Reclaiming the Joy

Dear Harry


A few years ago, when I started this blog, I wrote about finding my passion, my joy.  I think, I know, it is still a passion.  I still voraciously seek new ways, new techniques, old things made new to help me be the best teacher I can be, but near the beginning of this school year, my first year mentor and very good friend looked at me with such sadness.  "You've lost your joy."  I could do nothing but agree.

I have become hollow.  The outside still stands and masquerades as a teacher because my conscience won't let me quit.  I will not let me give less to every one of my students than the show that they require.  I still sing and dance appropriately.  I still ooh and aah.  It would finish me off if even one of my students knew that I am half, half here and half somewhere else.

I can't abide people who just phone it in, so I can't be what I detest, but there is something missing in me.  At the end of the day, I am not smiling.  I find myself angry for no apparent reason, it's just an underlying seething of emotion that keeps my temper quick and my patience short, my skin thin.  How do I get back?  What has caused the change?  I had to take a hard inventory.  Did the kids change or did I?

Here's what I discovered.  For the most part, the kids hadn't changed.  They are still teenagers, full of raging hormones, too much hair gel, no clues on etiquette or appropriate language.  They are still hungry all the time and unfortunately, have no table manners.  They still ask the dumbest questions with complete innocence.  They still tell wonderfully silly stories and sometimes laugh at my jokes.  They still think they know every thing and are still the laziest creatures who sometimes have spurts of pure genius wrapped in enthusiasm.  They daily have my thoughts sway between the world is lost to faith restored in humanity.

They still get offended when you point out bad behavior and tell anyone who'll listen that you hate them, when in truth, you are just trying to teach a different lesson, a life lesson.  I've taught long enough now that I've had students come back, hug me, thank me, so I cry and tell them it was worth it.  I've taught long enough to spot some pitfalls in a lesson, to know when the prankster, the class clown is going to crack an inappropriate joke, to know when they really have to go to the bathroom.  I've taught long enough that I know exactly where to find curriculum support, how to gauge the time needed for a lesson, and when to bring headphones to a faculty meeting.

I discovered that it really doesn't matter if you teach freshmen or seniors, the maturity level is a subtle difference.  This year I am teaching two subjects instead of one.  I have freshmen in one and seniors in the other.  The subjects are vastly different but the students not so much.  I do have to remind the seniors when homework is due, but I do not have to tell them to stop running around the classroom or to not lick the calculators, well, most days.  I've learned that my freshmen don't go anywhere, so their classes can stick to a pretty strict routine which helps them and me, while I have to be much more "go with the flow" with the seniors.  They are absent all the time for an annoyingly long list of reasons from AP trips to sick kids to work schedules.  These students are not only responsible for school, an alarming number are supporting children, themselves and sometimes elderly parents.  I have more than a few seniors that are already on their own, with rent, groceries and electric bills.  How do you give meaning to a Statistics lesson when they have already seen more real life than some adults I know.  They are desperate for somebody to care about what they think or desperately trying to figure out where they stand.  I'm preaching college/career and they are trying to figure out food and clothing.

I discovered that it really does not matter how hard I work, not all of the kids are going to learn every lesson.  Sometimes my job has very little to do with math.  Sometimes my job is about fulfilling bureaucratic nonsense.  Sometimes, I can't plan a lesson because I am too busy writing some lesson plan form that neither helps me plan a lesson nor helps me teach a lesson, but it makes an administrator feel better.  Sometimes the amount of documentation I keep on parent contact becomes a full time job and the 45 minute planning period feels like 10.  Sometimes I spend more time fielding emails about new forms I need to fill out about parent contact than actual parent contact.

I discovered that not all teachers actually attempt all of these things.  It took me years to discover that not all teachers contact parents.  That not all teachers search for new ideas, new techniques, take meaningful grades, have expectations.  Then I discovered that the majority of the policies I am struggling to fulfill and still keep my class relevant are because of those teachers and all of the problems that stem from those behaviors.  Now please let me be clear, that number is very small.  I work with some SUPER TEACHERS, capes and all.  When I see them walking down the hall, I see them just like that, capes and hair blowing in the wind.  I rarely see the worry lines, the stress.  I rarely see the temper and impatience I too feel.

I discovered that administrators sometimes mess up and that maybe I hold them to too high of a standard, but maybe not.  I discovered that because of us SUPER TEACHERS, administrators try to use our methods and standards for all teachers, which is unrealistic.  A policy and or procedure that works for an English teacher will not necessarily work for the PE teacher; hence, I refer back to the lesson plan form.  On the other hand, because of the few non-SUPER TEACHERS, administrators tend to assume that the parent couldn't possibly be lying when they say that the teacher has not contacted them instead of asking the teacher or referring to one of the many forms of documentation required and then SUPER TEACHERS get hate mail that because of who they are internalize and redouble their efforts when in a perfect world, the hate mail would not have been sent and SUPER TEACHER  would not have taken any kryptonite.

A coworker told me I needed thicker skin, my mother suggested hormones, and my kids just assumed the crazy was showing more then usual, but I kept going back to that lack of joy.  What was it exactly that made me so angry? Was it the kids, the non-SUPER TEACHERS or the administrators, or was it something else?

The underlying problem as we most often discover and as I finally did, was that it's all of it and yet, none of it.  Did I want to rip a non-SUPER TEACHER's head off when I discovered that he was deleting print jobs as they came in, well, I think anybody would.  Is that a problem only I suffer from,? Absolutely not.  Every office, retail store, restaurant and school has the "holier than thou" jerk face that thinks their work is more important than every one else.  Hopefully, it's not your boss.  I am grateful that he is not mine.  I am grateful that I have four walls, 30 mostly working calculators, heat and air, well sometimes and usually enough desks for everyone.  I am grateful that I drive well maintained roads that are land mine free and I am grateful that I am able to deliver my children including my daughter to school safely.  I recently saw an article that showed classrooms around the world, sometimes, just spaces in a park when weather permitted.  The kids were there and a lone teacher stood.  I do not face those conditions.  I get angry about technology breaking down when at least I have it.  I get angry about a lot, the hate I see every day when I turn on the news from both the left and the right, and I can not get started about the hate I see on social media, where there is not even the pretense of factual guidance. Both sides so convinced they are right and everybody has an opinion, but then, I remember I am grateful that we are allowed to have an opinion.

I have been told more than once by more than one person that my anger is unjustified.   That my anger at the injustices, the non-SUPER TEACHERS, the administrators, the Facebook trollers and photoshop liars is unjustified, and maybe they are right but maybe they are not.  I don't want to stay dry eyed when I see children in pain.  I don't want to not want a better system for our children to learn in and I don't want the hate in this world to win, so I won't! Says the two year old throwing the temper tantrum inside of me.  I mean full out tantrum, legs kicking, face red, tears flowing.  I am right, they are wrong and dang it, I am becoming what I protest against.  Deep breath in. Sigh it out.

I imagine at some point in every one's life as they've grown, they came to a point in their professional or personal lives where a compromise was made.  When we are teenagers and young 20s, we call it selling out.  It's all or nothing, everything is so very black and white.  As I rapidly approach 40, I faced my compromise and the two year old threw a fit, the 20 something screamed, "Sell out".  The mother, the teacher and the woman; however, found peace. Thankfully.  Now, as the passion returns, the hormones kick in and the skin thickens, with luck, the crazy will decrease and if I am careful and focus on what I can control,  on what I can give and keep reminding my self that I am loved and that I love, the joy will return.  I have seen glimpses.  I am hopeful, I am grateful and I am determined that next time I see my mentor she will see the joy from me and not anger or sadness or the worst of all, bitterness.

The bitterness that was taking hold is what finally held the anger at bay, what finally had me pick up the 2 year old and soothe her, what allowed the 20 something to agree to the compromise.  All of me has seen what bitterness does, what it eats away in the heart and the mind and none of me, none of me wanted that ugliness to cloud any of my decisions, so as Thanksgiving approaches, I have the greatest of joys, hope and gratitude!

So here'
s to compromises for the soul Harry and of course to southern cooking at Thanksgiving with all the trimmings!

With love from East Texas

Georgia Peach/Bulldog

Hey Harry

 A few days ago, I said farewell to a dear friend.  She started off as a colleague and strange blonde lady down the hall that I could sometimes hear teaching through the wall but as she headed off on her new journey to teach a thousand miles away, my heart cracked a little.  She brightened our hallways with her genuine smile and colorful style.  There were days where I actually said, “What in the world are you wearing?”, but it was just her being her.  Sometimes we would go a week without seeing one another as schedules became more and more hectic, but I knew if the day became too long or too hectic a smile and a diet coke were only a short walk away. 

5 Things I Learned From a Georgia Peach/Bulldog

1. The southern belle is alive and well.  

From “Bless your heart.” to church dress, she showed me that being a lady was more than your speech, even though hers was impeccable.  Grammar correct and vulgarities absent she proved that you can get your point across without raising your voice.  Even when she was so angry that her face was red and there were tears of frustration, a cuss word did not cross her lips.  She was always wiling to lend a helping hand without complaint or censure even to those who had just caused the tears. 

2. Strength has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with character.

She raised four children on a preacher and a teacher’s salary and sometimes on no salary at all.  She raised them while supporting her husband in his endeavors with faith and positivity in this country and in others.  She taught while battling cancer, while beating cancer, and then went on to show students and staff that her support wouldn't stop even though her cure had come.  She kept a schedule of cheer coach, math teacher and Relay Team Captain every year. 

3. Wave your flag, whatever, it may be.

She showed me that if you were passionate about it, then do it.  She encouraged me to write this blog.  She was there when it first came into being.  She was my first fan.  She always taught with joy and she encouraged every child to participate in whatever it was that brought them joy no matter what others said.  If you want to be in theatre, be in theatre.  If you want to be in the band, then be the best.  Don't be afraid to share your passion with others. 

4. Don’t judge a book by its cover.

This is an old adage that we should have down by now, but she showed me that I was guilty of judging when I shouldn’t have.  She is a true blonde.  She is a cheer coach.  I assumed two things, ditsy and not very bright.  I was so wrong and I am so glad I had the opportunity to realize it.  She showed me how very small my judgments made me with grace and a smile and without ever making me feel like a goof, and although she did have her moments, who doesn’t really, ditsy she was not. 

On Monday, I start a new year.  It will be my 5th year teaching but it will be my first year without our Georgia Peach/Bulldog.  I contemplate how trying it will be for me without her there.  The refrigerator full of diet coke and water and the peanut butter crackers stashed in the closet, missing that smile full of kindness not to mention one of the few teachers still willing to sit by me during meetings. 

On Monday, she will have her first day of class at her new school and again she teaches me a lesson.  I am not having to learn a whole new schedule, find a new grocery store, learn new traffic patterns, figure out where the closest bathroom is to my classroom.  I’m not in a whole new town going to convocation where no one is saving me a seat. I am here going all woe is me and what do I get, but a text from her wishing me a great new year.  Reminding me where I can find some things I’ll need for the upcoming weeks.  

5.  Always remember to count your blessings.  

Per the example above, I tend to be a bit melodramatic.  I rarely see the silver lining until after much lamenting and a lot of reflection and thankfully, most times, a swift kick in the butt.  

So to the Georgia Peach with the tenacity of the bulldog of her alma mater, safe journey, good luck and a very heart felt thank you for everything. 

Talk to you soon Harry!

With love from East Texas

An Ending and A Beginning

I am so sorry Harry, that is has been so long since our last chat.  This spring was one filled with so much that I let our conversations slide.  I bottled up everything and even though there were many evenings where I simply stared at the tv and had ample time to write, I found I couldn't even pick up a pen.  Once the daily grind of classroom bells and tutorials had faded, I continue to struggle with sharing.  Daily I would think, I have to tell Harry about that, but I never followed through.  It took me many months to name the funk that restrained me, but today, I finally opened the computer.  I heard a quote from the writers of Mike and Molly.  It said, "Don't write what you know, write what you don't want people to know."  

I sent the letter below earlier in the summer.  I debated for several weeks as to whether or not to publish it in this format. I write about pride, joy, sorrow and disgust.  Weird, I know, but they can all be inside you at the same time.  It also shows a side of me that I am not very proud.  The side that can be hateful and spiteful.  The kids call it my "grrr" face.  It's the side of me that doesn't want to see the other side of things.  The side of me that doesn't want to turn the other cheek or give the benefit of the doubt.  Those times when doing the right thing is so painful that it makes you physically ill.  I had so many of those moments this year.

All spring I was faced with situations where the right thing was not necessarily the best thing for me.  I had to sacrifice my pride and smile when inside the beasts were nashing their sharp teeth and tearing with sharp claws.  My professionalism was tested almost on a daily basis.  My neighbor and I formed a justice league.  Those that followed the rules and persevered even when everything around them was falling apart and everyone was giving in to societal pressures, following the path of least resistance.  Without her strength, I am certain that the beast would not have been satisfied with imaginary ranting.  I learned many lessons from her this year in patience and tact. The letter; however, is not my best writing, but it is my real feelings.  Will the sending of it do my daughter or any other student any good?  Probably not, but it took me these past weeks to realize that it wasn't for them.  It was for me.  I had silenced my voice all year and this, this was the straw.  I needed me to be heard.  Not for justice or for right, but just for the simple and plain conclusion many of us reach.  Our voice must be shared in some form, whether it be spoken or the written word.  

Dear Principal,

Four years ago, as my daughter began high school; she put a list of goals on the refrigerator.  These goals included things like “Go to State Meet for UIL” and “Go to state for band”.  Every year, she would check something off.  Her dedication, determination and sometimes, pure grit, were nothing short of beautiful.   There was one goal that could not be achieved though until her senior year, Valedictorian.

Each year, I came to you with questions and concerns about her schedule. One year, we learned you did not offer PAP Spanish to freshmen.  Another year, well a couple of years, there was a conflict with band so she missed out on PAP Historys.  This year the schedule had two AP senior classes at the same time.

I recall when I came to you after her freshmen year vividly.  I was concerned because yet again schedule conflicts going into sophomore year were holding her back.  I shared with you my daughter’s goals, including Valedictorian.  You chuckled and said, “Well, that’s a lofty goal, but that might be setting yourself up for failure.”  It took pretty much all of my professional training not to scream at you, “You don’t even know who my daughter is, do you?”  I didn’t though.  I smiled and thought how sad it was that a principal didn’t know his students, especially when this student, as a freshman, had been in the paper for her achievements at his high school 3 times.   By her senior year, you had finally figured out who she was though and now her mentions for your school in the paper have multiplied.  She has put your school in the paper more times than your athletics combined.  

You know this now, but let me tell you some things you didn’t.  You didn’t know how during her senior year, she’s held 3 jobs and volunteered at a soup kitchen.  One of those jobs is tutoring a young girl in mathematics.  She takes her brother to karate on Monday’s when I can’t.  She randomly brings me my favorite Diet Coke with Sonic ice on days I have to work late.  She feels bad that she won’t be here next year, so she keeps taking her brothers and sister out randomly like she’s trying to store up the memories to hold her over till she’s home again.

Through it all she’s hit achievement after achievement.  Her grade point average has steadily climbed and yet, consistently, she has sat at #2. Not by deed, but by schedule conflict.  Each year, you’d pat me on the head and shuffle my concerns under the rug, while my daughter continued to fight for her goals. Each year, you told me it would all work out.  Each year, her light shined brighter and brighter for you and your school.  

I am not sure if you can begin to understand how proud I am of my daughter, sir.  I know you are a father, so I want to believe that you can.  You stood next to her in front of your school board just a few weeks ago as she received yet again, award after award.  You smiled for the camera and shook her hand.  Even now, she’s not done, as she has a state band and state UIL competition still to go before graduation.  

Earlier this week, I learned that her goal of becoming Valedictorian would not come true. Notice I have never called it a dream.  A dream is something that may or may not be attainable, it has a fuzzy feeling and a wispy connotation, but a goal, a goal is something you work for, strive for, and bleed for, if necessary.  My daughter did all of those things.  She did it with character, grace and more understanding than her mother when you swept away my concerns. 

In the long run, will her ranking in high school matter?  Absolutely not.  Has her ranking cost her the university she wants to attend? No, and to be honest, her scholarship was awarded before the rankings were announced.  My cup runneth over as they say, but it has cost her and it has devalued something I was not ready for her to lose.  As a mother, it is my duty, my pleasure, and my responsibility to protect my children from the evils of the world, from monsters under the bed to bullies on the playground.  As her mother, I was not ready for her to realize that sometimes, even when you have given it everything you have, you still lose.  I was not prepared for her to learn that life is rarely fair, that most days the guy doesn’t get the girl, the damsel in distress usually saves herself and what’s right, what’s just, usually loses to what’s profitable.  

I knew that these lessons were not far off as on August 19^th, I will officially leave my child behind in her brand new, well slightly used, dorm room.  From that moment on, my protection privileges change.  Now, I become a bystander in her life and all I can do is support her through the trials, but I had hoped that before that day came, her fairy tale view of the world would not have to be tarnished. 

I gave her the you did the best you can speech and for her part, I think she’s content.  At least, I hope she is, but my heart aches for her and my conscience is not quite clear as I wonder is there more I could have done for her.  Could I have fought you any harder on those schedule changes, sir?  Should I have taken it to the next level?  We shall never know.  I do know that she is better than me and even though the fairy tale is tarnished, her light is not.

I wish you well, sir, and moving forward, my hopes for this letter are simple.  I hope it helps me to forgive us both for whatever wrongs real or imaginary we have done to her and I hope that the next time a parent comes to you with their bright light, that you will pause for just a second before you laugh off their concerns.  

God speed, sir, may your travels be calm and swift. 

As always, with love to you Harry, from East Texas

Messages

Dear Harry

I took a trip.  Just a quick trip up the road to the only natural lake in TX, Caddo.  I traveled with my four children and my best friend.  We loaded up the car with food, clothes and fishing gear for our four day stay.  I wasn't sure if this would be a trip my kids would enjoy as Caddo isn't a lake for swimming.  It sits on the Texas/Louisiana border and has alligators listed as one of its natural inhabitants, but off we went.  The next four days we laughed, we fished and we canoed.  The quiet there was like nothing I had experienced before.  The stillness was its own kind of noise. It was noticeable to the point that throughout the day, you found yourself stopping to comment on it. The laughter of my children was not subdued by it though. They kept me so busy with setting hooks and boat rides, I don't think the stillness around us was ready or will ever forget.   We watched cranes wading through the lilypads and other various wildlife, but to my son's chagrin, we never did see and alligator.  My two teenage daughters actually cooperated long enough to take a canoe ride together.  It was another world that we all found difficult to leave.

My dad seemed to be everywhere there, like he was part of the wind that swayed the moss hanging from every Cypress.  I could see him around every corner, hear his gut laugh and the smell of Old Spice seemed to blend and become part of the bayou.  It was so strong that even after we returned, I couldn't shake it.  So I traveled to my hometown to the small cemetery where he is buried.  I stood there in the summer sun and cleaned up the grass that tried to grow over his stone.  I told him about our trip, his grandchildren and I, desperately, wanted an answer.  None came of course, just the sounds of summer and the occasional car.

Then it's time for school to start again, the hustle and bustle of the familiar routine, but this year is different.  This year my oldest daughter is a senior.  Soon I will have to share her brilliance with the world and as many moms before have done, I am struggling with it.  Just today, I woke and headed to her room to tell her good morning, but she was already gone.  Off to work or to church or to visit friends.  The sadness that came over me at the sight of that empty room seemed to carry a weight.  Although, I am not the only one beginning to feel it.  One of my son's wrote in a school assignment that he wanted to work at GameStop so he would get to see his sissy more.

I began to realize that her graduating is like a loss.  I am grieving even as I rejoice.  My life will never be the same, just as hers won't.  Her journey is just beginning as we plan college tours and apply for this scholarship and that university.  I want to stop the clock's movement because it hurts to know next year at this time, she'll be far away.  We've received two acceptance letters and I predict many more before she makes her final decision.  It is her decision, her journey.  I am desperatley trying not to push one way or the other, but I am afraid I am probably failing.  Of course, one theory of parenting is that we are going screw them up either way, so do what you want; however, I think I'll give it a bit more thought than that.

My little world was shattered again as my Lily began discussing her choices for electives in high school.  My brain actually went blank for a second as in the movies, when the actor looks straight at the camera and asks the audience if what they heard was for real.  She cannot possibly be old enough for high school.

I keep struggling with the back and forth of holding tight to my little ones and letting go so that they can explore, grow, become who they are.  This year the struggle seems to be growing.  Is it the milestones that make me look back or is it fear of the future halting my steps?

Now, suddenly, it seems, it's already the New Year, 2015.  I begin a new semester tomorrow.  My oldest daughter begins her last semester of high school.  My younger daughter begins her last semester of middle school and my baby boys, well, 3rd grade volcanos won't be repeated thank goodness.  The holidays brought adventure as mom hit a hog of all things and needed rescuing on Christmas Eve, but the most intriguing to me was a moment earlier that evening.  My father finally answered me, well, after a fashion.  Karaoke is a tradition for my family on Christmas Eve.  Cousins, aunts, uncles all sing loudly and off key, but with great joy.  The first song of the night was chosen by my son, named for the son my father didn't have.  He picks James Taylor's "You've got a friend."  Now why you ask would an 8 year old pick James Taylor?  Normally, I wouldn't have an answer.  This time though, I do.  That is the last song played at my father's funeral.  The song that will forever remind me of him and that I am not alone.  Message received.

 I sang along, I cried and I took a deep breath.  All is well, Rachel Leigh.  I am not losing anything.  My daughter won't stop being my daughter.  I am not alone.  We are not alone.  Forgive me Harry for doubting.

As always Harry, wishing you love and happiness.  Merry Christmas!  Happy New Year!

With love from East Texas