offering pencils for my collection.
**Seriously? Who buys a salad at the state fair?
**Where else in the metro area would I be able to see a overdressed woman with botox and diamond earrings standing in line behind a tattooed goth couple who can't stop pawing at each other?
**The booth for MyTalk Radio 107 has a sign advertising a "Lactation Station." I've never listened to this station before, and yet I think I have pretty firm grasp on what their main demographic could be.
**I wonder what the ratio would be between people wearing tank tops and people wearing long pants?
**Hey, there's KARE 11's Eric Perkins, doing that "walk around with a cell phone to my ear so people will think I'm talking to someone and won't bother me" thing.
**I think there must be some kind of law requiring any carnival midway to play "Insane in the Membrane" by Cyprus Hill at least once every five hours.
**Wow. Going by the airbrushed art on that 'rock and roll jukebox' funhouse, Avril Lavigne and Steven Tyler have to be blood relatives.
**Matt! Holy cow! You won the biggest Skee-ball prize! At least your brother won't be jealous and cranky about that for more than an hour.
**I should have turned on my treadmill app when we got here. According to my feet, my back, my knees, and that knot in my calf that's going to be even worse tomorrow, I've walked at least 80 miles since we got here....
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
My Summer in Haiku
I'm not a fan of poetry, and it's fair to say the year I spent as a declared English major was more than enough to guarantee I never will be. But earlier this month I entered a little Facebook drawing in which I had to write a haiku about something. All the people who entered had their names thrown in a hat, and a winner -- who was not me -- was drawn. The idea inspired me to briefly set aside my poetry distaste and do a summer in review post with all of the events described through haiku, just for the writing exercise of trying something outside of my wheelhouse.
I thought about giving each poem a title but decided against it. If you were involved in any of these events, it's likely you'll identify them. If you weren't, they might be head-scratchingly vague. Which, I believe, is what poetry is all about anyway. And I think I have all of the syllables counted correctly, but in case I don't, keep in mind that I hate poetry so I probably didn't check them as carefully as I should have. So now that I'm sure I've built up such sky-high expectations in anyone reading this, let's begin:
********************
Week-long vacation
forests, mountains, and desert
welcomed by good friends.
The Turtle Lake Fair
family reunited
music, games, and food.
Nephews in tuxes
David joins the family
late and humid night.
The end of Borders
liquidation tragedy
I stocked up big time.
Still fighting cancer
we raised one thousand dollars
cut short by downpour.
Midnight Radio
in the car and at the zoo
summer soundtrack.
Unsettled moments
Long week in the hospital
Dad's back on his feet.
Crowded dance floor
seen through the camera lens
happy bride and groom.
Enormous summer feast
opening gifts for an hour
happy birthday Mom.
I thought about giving each poem a title but decided against it. If you were involved in any of these events, it's likely you'll identify them. If you weren't, they might be head-scratchingly vague. Which, I believe, is what poetry is all about anyway. And I think I have all of the syllables counted correctly, but in case I don't, keep in mind that I hate poetry so I probably didn't check them as carefully as I should have. So now that I'm sure I've built up such sky-high expectations in anyone reading this, let's begin:
********************
Week-long vacation
forests, mountains, and desert
welcomed by good friends.
The Turtle Lake Fair
family reunited
music, games, and food.
Nephews in tuxes
David joins the family
late and humid night.
The end of Borders
liquidation tragedy
I stocked up big time.
Still fighting cancer
we raised one thousand dollars
cut short by downpour.
Midnight Radio
in the car and at the zoo
summer soundtrack.
Unsettled moments
Long week in the hospital
Dad's back on his feet.
Crowded dance floor
seen through the camera lens
happy bride and groom.
Enormous summer feast
opening gifts for an hour
happy birthday Mom.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Stand and Deliver: A Credo for 2011-2012
I can’t relate to the idea of life without a school year.
My world has included the anticipation of that first day of school since I started kindergarten somewhere back in the early 1970s. I spent eighteen years as a student, then one year navigating the nebulous role of a substitute hunting and praying to find a job. And now this, the 2011-2012 school year, will be my twentieth year as a teacher. Even for someone like me who often looks too hard for ways to assign significance where it may not always be warranted, this number is empirically a landmark.
Twenty years. I can think of few other things I’ve done in my life that cover that span of time. In those two decades I’ve worked with well over one thousand students, in four different grades, in six different classrooms, under three different principals and all in one building. Without knowing how the story will eventually conclude, I figure I’m roughly about halfway through my career. Conceding that I still have a great deal of experience ahead of me, I feel safe in saying that twenty years has given me adequate time to collect some formidable background knowledge, develop my style, hone my art, establish my network and define who I am in this role.
Am I writing today to ruminate on my history, or go on about how great I am, or how hurt my feelings are because pockets of the population undervalue my profession? Not so much. I’ve got all of Year 20 to contemplate where I am in my career. And yeah, largely because of my experience I do think I can be excellent at what I do. I don’t apologize for this, because I know how much work goes into achieving those moments when I break through to a higher level of success. And even though I believe too many people in our culture marginalize the efforts made by those in education, I’m more or less okay with that. From my perspective much of that criticism comes from people who are either making oversimplified assumptions about school, or are operating with some kind of political agenda. I’ve accepted that nobody is going to be organizing a parade in my honor anytime soon, and I’m fine with this. I know how things really are, and for me that’s enough.
Instead I’m looking ahead to what the coming ten months might hold. And this school year, the big 2-0 for me, promises to be an interesting one in many ways. After closing multiple sites and restructuring the school district to accommodate the revenue losses and population decline of recent years, our community is faced with the decision of whether or not to renew a levy on Election Day. And this is happening in the middle of a rather tenuous economy. If this levy isn’t renewed, the consequences would be dramatic. Additionally, our district has been positioned as the front line of an ideological battleground between two groups with passionately opposing beliefs, which has garnered no shortage of media coverage. And these issues are to say nothing of what it’s like for teachers to work within a shifting political climate where we find our efforts met with increasing disregard. With all of these issues lining up to present challenges throughout the year, I think it’s best to sometimes step away from the big picture and instead focus on what is directly in front of you. Which is what I’m doing.
For my students: You can learn. I don’t care what happened last year, or the year before, or the year before that. I don’t care what you did on your summer vacation. I'm not concerned with which nights you have dance. I don’t care if your parents are going to come to conferences with excuses about how they weren’t any good in math either, and then take you to hockey practice at 10 p.m. twice a week. I will work with untiring resolve to make sure that by the end of the school year you will amaze yourself at how much you have learned. But you know what? That’s only my part of it. Because I can’t open up your heads and pour the smart in there for you. Believe me, I’d do that if it were possible; my life would be so much easier. But that isn’t how it works. I’ll break the content down into tiny pieces and sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on it if that’s what it takes, but in the end it’s up to you to decide whether or not you’ll pick up the spoon.
For my colleagues, both in my immediate circle and throughout the profession: We know what challenges lie ahead, and we know how important it is for us to meet them. This school year, like any other, will inevitably provide us with moments of triumph and frustration and humility and wonderment. Our methods and priorities will not always perfectly align, but our goals are ultimately the same. If we remember this, any level of collaboration in which we engage, mandated or voluntary, will be all the more valuable and constructive.
For the parents: You know your children better than I ever will. There are so many things I could say to highlight what a dramatic effect the involvement and support of the family can have on the success of the child, but instead I’ll just keep this short and sweet. Get your kids to school on time. Take care of their needs at home. Make sure they keep up with their homework, and please send a note about it if they get stuck. I’ll take care of the rest.
Twenty years in and I still look forward to the beginning of the year with a great deal of optimism. Things start for me officially this coming Monday, but I’ve already spent a couple of afternoons setting up my room, arranging the desks, hanging up the posters, all the while letting the ideas of what I will do to start the year gradually creep into my head and begin coming to life. I felt great yesterday, knowing I had finished most of what I wanted to accomplish at that point, with the sun and the wind pouring in through the open windows and nothing but blue sky and green fields outside. It put me in mind of how much I enjoy the progression that stretches itself out over the month of September. The students begin to gel, finding an identity as a new class instead of just a collection of carefully selected names on a list. The schedule begins to make sense and slowly becomes second nature. In short, everything starts to click. I’m looking forward to being in the middle of that, as well as the work that will follow once it has fallen into place.
And is much as I’m looking forward to getting started, I am feeling a little pressure as well. The bar is set kind of high this time around, for a few different reasons. And even though that adds to the stress that naturally accompanies everything else about teaching, I’m ready for it. The expectations, the accountability, the conflict, the meetings that can spiral out of control, the dark and frightening moments, the explosive laughter, the friendly waves in the hallway, the repetitive questions, the occasional glimpses at the moral quagmires that shadow the most unfortunate students, the debates and discussions, the jokes, the marker stains on my hands at the end of the day, the burning frustration, the peace and thrill of seeing my students reach the goals they have set for themselves.
I'm ready. Bring it on.
My world has included the anticipation of that first day of school since I started kindergarten somewhere back in the early 1970s. I spent eighteen years as a student, then one year navigating the nebulous role of a substitute hunting and praying to find a job. And now this, the 2011-2012 school year, will be my twentieth year as a teacher. Even for someone like me who often looks too hard for ways to assign significance where it may not always be warranted, this number is empirically a landmark.
Twenty years. I can think of few other things I’ve done in my life that cover that span of time. In those two decades I’ve worked with well over one thousand students, in four different grades, in six different classrooms, under three different principals and all in one building. Without knowing how the story will eventually conclude, I figure I’m roughly about halfway through my career. Conceding that I still have a great deal of experience ahead of me, I feel safe in saying that twenty years has given me adequate time to collect some formidable background knowledge, develop my style, hone my art, establish my network and define who I am in this role.
Am I writing today to ruminate on my history, or go on about how great I am, or how hurt my feelings are because pockets of the population undervalue my profession? Not so much. I’ve got all of Year 20 to contemplate where I am in my career. And yeah, largely because of my experience I do think I can be excellent at what I do. I don’t apologize for this, because I know how much work goes into achieving those moments when I break through to a higher level of success. And even though I believe too many people in our culture marginalize the efforts made by those in education, I’m more or less okay with that. From my perspective much of that criticism comes from people who are either making oversimplified assumptions about school, or are operating with some kind of political agenda. I’ve accepted that nobody is going to be organizing a parade in my honor anytime soon, and I’m fine with this. I know how things really are, and for me that’s enough.
Instead I’m looking ahead to what the coming ten months might hold. And this school year, the big 2-0 for me, promises to be an interesting one in many ways. After closing multiple sites and restructuring the school district to accommodate the revenue losses and population decline of recent years, our community is faced with the decision of whether or not to renew a levy on Election Day. And this is happening in the middle of a rather tenuous economy. If this levy isn’t renewed, the consequences would be dramatic. Additionally, our district has been positioned as the front line of an ideological battleground between two groups with passionately opposing beliefs, which has garnered no shortage of media coverage. And these issues are to say nothing of what it’s like for teachers to work within a shifting political climate where we find our efforts met with increasing disregard. With all of these issues lining up to present challenges throughout the year, I think it’s best to sometimes step away from the big picture and instead focus on what is directly in front of you. Which is what I’m doing.
For my students: You can learn. I don’t care what happened last year, or the year before, or the year before that. I don’t care what you did on your summer vacation. I'm not concerned with which nights you have dance. I don’t care if your parents are going to come to conferences with excuses about how they weren’t any good in math either, and then take you to hockey practice at 10 p.m. twice a week. I will work with untiring resolve to make sure that by the end of the school year you will amaze yourself at how much you have learned. But you know what? That’s only my part of it. Because I can’t open up your heads and pour the smart in there for you. Believe me, I’d do that if it were possible; my life would be so much easier. But that isn’t how it works. I’ll break the content down into tiny pieces and sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on it if that’s what it takes, but in the end it’s up to you to decide whether or not you’ll pick up the spoon.
For my colleagues, both in my immediate circle and throughout the profession: We know what challenges lie ahead, and we know how important it is for us to meet them. This school year, like any other, will inevitably provide us with moments of triumph and frustration and humility and wonderment. Our methods and priorities will not always perfectly align, but our goals are ultimately the same. If we remember this, any level of collaboration in which we engage, mandated or voluntary, will be all the more valuable and constructive.
For the parents: You know your children better than I ever will. There are so many things I could say to highlight what a dramatic effect the involvement and support of the family can have on the success of the child, but instead I’ll just keep this short and sweet. Get your kids to school on time. Take care of their needs at home. Make sure they keep up with their homework, and please send a note about it if they get stuck. I’ll take care of the rest.
Twenty years in and I still look forward to the beginning of the year with a great deal of optimism. Things start for me officially this coming Monday, but I’ve already spent a couple of afternoons setting up my room, arranging the desks, hanging up the posters, all the while letting the ideas of what I will do to start the year gradually creep into my head and begin coming to life. I felt great yesterday, knowing I had finished most of what I wanted to accomplish at that point, with the sun and the wind pouring in through the open windows and nothing but blue sky and green fields outside. It put me in mind of how much I enjoy the progression that stretches itself out over the month of September. The students begin to gel, finding an identity as a new class instead of just a collection of carefully selected names on a list. The schedule begins to make sense and slowly becomes second nature. In short, everything starts to click. I’m looking forward to being in the middle of that, as well as the work that will follow once it has fallen into place.
And is much as I’m looking forward to getting started, I am feeling a little pressure as well. The bar is set kind of high this time around, for a few different reasons. And even though that adds to the stress that naturally accompanies everything else about teaching, I’m ready for it. The expectations, the accountability, the conflict, the meetings that can spiral out of control, the dark and frightening moments, the explosive laughter, the friendly waves in the hallway, the repetitive questions, the occasional glimpses at the moral quagmires that shadow the most unfortunate students, the debates and discussions, the jokes, the marker stains on my hands at the end of the day, the burning frustration, the peace and thrill of seeing my students reach the goals they have set for themselves.
I'm ready. Bring it on.
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