sapster emergent

The days are waning. I keep changing the countdown on the whiteboard. I am dreading that last day, I'm dreading the last time I'll ever see them again. Every June is going to be emotional for me, as I say "I won't forget you" and mean it, but do they hear it? On Monday, Rick was talking about how I'll just forget them as soon as I touch down in New York. Can I blame myself for his callousness? For his unwillingness to believe that people do care about his well-being? I go out of my way to express my concern for them on the daily, but how long does it take to unlearn a life where care is not a par for the course?

This has been a really difficult week. The community is so upset by the loss of a student in a horrible accident over last weekend. I have been oscillating between just carrying on, hoping that the focus on work might take their mind off of loss for just a moment, and wanting to talk about how they feel, where they're at. I'm baffled and amazed when they connect their feelings to a book we read in February ("remember, in Bang, how each family member deals with the loss of Jason in a different way? that's kind of how it is. some people are crying, some people are silent, some don't know how to react, so they don't. some lash out." says Lakendra).

In my homeroom, two of the usual suspects chose a very immature way to respond to Eberardo's death. But as we just wrote about last week, when responding to Persepolis, sometimes people also use humor to get themselves through times of crisis. A student pointed out this connection to the class, as well. When it feels like their reaction may be inappropriate to some people, I was pleading with them to have compassion for their classmates, to help them to become better people. I watched the tears form in Destinee's eyes when I said it.

I know that every class of students that I have is going to be special and unique. I know, too, that I will find patterns of behaviors as I meet new students. "I have another Angus in my class", I'll write to Mrs. K and say. But this is my first class of kids. My heart isn't being worn on my sleeve, I've fully taken it out of my body and put it in their hands this year. This is a dangerous way to teach, for my own personal well-being. It takes so much energy, I find myself exhausted and needing to be taking 3 hour naps every afternoon. I need to dig deeper into myself to find the energy for next year, because it will be even more challenging.

There is no other way for me to approach my students, though. I did not want to go to the memorial service, but I need to support them. I need to show them how much I care, even if they continue to question my intentions. I can never aim to "fix" them, but to show them respect and support in their endeavors. I have learned so much from them this year and have been blessed that they have let me into their lives, both in and out of school.

They have made contact with me, and if they thought it was going to be a brief encounter, they are mistaken. I will miss them so much, but hope that they'll come back to update me on their growth.

*sigh*

xo
lo

10 days left...

If I happened to be Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I would start writing the book "One Hundred Years of Solitude" on a day like today. It's one of those days when the wind just breathes change into your life. The weather can only be described as brewing; it's Michigan so you have no idea what to expect. Bring a sweatshirt, an umbrella and a tanktop, just in case. Suddenly, you wake up from ridiculous dreams and feel that you have become a new person. You rise ready for the work you are to undertake. Obstacles that seemed to threaten your well-being yesterday seem to be miniscule and obsolete. Each thing you do seems well-timed, appropriate and urgent.

I only have 10 days of school left with my kids. It makes me want to cry, and I already have. During 6th hour, after they've left the room and she is off on an errand, running off photocopies. I think about how much we've done together this year, and how I am probably the only one romanticizing it this way. The personal successes that so many of my students have had, whether it's jumping two or three grade levels in reading comprehension, more organized and fluid writing, or beginning to discover their voice in their writing. They are getting sad about the end of the year, but they are thinking more of the social aspects of 8th grade than romanticizing all of the work we did in class. Still, under the restrictions that I've dealt with, I believe that I have brought something to the table this year. I didn't get to do nearly enough poetry, I didn't get to run my zine unit. I'm hoping to test run that unit this summer, and boy do I have a lot of planning to do for the fall.

But somehow, after a night of celebration and karaoke, I woke up this morning completely lucid. Got breakfast with Brandon and Audry. Returned home to clean and plan. I'm teaching a poem about Ellis Island, so I'm trying to figure out how to structure an environment in the classroom where the students understand what happened there. I keep tossing around all sorts of ideas. Have yet to nail something down, but I'm feeling crafty and creative. The assistant superintendent of DPS will be stopping by to watch me teach tomorrow, so it's gotta be good.

Hope all is well in your world. I'm curious what's brewing in the clouds over you.

xo
Lo

a whole new quest!!

so much has changed in the past two months. i have accepted a job at a phenomenal high school in the Bronx... so it's back to the city for me. i'll be the new 9th grade English teacher, and we're going to do it up right! i am so incredibly excited about planning the new year (i get to plan my whole curriculum!!), meeting the whole crew, which i know will be my family in the south bronx. much more soon, since it's friday and i'm braindead from a week of crazy.

angus came up to me yesterday and actually admitted that he wants to pass. this is a feat for him. it was in the lunch line, and he pulled me aside, looked both ways as if someone was listening. it must be a secret for it to work, he told me through telepathy. i wrote him a letter about how proud i am of him and how i also want to see him pass, but it's going to be work. he's going to have to read a whole book, cover to cover. i want it to be "to kill a mockingbird", because i know he can handle it. he won't yet. but i think i've won him over.

a poem in the meantime.

* * * * *

everyone has always
told me that
motherhood is my mantra
but not yet.
we have many
sunsets by ourselves.
as it closed in,
tailgated the horizon
this evening,
i felt the full shine
of solitude in
both shoulders,
both hips.
knew in my knuckles
why i should carry
on my name.

standing on the brink
of why i breathe,
i understand what
it must be like to
never see your own
single shadow.
but many sunrises
on vacant shores, first.
many sands will find
my path before i
become two.

xo
lo

late leaping wishes

happy leap day!

i feel compelled to write something today, as this day only happens once every four years and it has been a memorable one. my life force was rejuvenated and full-impact today -- we played terra nova jeopardy for the last time (i fashioned the game to be based on test-taking skills, and skills that they're still struggling with - like subject/predicate identification and sentence combining) and the testing begins on monday -- all we can do now is wish them luck and hope that the preparation we've done will be helpful to them. i'm beginning to understand the "teach to the test" mentality, because ultimately, i feel responsible if my students do not pass, and their future next year (and possibly whether they continue in school or drop out) depends on their performance next week. talk about high-stakes. stakes has never been so high (shout out to de la). as a teacher and an advocate for my students, how can i not take it both seriously and personally? and really, what i've learned is that test prep SUCKS, but if you put effort into being creative with it and making it fun, cooperative and competitive, it's much more bearable.

j. angel, one of my students who was expelled a few weeks ago, was allowed to return this week, after negotiating with the school and seeking treatment in a mental health facility. he wrote me a letter about his experience and i nearly busted out crying in our 6th hour assembly while reading it. i can't think of anything more inspiring that when a student, through many struggles, begins to realize how beautiful and precious his own life is, how much he is worth, and how much he deserves to be happy. most of my students have seen more at 14 than i probably ever will, and i've seen a lot. i'm not trying to build this up to be dangerous minds, or to get you to pity them, because really, they don't need your pity. they are stronger than they even know. but their courage astounds me and i feel endlessly humbled by how much they've taught me this year.

perhaps i'm talking in past-tense because we began to talk about graduation today. i don't even know what i'm going to do without these kids, aside from worry about them and attempt to stay in contact to harass them during high school, but i can assure you that i'll be a sobbing mess as they cross the stage on june 6. what's interesting is that the school doesn't want them going crazy about their 8th grade graduation; even though it's a momentus occasion for many of them, they want to encourage them to celebrate in style ("in a pimpin' HUM-V limo, do it up!!," said the principal) when they graduate high school, but want to encourage them to make plans to continue after 8th grade. doin' it up for this promotion would equal justification for dropping out, said the administration.

really, i'm fluctuating on whether or not i'll ever need to have kids - because right now i have 90 and i'm going to sit down with the modern myths they wrote me and spend my weekend figuring out how to really get going on literature -- now that test prep is done.

hope you're moving forward and feeling blessed. i certainly am.

cheers,
lo

Why the Rain Falls

Good afternoon.

Speaking to Miss Mirah on the phone this afternoon, realizing that it's nearing the end of February (already?), I recall how quickly time is passing now that I'm old. This year of study here is two-thirds over, I can almost taste my MA and I'm so obsessed with teaching that I made my parents drive by my school last night, just because we were in the neighborhood and I miss it. Vacation has become a time to be quiet, alone and reflect and not a time to go crazy, as it has often been before. While I would love every vaca to involve travel, I get tired sometimes and just want to be home, just want to reconnect with those I love and have lost touch with. Just want to connect with Ntozake Shange's plays. I have no idea where home will be next fall, as it depends on where work will find me, but as per usual, I'll cast the nets wide and land feet first.

I'm teaching a short-short story by Zora Neale Hurston tomorrow and wrote a short myth explaining rainfall (in response to her "Why the Waves Have Whitecaps"). Mine is not the most compelling story, but I thought I'd share, I'm going to use it as a model for my students writing their own myths to explain a natural phenomenon.

Happy Sunday. I hope you are well-rested and well-loved. I keep coming back to how blessed I am.

xo,
lo

"Why The Rain Falls"

First, there were only crystal clear cobalt blue skies all over the world, and each person, bird, mammal and fish was happy. Everyone awoke early in the morning with the sun, just to admire its rising. Every went outside at noon just to say how glorious the day became. But after years of gorgeous weather, Ms. Porcupine was getting bored of the beauty. She craved some excitement in her life. So she gathered all of her friends up in the forest and decided to have a bonfire.

Now, Mr. Sea heard all about the bonfire, it was the only event that people were talking about for days. But he was tired from a long day of work, and didn't want to travel all the way to the forest, so stayed home. It was a splendid party, and he could hear everyone laughing and dancing from miles away. He didn't appreciate all the noise, so he pulled his waves over his ears and tried to go to sleep.

The next day, everyone returned to the sea to tell stories from the bonfire. "It was the most fun we've had in all of our lives!," exclaimed Mrs. Dolphin, and the all the jellyfish agreed. Mr. Sea felt sorry for himself and decided that he wanted to be alone. He curled up in one corner of the Earth and told the fish that he didn't want to be bothered.

A few days later, when he began to hear the creatures talking about the next bonfire in the forest, he was still upset and didn't feel welcome. No one had invited him afterall. So he stayed home. At the last minute, however, he decided to surprise everyone and go. He went all the way up the beach and stood quietly at the edge of the forest, waiting for the right moment to burst out and show himself.

But the sea how much fun everyone was having dancing and singing around the fire that he wanted to join in too. He got so excited that he jumped up into the air and ended up spraying everyone with water. The fire went out, and at first everyone stopped, but Ms. Porcupine, always the optimist, said "Hey everyone, let's try to dodge Mr. Sea's drops as they hit the ground," and they all did, squealing and laughing and dancing in the raining seawater.

It became a tradition -- every time there was a fire in the forest, it would soon be followed by rain. Pretty soon, no one even realized the connection anymore, because it was no longer sunny everyday. And that is why the rain falls.

Nelson Mandela

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
-Nelson Mandela

Ah, I need to re-read his biography, perhaps this winter break will give me time.

When the Sankofa Drums and Dance group came to perform at our school on Tuesday, as part of the performance, they called Destinee up to the stage to read a poem about rising up and moving on, but knowing your heritage. A sankofa is a bird whose neck faces back toward its body, as if it's always reaching back to assist the molting process. The metaphor in many African communities is the need to look back at history in order to better understand how it has shaped us. When Destinee read the poem onstage, I noticed that she struggled a bit with pronouncing the name "Nelson Mandela", so I asked in 3rd hour if they knew who Nelson Mandela was. They shook their heads, no. While it's something they'll cover in history class, I'm sure, the man is 90 years old and will pass soon, and I think it's crucial that they know who he is and what he accomplished, as one of the most prominent activists of the 20th century.

Anyway, when thinking about it, he received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993, which is the year before most of my students were born. Aye, que rico! Perhaps it's because I was in 8th grade when that happened and have studied his life and work ever since that it came as such a shock to me that my students hadn't yet encountered him.

So, I'll be trying to work him in somehow

Goodbye, Angel.

one of my most-improved students is leaving us, due to an unfortunate incident in which he participated today. i will miss him very much. i've come to realize how hard it is going to be for me to lose students, how i can't take it personally and have to hope that they will find another teacher willing to bet on them wherever they find themselves.


For J. Angel

I watched your eyes grow wide
with hurt and anger quarreling
in the deep vortex of your pupils.
Red rising to your face.
I don’t know what he said.
I’m not sure which word broke
the calm countenance you’ve
been wearing.

I remember first seeing you.
Large and looming, your first
piece of writing blowing my
mind with its blunt force honesty.
Peeling your life open,
we've found a sensitive soul
who has lived in the house
of anger for too long.

Today, you came in after lunch.
Told me what happened
with your girl.
You called me over,
asked for my advice and I
pushed back the beginning
of class so that we could talk.
Told you to take a breath, let her be.
Sometimes space is all you need.

You left us at the end of the hour.
We had written letters thanking
Sankofa drums and dance
for coming to our school.
Looking back to know ourselves
when we move forward.
We took a practice test
for the Terra Nova,
which will determine if you pass
this year.
You got a 90%.

After she held you down,
after we dragged the other kid away,
his mom came to pick him up.
I found you in the hall,
asked if you were alright.
noted the cuts on your fingers,
the tape around your knuckles,
you told me you were sad
that I had to witness the fight
and I told you to take care.

I will have trouble sleeping tonight,
knowing that today might be the end.
But I believe in you, past
This incident.
Toward what you’ll become.

---

God, it's hard to love them and lose them.

xo
L