1. They are worthy opponents on Dance Dance Revolution
2. They love Calvin and Hobbes
3. Easter and Clara both aspire to become teachers at Washington Elementary
4. They do all the dishes
5. They like to play outside
6. They like basketball
7. They have great taste in movies, i.e. Lord of the Rings, Shrek, and Star Wars
8. They are kind
9. They are funny
10. They are beautiful
Bryan, my advisor for my master's project, hasn't responded to any drafts that I've emailed him in the last two weeks. So, I'm just plugging along, assuming that it's all fine. It's going much better these days. I wrote my "theoretical framework" and "methodology" sections, and now I'm just filling in examples of how the whole Lesson Study mentoring model worked out this year, according to these standards of success that I've already established. I've found that I can get about three pages of solid writing in every morning. Something happens to my brain at around 12:30 p.m., and I can't really get much more academic writing accomplished after that. It's a bizarre, but manageable phenomenon, this inability to write very much in a day. This week is Spring Break so I can afford to move along at this snail-like pace. As long as I can keep up the three pages per day, I'm on track to be done by Sunday.
I've been working a lot on my book blog. I might start leaving comments with a link to it on some of the kid lit blogs I'm always lurking around. I want it to be very presentable.
Gabe, Jessie's best friend and "homie for life" went into hoodie-pulled-over-his-eyes, super-sad-and-shut-down mode during recess today and made me cry real tears for a few minutes, too. It is quite sad for all of us to lose one of the brightest lights of our classroom. I've been carrying around a little orange orangutan stuffed monkey which I refer to as "The Spirit of Good Jessie". This monkey finished Jessie's science project, sat in his chair for math, and gently slapped the cheeks of lots and lots of kids all day. There's nothing wrong with using my imagination to cope for a few more days. But I have to lose the monkey crutch next week: gotta be half as brave and strong as my little grandbaby homie hero was for his last month with us. And he was extremely brave and strong.
The thing about feeling so broken is that it opens me up, somehow. I don't really know how to explain this opening up of my heart accurately. It's as if a damaging earth quake shakes my steady normal world and the fissures, fault lines, and pain remind me that I'm a very fragile human, and that I'm walking around, every day, among lots and lots of little fellow fragile humans. Somehow my crumbly, broken spirit is better able to hear the whale songs of comfort that the universe is singing through the voices of all the Washington kids and I'm also able to sense the subsonic poems of love that are still the fabric of my classroom.
A Drowned Maiden's Hair: A Melodrama---This book just won a CYBIL award, which is this award for children's literature that was created by all these bloggers. I'm liking it so far. I predict I'll finish it before Sunday.
The Battle of Jericho--I'm not really into this one. I might skim read it, just to find out what happens to these teenagers, but I'm not hooked.
Silent Thunder--non-fiction about elephants. I'll finish this one. It's a captivating read about everything elephant: communication, social structures, ecology, etc. etc.
Dear Mem Fox, I Have Read All Your Books, Even the Pathetic Ones--I was expecting a book similar to Radical Reflections, which I really loved, but this is more like a memoir, with lots and lots of stories about her personal life. It's too early to say if I'll finish it. Maybe.
To Remain An Indian: Lessons in Democracy from a Century of Native American Education-- well, I'll finish this, cuz it's for this professor book club that I agreed to be part of, but I don't think I'll enjoy it much. It's quite depressing. I might learn something useful, though. We'll see.
God Laughs & Plays--I bought this out of pure loyalty to David James Duncan. It's not his best work, and that's being kind. I'll finish it, though, cuz I really am a DJD groupie.
Teacher Man--I'm listening to this teaching memoir on DVD. I'm enjoying the performance so far.
United 93---I might watch this one tonight, to get the blasted hours to disappear already. I am so anxious to get into my new classroom tomorrow--it's like fifty Christmas Eve's all smashed together right now.
The Fallen--this is an escapist mystery book, which I will certainly finish, maybe even tonight. The main cop character has this interesting, but believable ability--a kind of sythesisia that makes him see people talk in colorful shapes that tell their emotions and whether or not they're telling lies.
Five people were shot and killed last night at Trolley Square. The shooter was a Bosnian immigrant teenager that lived near our home, here in Rose Park. I don't know what a blog equivalent of a moment of silence might be, but here's mine:
.
You were made and set here to give voice to this, your astonishment.
-Annie Dillard
The ocean is really huge. When you get out on a little boat, you know it. You're clinging to a cork … And out there, rolling around and swimming through and perfectly at home in the waves are these enormous animals. And by golly, they're singing … And so what that has done for me is to make me feel that what lies ahead is absolutely limitless. We are not at the pinnacle of human knowledge. We are just beginning.
-Katy Payne
I would gasp, kneel, and ache in admiration before the altar of these tiny human souls, all day, if not for the bizarre confusion such wild acts would engender in their spongy little minds.
-Amy Simbe
Harriet hates doing "Saturday Chores". She's developed this opinion based on characters on Disney channel programs and books like 100 Ways to Bug Your Parents. So, her solution, to this dislike, for the last two weeks, has been to thoroughly clean the entire house on Friday afternoons, before I even get home from work. She knows, of course, that the house must be cleaned each week, but figures that by doing it all by herself, on Fridays, she can help us all avoid the dreaded "Saturday Chores." What a delightful and wonderful child, that one.
I'm smack in the midst of breaking a resolution to stay off the computer for 24 hours and get some reading done already. But it's okay, cuz I've read a lot today. I'll blog in my book and movie blog about some of the books I've been reading, and I've ordered two amazing new picture books for birthday gifts (but I can't say for whom!).
Suzette wasn't at our last writing group meeting, but she asked me to email her my "spiritual moment" essay, which I did. She marked it up, very thoughtfully, and sent it back to me as a PDF. In addition to having feedback and an audience, the best thing about writing group is that it's encouraging me to become more and more interested in and thoughtful about the writing process. I've been reading a lot of books about reading and writing. This reading, and the ensuing conversations, have led me to begin to develop a new sense of myself as a writer. They've led me to rewire some of my internal maps in ways that I think are leading me to become a more focused and stronger writer. For example, I've become certain that the two genres in which I will be able to create some quality (possibly publishable) writing, in the next year or so, are essays about teaching, and short stories or fiction for ten-year-olds.
Here's one funny irony about the role I see myself assuming as "a writer": I really want a funky, spicy, bohemian type of writer's notebook. I imagine this notebook to be full of sketches, new words, poem fragments, and quirky observations. But I also adore this new pearly white mac that has become my constant companion. And I'm far more comfortable typing out my thoughts, than I am writing them out long hand. Although, it must be said, I often have more developed and careful thinking when I'm writing long hand, because I'm forced to S--L--O--W D--O--W--N. Maybe I can have both. A funky writing notebook, and a stylish lap top. Both.
Jessie update: he's still with us, he's still being brave and strong, and the one thing I wished most for him, around Christmas time, he has been given: a positive male role model in the form of Mr. Chatter, my brilliant student teacher.
The last few weeks have been super cold. A brief snow storm cleaned the air a bit, last night, but it's also been smoggy. Goodbye and good riddance to January, 2007. Jessie hasn't left yet. I'm still thinking any day, or week, but who knows. I got a letter from a former favorite student. It was sweet and positive and he sent his report card along, too, which was outstanding. I love remembering the big picture.
Damn, saying goodbye to this child is killing me even more than I predicted. He's making it hard on purpose, the little punk, cuz it's easier to lie than to face the truth. I've been struggling to find some words to help him understand all this, but it's hard. He's just a kid. But maybe "you are strong enough to face the truth" are some words that he'll understand. I'm going to tell him that he can choose to be strong enough to face the truth and truth is this: that he is scared to leave and sad to leave, and that he's going to miss us as much as we're going to miss him (honestly, more, of course) But scared and sad aren't very acceptable emotions for baby homies, so I understand the need to lie, but I'm going to flip this screwed up version of masculinity on its pathetic ass and help this child be sad and scared and admit to those feelings and stop acting out lies like "I hate it here anyway, and I don't want to be here anyway." Cuz that kinda nonsense is making it too hard on me. Am I just selfish? Should I let him create his little lie of a fantasy world so it will be easier for him. No, cuz I really believe that it takes more strength to tell the truth and I still, even though we're down to our final days together, want him to learn this important kind of strength. It's okay to feel sad, it's okay to feel scared, and it's even okay to express these feelings.
My student teacher this year is incredible. First and foremost, he adores the kids. He enjoys their wild, wonderful spirits, listents to their stories with rapture, and fills the playground with his own raw energy---running, screaming, and playing hard.
He's in charge, all day, everyday, starting next Tuesday. I hate being away from my class, but that's just cuz of my selfishness. I like being surrounded by little people who love and need me. But they will still learn plenty because they are in good hands. And Mr. C is going to learn that he can do it on his own, that he is not only able to hold things together, but that he is a capable teacher.
I got a little tripped out yesterday when I was planning with him and I realized just how firecely he hangs on every word I say. Also, I'll often notice him interacting with the kids in ways that are very similar to the ways I interact with them. It's a feeling even stranger than watching Easter talk to her dolls like I talk to her---it's a heavy weight of responsibility as I come to understand that I'm shaping this teacher's whole career. Each class he ever has will be full of little people that he teaches in ways that he learned from me. I am overwhelmed by this realization, but I'm also somewhat thrilled by it. I'm grateful that I've been able to do things this year with my own teaching that I can be proud about---I've been true enough to my own ideals of best teaching practice that I can say, with confidence, that I'm glad this is what he's learning.
About a million crazy things happened at work today. I stormed out of a meeting and was then confronted by Joann in front of six other people. I wasn'’t as articulate as I wish I could have been for this showdown. Later, in the cafeteria, in private, Johnny cried. That was unforgettable. It was while he was comforting me and giving me some really valuable advice---the main point being that if I remember why I wanted to teach in the first place and the kind of things that truly motivate me, there'’s no reason to get so upset over these situations. I don't feel like describing the whole entire situation with my boss today. She was her normal cruel tyrant self, and that's not going to change. (For the record---Johnny doesn't agree, at all, with this characterization of the boss.) But, he said, I still make a huge difference within the realms that I am able to influence, a really huge difference in those little lives. Enough of a powerful, good difference, that I need to focus more on that and less on other people's bad choices. To illustrate this get-some-perspective point of Johnny's: Adrian and Ulises, two former students, visited me this week. It was abundantly apparent that they continue to remember, fondly, their time with me, and I know they continue to benefit, academically, from the things I taught them. And then, not long after this motivating, but very emotional conversation with Johnny, three more tiny moments occurred which have led me to a new commitment, which is so deep and feels so right and final and true to my center of spiritual selfness, that I can't help but use corny phrases like I've found my calling.
The first moment: Jessie told me that his mom, finally, after 15 months of living in the Road Home shelter, got her voucher to move her family into public housing. They are looking for a house in West Valley. So Jessie's leaving, probably not by Monday, but likely very soon. Which is wonderful news for him and his family. This news came up as we were processing this whole kid drama situation today. At one point I said something like, "Well, you know what I believe about you." And he mumbles, nodding, "Yeah, about how I'm capable and talented and incredible." Like these are just the facts, like the floor is dirty and it's hard to make good choices, Ms. Simbe believes I'’m capable and talented and incredible. So even though I knew this day was coming (the day, mid-year, when Jessie would leave) and even though I'm very attached to this child, I feel confident that he'll be okay. I've had more than two hundred fifty days with him and even if he doesn't believe those things about himself, he won't soon forget what I believe.
The second moment: The mother of my new student Juan, who just before Winter Break moved into the Road Home, visited the school today. I was only in the room for about fifteen minutes, but heard her describing the Road Home environment, which I knew was horrendous, but to hear it from this loving mother'’s own mouth helped me understand, even more, how much these kids from the Road Home need a safe, loving, structured place to spend eight hours a day. It reaffirmed everything I did, far and beyond the call of duty, on Jessie's behalf. She was also very grateful for the Christmas present I helped Juan make for her. Juan can barely read at a first grade level, so later in the day, I made sure that his special education services will be intense enough to support his needs in reading.
The final moment: Because of the confrontation with Joann and the name calling and tension that'’s not going to go away, I kept telling myself I had to make a choice, to either make real peace with Joann or to firmly commit to transfer at the end of the year. All day, my whole body and self and emotions were like a tempest storm because it seemed like an impossible choice. But what this raging storm and the lightening bolts of the first two moments I just described, finally pushed me to realize, is that I am committed, fiercely, passionately, outrageously, and obsessively committed, to the kids that come to Washington from the Road Home. And this commitment is the undercurrent of my final answer: I'm staying, for the long haul. I know there are students that I would love and be happy with everywhere, but not kids with the unique needs of those that come to us from the Road Home. Not only do I believe those kids need me to stay, the Jessies and Juans and Regans of Washington, but late this afternoon, in the quiet stillness of my classroom, I also realized in a very spiritual (uncomfortably Mormon-ish) way that this is where I'm "supposed" to be. The vast, infinitely loving, but mysteriously personal, spirit of the universe wants my talents and passions and love to continue to be a well from which these particular children are able to draw. Final answer.
As for peace with Joann--I don't know--it doesn't feel urgent or important anymore, not compared with the grace that I continue to feel emanating from the center of the Universe's loving heart.
My three girls are luv-luv-loving their ipods. I am glad David convinced me to allow them. I had a nice Christmas---overall. I had a perfect last day of school Friday, including watching Akeelah and the Bee with my students and sending them each home with wonderful portraits and poems to give to their parents. I couldn't ask for a better mix of kids. Mom and I reached a fragile understanding about roles, intentions, and commitments---the process of reaching this understanding helped me work through some of my own fears regarding my family and my shortcomings. I have stacks and stacks of books to read and ideas to explore.
There are between 70-100 million AK47s in the world and they have been at the center of most armed conflicts of the last fifty years.
Only a few hours until Lisa arrives. Yeah.
I admitted to Stephen that I have been having "moments of spirituality" lately. That was probably a mistake, cuz if anything, these moments have been quite fleeting and quite private, and I am in no position to describe the moon.
Several of these moments, though, have been related to work and there is an essay by Loren Eisley that captures the passion and love I've been feeling lately. Here's the short essay:
A Single Starfish
One day an old man was walking along the beach. It was low tide, and the sand was littered with thousands of stranded starfish that the water had carried in and then left behind. The man began walking very carefully so as not to step on any of the beautiful creatures. Since the animals still seemed to be alive, he considered picking some of them up and putting them back in the water, where they could resume their lives.
The man knew the starfish would die if left on the beach's dry sand but he reasoned that he could not possibly help them all, so he chose to do nothing and continued walking.
Soon afterward, the man came upon a small child on the beach who was frantically throwing one starfish after another back into the sea. The old man stopped and asked the child, "What are you doing?"
"I'm saving the starfish," the child replied.
"Why waste your time?... There are so many you can't save them all so what does is matter?" argued the man.
Without hesitation, the child picked up another starfish and tossed the starfish back into the water... "It matters to this one," the child explained.
I don’t think of this story and then compare it to my life in the obvious way by pretending that each student is one starfish. I don’t think my teaching work “saves” any of them like that. But I often think about each day as a starfish. I can’t possibly effect a drastic enough change to get this little person all the way back to the sea—but I can make a difference today. I can ensure that they are well taught, well disciplined, and well loved today. Which is no easy task, when you remember that there are twenty-two students in my care. And despite the daunting task of changing a life, or the daunting task of throwing back every starfish, I believe this day counts. This one day, and every single day, for all twenty-two of these children, really counts. And maybe, maybe, maybe, there’s a chance that some of these baby starfish are learning to crawl and maybe some of them are absorbing enough love to crawl to the sea on their own one day.
Robert is flying to Fargo on Saturday, December 23rd and returning on December 28th. I'm not sure what we'll do for Christmas Eve or Christmas day. It's going to feel weird with just me and the girls here. I've got some of their presents already, but need to get a couple more things. At least they're easy to shop for.
The guy I described in my last post, the Homeless Liason guy, met with Jessie on Thursday morning, to get ready for the meeting we had yesterday (Friday) morning with Joann, his mom, and the bus driver that suspended him. We have this thing in my class where we listen for our vocabulary words and when Jessie got back to class he let me know that Mike had said "incredible" two times and "capable" once. So the big meeting was okay---this capable, courageous, incredible child tells the truth and apologizes for everything---including one thing nobody (except me) even knew he was involved in. Joann was nice enough and the whole thing only lasted about 1/2 an hour. I'm sure Mike has no idea how critical his prescense was to the positive tone that Joann maintained. I still question all her decisions in the whole situation: he shouldn't have been suspended from the bus in the first place, he absolutley should never have been suspended from our after school program, and I don't think she has any idea how much Mike and I did to make sure this meeting happened and that our policy regarding the YMCA and after school program be officially revised. I guess, in looking back, maybe he should have been suspended from the bus. I think he ended up learning a valuable lesson. But there is the whole "with love" part of discipline that is so missing from Joann's approach---but I think between his momma, me, and Mike, there was enough love to make the consequence about learning and "we know you can make better choices" and not about "you're a terrible kid."
We picked out the classrooms we're going to move into in the new building. If we really get the rooms we picked, they are the best rooms in the whole building. It's going to be a fun February this year. We're going to have Valentine's Day, move out of Lowell, have President's Day, and come back to our new building, all within one week.
There is an administrator level position in our district called the "Homeless Liaison". The person who holds this position now is an excellent advocate for children and his little closet office is a hop, skip, and jump down the hall from my classroom. He's much better than the last person that had the position and I've been very friendly to him all year. Well----he has become involved now in the whole situation with my student Jessie and I am so happy to report that things are looking up. He already made sure that Jessie can ride the bus again. I told him a little bit about my concerns with the YMCA evening program and how it is so tightly bound up with our after school program and he went off on this speech that fully voiced all my feelings---and just hearing him so strongly advocating for this child almost made me cry. Someone else cares about these kids, someone with some power. He'll probably even be at the meeting that Jessie's mom is required to have with Joann soon.
There are a couple of really hard parts about leaving Washington that I've been remembering: my baby plan, including having a strong student teacher take my class the last couple of months and having West High and Clara and daycare all so close, well that can't be the same anywhere else. Mr. Brown stayed at Washington through all sorts of Voldemort hell just cuz of his kid at West. There's also the new school---which I personally helped to design. My handprint is on that multi-million dollar building and I'd love to be there for a while. Not that I've forgotten why it's important to transfer---it's just that there really are these other considerations.
Harriet took a Mexican milk cake to her class today and seems to have had a very fun day. She had a friend here after school and she invited three friends to her birthday dinner tomorrow. Mom, Dad, Tina, David, and Lydie will also be here tomorrow evening. I've just got to figure out what soup to cook. Maybe chili from scratch.
Jessie made it to school two days in a row, without the services of the transporation department of the district. He gets a lot of credit for that feat. I'm sure he would have been allowed to stay home if he wanted to.
Anyway, I'm still sticking by that decision I made over this.
This will be my last year working under my current boss. That's a promise. If by some wonderful miracle she retires, or moves to another school, that means I'll still teach at Washington. If, however, she stays, I'm leavin'. And I know some people might doubt me because I waffled all over this same decision last spring and ended up staying at Washington. But this time it's different and here's why: 1) I let go of my most favorite, most adorable, most fun group of students last year, when they all moved onto middle school. And it was okay. And then this year I fell helplessly and passionately in love with all 22 kids that are in my class. I really wasn't sure this would happen, but of course it did. And I'm sure it will happen again and again. That's teaching. That's life. 2) I've learned that there is no good coping strategy. Last year we tried to problem solve and communicate. Didn't work. This year I tried to stay far under the radar, avoid the office at all costs, keep my head down and my door closed, and just do my very best teaching work by my own 22 darlins---but this strategy is not working either. I need to work under someone whose judgment I trust and for whom I feel respect. Period. 3) It's not just about how she doesn't see and refuses to deal with poor teaching in our building. I got to the point this year where I could just ignore all that. But she was malicious to two different families this week, unreasonably cruel to two different children; and so I'm finished. I won't work at a school where she's the boss. And 4) I feel very relieved and at peace and sure about the choice. Last year I'd decide and then hate the decision and change my mind and never feel settled. That isn't how I feel now. I feel calm and sure and excited for a new adventure. If only, if only, if only Jen and I could land somewhere together.
In case you're wondering: the catalyst for this decision was in a situation involving this student of mind named Jessie. She visited the shelter where he lives, saw how his mom was hanging out and flirting with some guys, not working while we were "dealing with her kids" and decided she wanted to "teach her a lesson." So Jessie isn't suspended from school, but he can't ride the bus for five days and his mom is required to meet with the district transportation department before he can ever ride the bus again. I'm not sure when I'll see him again. And don't forget: the eight hours (including an hour after school) that this child is in my care he is being well disciplined, well taught, and well cared for. Who knows what's going to happen to him now. I'm devastated, of course. It's frustrating and infuriating.
Our adoption finalization was Monday. The judge signed everything. It's 100 percent official and finished--these three lovely girls are ours, MINE--forever. What I didn't really understand until this week, though, was that this very formal, legal change matters to my HEART! Who knew? To borrow (and twist) a metaphor from a favorite book character of mine named Everett, it's like my heart is the egg, the egg in those beautiful and very scientific sex-ed videos, and the finalization of this adoption is like the sperm that penetrated the egg. So after the one lucky sperm gets through the membrane of that egg, the cell wall of the egg is transformed. It is hardened and no more sperms can get through. So, for me, the opposite has occurred--my heart hasn't been hardened, but instead this single event has peeled my hard, protective shell away. The possibility that they might one day be taken away has been eliminated---hence a softening, an opening, and an exploding of the walls surrounding my sensitive middle. This love for my daughters, that I didn't even realize could grow deeper and stronger, has, in fact grown deeper and stronger---and, yes, also, harder, more solid, more bullet proof and more permanent. But also more expansive and more encompassing. Who knew that a silly piece of paper could spark such wierd, but real changes in my most breakable of organs??? Well enough, already, of this romantic blah blah blah. But wow, really--Wow!
And now a book meme:
1. How old were you when you learned to read and who taught you?
This is a favorite story of mine. One of those stories that shapes my identity. My mom taught me to read, on her lap, reading out loud to me, well before kindergarten. I don't have any memories of this process. I have been a reader as far back as I am able to remember.
2. Did you own any books as a child? If so, what's the first one that you remember owning? If not, do you recall any of the first titles that you borrowed from the library?
There were plenty of books that I owned, or that we owned, when I was a child. I remember the Childcraft encyclopedia books, I remember The Wheedle on the Needle and other books in the Serendipity series. I remember Lisa's Dr. Suess book called All About Me. I remember these dungeon and dragon role playing books that I adored in about fifth grade. I have many savory book memories.
3. Were you a re-reader as a child? If so, which book did you re-read most often?
No, I wasn't a big re-reader as a child, and I'm not as an adult. There are a few books that I've enjoyed re-reading. I've read The Brothers K about six times in the last 12 years. But, in general, I consume, comprehend, and thoroughly digest books the first time through.
4. What'’s the first adult book that captured your interest and how old were you when you read it?
The Hobbit. I'm not sure I really understood the whole book but I read most of it when I was in fourth grade and loved the parts that I was able to understand.
5. Are there children's books that you passed by as a child that you have learned to love as an adult? Which ones?
Nope--I'm a stubborn reader. I didn't like Island of the Blue Dolphins as a child and I've never given it a second chance.
6. What's the first book that you bought with your own money?
I loved the Nancy Drew series and remember spending many hard-earned babysitting dollars on those books when I was 11 or so. Books have always been one of my most costly addictions. I have made a shift, in the last year or so, though, away from excessive book buying, toward maximizing all the multiple potentials of the city libraries. I still buy too many books, primarily for my classroom, but my book addiction has been often met, recently, by library book browsing, reserving, and reading.
After hours and hours of hard work, raking leaves, my three girls took their cash and spent a combined total of 80 dollars at Build-A-Bear last week. I know it's their money and they earned it, and the whole point is that they can spend it how they want---but 80 dollars on over-priced doll clothes?!! Oh well. I'm sure my book habbit is just as bizarre to them.
I know I've mentioned this about three times in the last year, but just so everyone knows: Easter is really reading now. She is way into this cute little new chapter book called CLEMENTINE. She gets stuck on some words, but she loves the story and I am blown-away by her progress in reading over the last year and a half.
The official adoption date is set for Monday, November 27th. The pirhana lawyer told me yesterday, when I called him, that there were some things missing from our file. I went off on him. Told him how we'd been trying to get this done for over eight months, that I was so frustrated and angry that he's just now telling me this, and on and on a bit. He called back five minutes later and said he "found" the missing stuff. I'm hoping there aren't any more hitches and that everything can be finished and final and forever on Monday.
I have at least two loyal readers, so I'm motivated to blog even more frequently. We'll see how long this lasts.
I wake up around 6:00 a.m. Can't help it. Don't need to. But I can never get back to sleep. I think it's because of coffee and adrenaline. My coffee drinking somehow makes my sleeping schedule very rigid. And I always start to feel some adrenaline pumping through my brain cells after I barely wake up and start mapping out my teaching for the day and start looking forward to working.
I have this very super favorite student right now, a fifth grader named Jessie. He loves math, is pretty good at reading, and is also an amazing athlete. He was the only fourth grader on my little basketball team last year. He also lives in the Road Home shelter, has gang affiliated uncles and proclivities, and is a natural born leader. He's been labeled by our super incompetent, tyrant administrator as "bad". So I've become his number one advocate lately. He's a kid with some problems, but he has so much potential and a really sweet side, and I sometimes feel so angry when we're willing to dismiss kids as hopeless when they're only 10. I made him my assistant in the after school reading program and so he's not getting in trouble after school anymore. He relishes meaningful responsibilities and he's also the editor-in-chief of our classroom newspaper. I keep on getting worried that he's going to move and will miss him a lot when he does.
Later--Not two hours after writing that loving description I was informed that Jessie's family got kicked out of the homeless shelter. He wasn't at school and my heart was falling to pieces, but then it turns out they can move back to the shelter tomorrow (??) and he even showed up to school around 11:00 today--with his homework. What some people, even children, survive everyday, is unimaginable to me. That kid is truly one of my heroes.
