Starting from scratch

One and a half week into vacation and my students' faces are starting to become fuzzy and their names are a distant memory. Life is now happily filled with catching up on TV shows. One of them is the Chef Jeff project on Food tv. I'll let Food tv do the explaining. 

About the Show

Jeff Henderson grew up on the tough streets of South Central L.A. and San Diego. At 19 he was running a $35,000-a-week cocaine operation. At 24, Jeff was arrested and sent to prison, where he spent the next ten years. While incarcerated, Jeff discovered a passion for cooking and the drive to turn his life around. Jeff became Executive Chef at Café Bellagio in Las Vegas, wrote a bestselling book, and now he is focusing on giving back. In The Chef Jeff Project, he takes six at-risk young adults and commits to turning their lives around by putting them to work in his catering company, Posh Urban Cuisine. He arms them with the knowledge, the skills and, ultimately, the opportunity for a new life with a culinary career.

I was watching the very first episode when Chef Jeff laid down the gauntlet of the first challenge: to make your signature dish in 45 minutes. I've seen a Top Chef episode that featured a similar challenge, so in my mind popped up images of foie gras terraines, delicately poached eggs with shaved truffles, or a meringue floating in a sea of creme anglaise with passion fruit foam.  

Instead I cringed as I watched one student stand there helpless for 15 minutes saying, "I don't even know how to cook!" Maria, who had the vision of making a quesadilla, proceeded to burn her chorizo. And Shante chopped her shrimp in an unbelievable snail's pace because her long acrylic nails were getting in the way. The presented "signature dishes" were garlic mashed potatoes, a limp salad from the girl who couldn't cook, and spam masubi dubbed as "South Central Sushi". I was appalled for the contestants and Chef Jeff who had to taste each dish. But he surprised me by calmly and seriously tasting each dish and offering genuine commentary. He didn't crack a joke at the laughably amateur signature dishes. 

It reminded me of a time when my friend helped me grade papers and she turned to me in disbelief asking, "Are these 7th graders?" Let's just say that she wasn't dumbfounded by my students' extraordinary talents. After trying to decipher sloppy scribbles that wouldn't have made more sense if it were written neatly, I don't blame her. I wanted to shove those papers and them into a closet, ashamed of not only them, but of my own teaching abilities. But I shouldn't be embarrassed at all. I need to pop my snooty visions of creme brulee and tuna tartare, and instead accept and respect my students for who they are and what they can offer. If all they can make is packaged jello, then hey, jello it is. I love jello. From there, who knows how far they'll go and what they'll be able to create. 

Resolution

If you ever get a chance to visit the Getty before Jan. 9th, you'll see the Irving Penn exhibit. In his small studio, he had people of various trades come on in with all their necessary gear and pose against a stark, blank backdrop. 

What I enjoyed most about this exhibit was seeing how people actually looked like their jobs.  It was impossible to reserve judgment about these people apart from what they did for a living, so I know that my own bias was playing heavily into seeing how the morgue caretaker looked so...morgue-y. But I wondered if these people found the job to fit them as snug as a glove or if they've evolved to eventually resemble their occupations.  

What would our own photos look like? Would we be armed with the trusty Blackberry, laptop, and thermos of coffee? But more importantly, what would be the expression on our faces? Would we presenting to the world an occupation that we love?

I forget that I'm daily portraying myself and my career to an audience of students. So often I show them the fissures of stress rather than unadulterated joy in working for a living. In that sense, I believe that all of our various trades are connected: we are all posing daily with our occupations, for our occupations. We are all unofficial representatives. 

God knows how hard it is view a job as anything but a job. I awoke abruptly after having a nightmare about being back at school, only to find that I was granted unlimited hours to linger further in my cozy bed.  The prospect of waking up early to a freezing morning, chiseling away at a marble slab of ungraded papers, and dealing with students who cheat, lie, and give up, doesn't quite fill me with love and inspiration. However, if I am painting a portrait of a teacher for my students, I want to show bliss. It can be a rather quiet, stoic bliss or the big, grinning kind like the plumber above. 

Should I be concerned?

There are things that I see and hear in the classroom that leaves me dumb-founded. Following a split-second paralysis, comes dilemma of deciding the next course of action. Do I take the matter seriously and go about fixing it, or do I accept such shenanigans as being a part of middle school life?

Case 1: It was career day when a firefighter came in, inducing oohs and ahhs over all the firemen gear he brought in with him. He finished his speigl about the training and everyday routines firemen go through. The class was enraptured and inspired to do something as significant as saving lives. When he asked a boy in the first row what his dream job was, he replied, "To be a criminal".

Verdict: Red alarm.

I wanted to bury my head in shame and was about to take some disciplinary actions, when he replied after a moment of shocked silence, "Just kidding, I want to be a UFC fighter". Not much better but I'll take that over a juvenile delinquent.

Case 2: A journal entry from a student read, "If looks were punches, I would beat myself up by looking in the mirror."

Verdict: Alarmed.

I pulled the student aside at the end of class and asked him what this sadly eloquent simile was about. He shrugged sheepishly and said he just wrote it casually. I found that fact more disturbing.

Case 3: I look up from grading quizzes to find one solitary girl not doing her work and idly playing with a marker. Then I saw her raise that marker and carefully draw a perfect, curly moustache above her lips. Our eyes met and we looked at each other for awhile, me with my mouth open, and her with her newly drawn 'stache quickly drying atop her lips.

Verdict: Shocked.

Although highly amusing, this student's case turned out to be the most serious. Upon conferring with other teachers and her grade counselor I found out that she was showing signs of spaciness across the board and may be suffering from depression.

It's a topsy turvy world we live in, and a classroom is certainly not immune from it.

Labor of Love

A little detail I failed to mention in the previous post...all the manual labor of decorating was done by students. All I did was point and mime while they stapled, cut, and assembled. The biggest jobs have been completed (while I was scarfing lunch down at my desk) and now all that is left to do is to cut white paper into snowflakes. They're doing an awesome job, but some may be taking their jobs a bit too far.

One of my "elves" bounded into my classroom during lunch, sketching out her idea for increasing the efficiency and quantity of snowflake output on my dry erase board. Check out her self dubbed "Elf Stations" that lays out the plan for a snowflake assembling line that'll crank out more flakes than we're currently producing.

She was really upset that not enough student helpers showed up to make up the manpower needed for project Elf Station. When I pointed out that some students may get bored being stuck with "Geometric Cutting", she paused in reflection, and then responded, "We can have the elves switch stations every 10 minutes!" I think we've got a future CEO in our midst.

Most wonderful time of the year~

When I was a young girl, I would dream of having the Christmas that I saw in the movies, read in stories, and heard about in carols.

My fantasy Christmas involved living in the same affluent neighborhood as Kevin from "Home Alone" with pretty lights trimmed around my house.

Of course there would be a wreath hung on the door, welcoming old and new friends.

And once you step inside, there'd be a cozy fireplace filling the room with warmth while outside, a snowstorm waged its war.

A lot of the things I "do for the students" are really just for my own pleasure. Armed with construction paper and purchases from the 99 cent store, anything is possible. Have a wonderful holiday season everyone!

Tradition

Stole this from Selena and I think it's perfect.

Chocolaty Goodness

It was officially Chocolate Day in room B15 because what could be more engaging than food? My students are so concrete that they need all 5 of their senses lassoed and captivated in order to be edutained. Solution: a lesson using my favorite food source.

We started off with a discussion about different types of nouns that required chocolatey answers:

Then came the queen herself robed in a golden cloak. I made sure that a student who’s never tried a Ferrero Rocher before got to sample one. The price was to give an abstract noun afterwards about the inner feeling that this jewel of hazelnut goodness conjured (bliss, contentment, satisfaction).

Afraid of a riot after only giving out a single Ferrero Rocher, I had to offer more chocolate to the suddenly hungry masses. I posted them with Forest Gump’s simile, “Life is like a box of chocolates…you never know what you’re gonna get next”, and had them analyze the heck out of it. Only the groups who were actually discussing the many meanings behind the quote got to have an assortment, rather than a box of chocolates.

The boxes of chocolates were for the groups with the best explanations.

I feel a little guilty treating my students like performing seals at Sea World, but I’m hoping they grasp the bigger simile here: that learning is just as fulfilling, sustaining, and delicious as chocolate. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

Being Back at Middle School

Pros- It's like the best day you had in middle school: acing that Algebra quiz, your crush giving you an encouraging smile during passing period, and making that one hit that clinched the game in PE...but on steroids. Gone are the awkwardness and crushing insecurities, only to be replaced by a self-assuredness that comes from age and doing what you love. 

Yesterday was one of those rare days where everything that could go right, went in that fortunate direction. And in the reflective high at the end of a perfect school day, I remembered a passage from Where the Red Fern Grows (yes, Hannah, I do remember junior high, I remember it vividly). Wilson Rawls describes such a day as "one of those days when a man feels good, feels like speaking to his neighbor, is glad to live in a country like ours, and proud of his government". It was strange to feel my 26 year old self being transported back into Ms. McAllister's English class, reading that passage in my 7th grade body. As Jessica put it, we never really do change completely, but instead add on more layers to our existing ones, like a stackable Russian doll. I not only remembered that 12 year old girl inside of me, but I was her again for one fleeting moment.

Con- Yesterday was also picture day. Despite taking 2 shots (the 2nd one granted from begging the photographer) I am far from being satisfied with the result. I may have to post that picture, just to show how bad it was *shudder*.

Monotony

Ever feel like one day just blends into the other? Go to work, come home, eat, TV, sleep, only to wake up to an annoying alarm(s). I've been teaching the story, "Thank You M'am" for 5 years now, conducting the same lesson for 5 periods. It was time to spice things up.

Inspired by my students' illustrations of Mrs. Jones' treatment of Roger (previous post), a trial of Mrs. Jones seemed appropriate. Is this lady, who gave money, food, and temporary shelter to her teenage robber innocent? Or does her actions of kicking this robber and dragging him to her abode make her guilty of assault and kidnapping?

Mrs. Jones' trial went as following:

1. Put on your lawyer hats and choose one side that you wish to represent.

2. A head lawyer from each side explains what happened on that fateful night.

3. Have a 10 min debate using quotes from the story as your evidence.

4. Have Mrs. Jones on the stand (a student volunteer who was subjected to the bright glare of the overhead projector light in a darkened classroom) and each side questions her.

5. Closing statements were made by volunteering laywers.

I think my favorite part of the trial was being able to slam my gavel down and yelling, "Order in the court!"

Artwork on the fridge

This is a follow up to the dominoes activity my students did on a previous post. They read a story about a woman who catches a teenage boy who tries to rob her. She proceeds to kick him, put him in a half nelson (whatever that is), and drag him to her house. She then cooks for him, talks to him, gives him some money and releases him only to never see him again. 

The assignment was pretty simple- summarizing the main parts of the plot. Except they had to jazz up the events to look like dominoes so that they visually understand that each event is causing the other. They could even jazz it up with illustrations for some extra points.

                                             And then the pictures started getting graphic. 

                                                                   Till it just got bad...

Oweee~

A keeper

Premise: A quirky, teenage girl who dubs herself as Stargirl, experiences her first break up. She keeps a journal which are essentially letters to her ex-boyfriend, Leo. Here's one of her letters:

February 28 

It snowed yesterday. Today the world is white. I put on my boots and walked to Enchanted Hill. It was as pure and perfect as a new sheet of paper. I took one step onto the field and stopped. What was I doing?

The pure whiteness, dazzling in the sun, was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Who was I to spoil it? Snow falls. Earth says: Here-a gift for you. And what do we do? We shovel it. Blow it. Scrape it. Plow it. Get it out of our way. We push it to our fringes. Is there anything uglier or sadder than a ten-day-old snow dump? It's not even snow anymore. It's slush. 

Was that beginning to be us, Leo? I'd rather never see you again than have that happen. We were once so fresh, a dazzling snowfield. Let's promise to each other that if we ever meet again we will never plow or push our new-fallen snow. We will not become slush. We will stay like this field and melt away together only in the sun's good time. 

I backed off carefully, stepping out of the one footprint, and walked away. 

*I can't help but think of my students when visualizing this pristine snow field. Their youth, despite what they may think, is in my eyes not yet marred by mistakes and regrets. Even for an old fogey like me, it's a pretty powerful metaphor for looking at life. 

The Art of Compromise

The biggest shift in my perspective of teaching came from asking "how" instead of "why"? When I asked myself why the kids are the way they are, why they don't do their homework, or why they aren't afraid of me, all it amounted to was a useless amount of hair pulling and eyeball gouging. But when I ask myself how I can get them to do their homework or how I can get them to follow the rules, that's when actual results start appearing. 

Simultaneously, I find myself giving students much more leeway than I ever thought I would. 

• I give them 15 min of class time to do their homework instead of quipping, "It's called HOMEwork for a reason!" 
• Instead of furiously lecturing to a room full of bored students when they fail to read a single chapter of a novel, I type that chapter into a script so that they can act it out with a partner.
•  I've resorted to Pavlovian conditioning as I play Black Eyed Peas' "Let's get it started" at the beginning of an activity to signal that they should be properly arranging their chairs into a circle and the "Mission Impossible" theme song in the end to indicate that they should be cleaning up. They robotically set up and clean at the drop of these songs without me having to utter a word.
• I've accepted the fact that I have a room full of hormonal, amazingly chatty, and brazenly flirtatious 7th graders, and so I now let them discuss answers to grammar exercises, journal entries, a story's summary...basically anything remotely discussable. 
  

It certainly wasn't the way that I was taught, and sometimes I am embarrassed to share the tactics I've resorted to. I'm still clueless when it comes to answering all the hows, but what I can confidently say is that this job is never dull, and for that I am grateful. 

Chain reaction

HOW IS A STORY'S PLOT SIMILAR TO DOMINOES???

                                  "A story has rising action where things get more interesting."

                                              "There are unexpected twists and turns in a plot." 

                                                       "A story is full of ups and downs." 

                                                     = happiness

On the flipside

When the natural frustrations of teaching adolescents REALLY get to me, I know that I need to get away from my role as a teacher and plop into the student's desk. It's always humbling to be on the other side, fumbling about awkwardly and asking the dumb questions. 

Except I don't endure the torture of writing essays and filling out grammar worksheets like what I subject my own students to. Instead of a pencil, I'm armed with a spatula and my medium is chocolate. Dark, velvety, smoldering 72% cacao, 

chocolate. 

But one note about being on the other side...

I'll never be an innocent student again. My teaching instincts kick in, and I can't seem to shut it off. So when the male students in the background started giggling about the teacher's comments about stiff whipped cream, and her preferability in the hardness of it...I couldn't help but glare at them.  

How could I not be the teacher's empathizer when it comes to disciplining her students? I answered her questions eagerly, laughed a little too loud at her jokes, and scowled in the general direction of snickering. I'm a wolf in sheep's clothing. 

Land of Apples

If only life could be like the Garden of Eden, pre-apple tasting. I'm usually chipper about my students' potential, but more days like today and I think I'm going to officially migrate over to the jaded teacher's lounge. 

Today went horribly because...

A. How are we supposed to have a friggin' debate when kids don't do their friggin' homework of making debate notes?!

B.  As a punishment and mostly out of pure fury, I quickly zapped those who chose not to do their homework with  lunch detention. Steve decided to mutter under his breadth, "Racist", where upon I did the 360 degrees Exorcist head turn. 

C. During lunch detention, about half of the kids gave me pure, unadulterated attitude as if I was somehow responsible for they're not doing their homework. How dare I make them pay a consequence for their actions!

Bottom line is that I'm just exhausted. They brought out the worst in me today. Though it started with good intentions, I ultimately punished them because I felt angry and I wanted them to feel the disappointment that I was feeling. Why is it so hard to communicate that I care?

Thomas Guides

I remember my uncle's old Ford Taurus, baby blue, I think it was. It was a little, 2 door jewel that always toted the trusty, faded Thomas Guide in the backseat. My uncle would thumb through that massive book with licked fingers (gross) to the point where the pages becomes soft and pliable. I too would lean over and take a look at it, not understanding a thing I saw.


Sometimes, I feel exactly the same way when I'm lesson planning. My final destination is to drive my highly unmotivated, apathetic students into writing 5 paragraph essays that prove a strong opinion about a character through textual evidence. I'm lost by the first light.


Therefore, I experiment. I get lost, over and over again, till I get vaguely familiar with the landscape of failure. Ultimately, I get an instinctual sense to avoid it. Well, eventually. Hopefully?


So the planned route to essay writing is as following:


1. Criteria Chart

• In groups of 4, students decide on 5 traits a person must possess to be labeled as being good.
• Oddly enough, being funny came up quite frequently. When I tried to get them to think and asked them if being boring makes someone bad, many of them honestly answered, "Yes".
• Students will use this chart to judge the main character and develop a thesis

2. Color time!

• So that students are tricked into finding textual evidence, I have them highlight parts of the story where the main character acts in noble ways and underline in red, parts where the character makes his follies. It's my take on the angel and devil on each shoulder.

3. Class Debate

• Ok, they now have the basis for a thesis and have found their quotes, but the hardest part is realizing that someone might have a different viewpoint. Debate time!
• Class is divided in half and one side argues that the character is an overall good man while the other argues that he is not, using quotes from the story as their evidence.
• Each person must stand and give his/her case, and in order to not get disqualified to win the grand prize of small jolly ranchers.

Tomorrow's the class debate...I'm scared.

Why I love English

It never gets old. There is always a stone unturned, another meaning to find underneath in an innocent looking text. What's yawningly literal may turn out to be profound and vice versa.  

Cases in point:

Went a Jason Mraz concert where he shed a new light on a song that I've heard a million times before. "Make it mine" talks about being lifted away to a table at the Gratitude cafe. I believed Gratitude cafe to be an imaginary place where people happily bob amidst clouds, watching over the big picture that is their life. Turns out that it's an actual cafe in San Francisco, complete with lattes, sandwiches, and tip jars. 

Also found out that Mr. Humpty Dumpty wasn't such an empty egg after all. There are heavy political meanings behind his "falling" and "crashing" that coincide with what had been happening in England during that time period. All Poindexters unite and Google it!

 

 

Analyze this!

Whenever I hear this song, I automatically

1. Pucker my mouth and nod my head to the beat

2. Start doing fist pumps in the air

3. Think of my students from last year

I threw this song at my last year's students, challenging them to identify the metaphors in the song. Do you hear them?

Say what?!

"Ms. Won?"

"Yes, Laura?"

"I missed you."

"Oh, ok."

I don't know if she said it just to throw me off into bewilderment or if her little comment sprouted from genuine randomness. All I know is that her cute smile made it impossible for me to reprimand her. Nor can I deny that her words inspired me to spend an hour at Peets, grading poems instead of watching Top Chef episodes. I know...I'm such a sucker. 

All in a day's work

I had my students choose one of the following books to read and then create a fill-in-the-blank quiz about it, using this week's vocab words as their answer choices. I think I was the one who was most excited about this activity. 

Though it took about an hour and a half of squeezing my bum numb in a tiny plastic chair at the children's library, it was a lot of fun choosing the books. It was hard work pumping my saliva dry as I perused through pages with licked fingers, but someone had to do it.  

I found classics like this one ominously titled, "Parts". The boy thinks that he's coming undone as he mistakenly believes that fuzz in his belly button is his cotton stuffing oozing out. 

"Bats at the beach" won me over with its creative plot line around a midnight beach-scapade complete with moon-tan lotion and bugmallows roasting over the bonfire.

OK! Where to? Just name the place and I'll be ready with my oar. 

The heartbreaker. 

Tough love

I got to talking with another teacher about how undeniably mean we are to our kids right now. Every toe stepped out of line is whipped and straightened out. I can only imagine what's going on in the minds of my sweet students as I snap my fingers at select, chronic underachievers, icily telling them to open their books.

Some students are willing to tell you how wonderful you are, like Stacy!

Mrs. H.- "William! With the time and effort it takes you to doodle your agenda, why don't you actually do the work you're supposed to? Or if that's too much for you to handle, we could set you up with a nice little concrete seat outside (90 degrees weather)

William- *grumbles incoherently*

Mrs. H.-(mutters under her breath) "I'm so mean..."

Stacy, a student who overhears, gently whispers to Mrs. H- "Only a little bit..."

"Bouquet of newly sharpened pencils"

By the powers bestowed upon me by LAUSD, I declare September to be NATIONAL PENCIL MONTH. The scratch of a #2 on a blank white sheet of paper is magical and apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks so. This is a poem by Violeta, a good friend of mine who used her muse, a pencil, to illustrate the use of metaphors to students. Thanks Vi! 

Survival of a Pencil

I am a pencil
Slender yet shrinking.
I hide myself in the morning.
I am used everyday, sometimes abused
and occasionally I break...
maybe even snap.

All day long I write,
I record.
By the middle of the day
I'm used, worn down.
Slowly I disappear.
All day long,
Right side up, upside down
I have no control.

I learn from my mistakes,
I am valued because I can make mistakes.
Unlike my cousin the pen,
who is bold...exact, permanent.
Some prefer me better.

On days when I'm not at my sharpest
I'm completely ignored.

All in all,
I feel helpful.
And in the end
When I'm down to a bit,
I'll know I spent my life
helping others figure it all out.
I'll know I made a difference.

Help me help you

On a bright yellow paper titled "SURVEY" was question number one-

1. Do you need to sit in a particular area in the classroom?
YES NO

If you you've circled yes, write where you need to sit and why you need to sit there:________________________________

I thoroughly explained that this was a survey where there is no right or wrong answer. Especially for #1, I specified that it was a question geared towards those who needed to sit closer to the board. Look at what my 7th graders wrote:

"Yes, because sitting in a particular seat will make you more focus."

"cuz that's my assigned seat."

"Yes, because the teacher assigned the sits."

"If you cant see well sit in the front so you can pass."

"I need to sit in front of the teacher. I need to sit here because she told me to."

I picture all these students sitting there feeling smug and victorious with their "by the book" answers. Little do they know that they're being blogged about.

#s

120 restrained dollars spent at the teacher's supply store

5:30 am

3 alarm clocks pealing

75 cents for incredulously bad school coffee

380 copies of "getting to know you" surveys

5 minute intro. of myself which was 5 too long

1 sacrificial lamb of a student booted to the time out chair to show that I mean business

30 min. lunch to hunker down in a pencil skirt and scarf down food

154 new names to memorize

The 1st day of school

The Afters

My view of the classroom: Welcome back to Hellfire!

Students' view

                      

My happy place

It's almost complete...

all that's missing are the kids :}

Tell Tale heart

When's the last time that you had an irrational emotional attachment to an inanimate object? Maybe it was a pair of brand new rollerblades, a pog slammer, or a shiny new Nintendo. Whatever the material possession may have been, remember the time when objects went beyond their prices and practicality and actually meant something?

I recall my 9 year old self taking a shoebox to bed with me just so I could have the pleasure of seeing those brand new Reeboks the first thing in the morning. The curvaceous design and even the smell of them was intoxicating. I coveted those sneakers till the colors and tired soles wore out.

It’s been awhile since I’ve attached my heart onto a “thing” but today I purchased this brand new alarm clock.

It's made to fit the retro American style but proudly bears a sticker that says, “Made in China”. I don’t care. This newborn clock with its freshly ticking heart has won me over. It’ll be a friend through weary weekday mornings reminding me that a new day is continually beating.  

Blank Canvas

Two full days left until the deadline date. Armed with construction paper and lots of it. I'm gonna cry if the after picture looks exactly the same. 

Close up shop

How does it feel like to be on break with endless summer hours to squander away?

Sometimes it feels like I'm a train whose tracks have been ripped out from underneath. I've taken it one track at a time heading toward this mystical place called June, and it's disorienting to come to a sudden halt. 

But it doesn't have to end here. If I really care about my students then the direction is forwards not backwards. The only way to show my love for my previous students is to hone my lessons in these summer months. The beauty of failures is in the vast room for improvement. 

And so, I'll come back energized in memory of them and be the best friggin teacher I can be. As long as I'm goal setting, why not aim to be a more disciplined blogger as well? Daily posts studded with pictures is what I aim for. See you in September...

Reaping the fruit

I've never had a chance to kick my feet up, arms behind head, looking around in pride at all that I've done. I guess the fact that I've only been teaching for four years and that I screw up on a constant basis has to do with it. 

But for the first time, I felt that rewarding feeling that people commonly associate with teaching kids. It came in the form of Terrell, a formerly puny (adorable, but teensy weensy nonetheless) boy who in his screechy voice asked me if I needed any help. He came back as a soon-to-be 10th grader, complete with a muscular frame and deeper tonal changes. He scared me half to death because I didn't recognize the burly stranger at my door. 

Dunno if he learned anything from me. Barely talked about academics. Just his friends and basketball. It doesn't really matter. Just seeing him changed, even if it's just on the physical level was powerful. To know that I had a part in witnessing the bloom of a growing man was reward enough.  

Thanks a latte!

Birth giver of sanity
Keeper of stability
In the groggy hours of dawn
Through the slits of my squinted eyes
Thy beauty astounds

Is it the subtle, foamy sweetness
Or the heart of black liquid fuel
To which I attribute my devotion?

The vessel in which you are transported matters not,
Come to me my morning muse
Stroke my senses awake
Iron my frayed nerves
Excite me in thine blood pumping way
I am yours eternally

Put 'em up!

Ladies and Gentlemen: welcome to the intense battle known as the last two weeks of school where tension amongst teachers runs high while tempers run short. In this corner you have the fiery Scotsman Mr. Colton, a 50+ year old Algebra teacher known for his red hair and even redder temperament. In the other corner you have his opponent, a 40+ year old Mr. Balker, the World history teacher who’s infamous for bellowing at his classes for the whole hallway to hear. I don’t know folks, it’s pretty much a draw when it comes to height and belly size, but let’s see the battle unfold in the faculty cafeteria.

Mr. Balker: Mmmm, fruit today. Watermelon for only a dollar?! That’s a
pretty good deal. Speaking of fruit, how are you Mike?

Mr. Mike Colton: You better shut your mouth and turn right back around Balker.

Mr. Balker: Geez Mike, having a bad day or something?

Mr. Colton: No but you’re going to.

…

Mr. Balker: Sorry that I offended you, you know I didn’t mean to.

…

(Meanwhile, I’m smack dab in the middle, staring intensely at my watermelon.)

Kaye Umansky, a children's writer/former teacher says,

"Because I know the power of reading aloud, I tend to base my sessions on that. I read out my daftest poems and extracts from my novels. I  regale them with silly songs,  sometimes quite loudly. I suspect that some people may find me annoying. But the fact is, I just want the kids to go home smiling."

What a rock star! 

0 strikes 0 balls

Mass layoffs, larger class sizes, budget crisis...LAUSD better hope that all publicity is good publicity. I found out on Monday that we teachers weren't going to take any more of this injustice. We would have to tear ourselves from our students for one day to fight for our rights. We'd change the world with our violent picketing amidst long draughts of Starbucks coffee. What?! Miss a day of school for one hour of leisurely walking in a circle and a whole day off afterwards...fine. Sigh.

So when it was announced through the PA speakers that Friday's strike was cancelled, there were interesting interjections made by disappointed teachers throughout the school.

"But I made a dentist's appointment!"

"We were all going for breakfast afterwards!!!"

"I was going to have tea!"

Thought editing

Middle schoolers are truly a breed of their own. Though equipped with a quickly developing brain with rapidly firing synapses, they yet lack the vocabulary to express the grand ideas in their minds. Here a couple of attempts of them trying to add their 2 cents to a debate about the effects that TV has on children. If only I can revise their thoughts…

“TMZ can put words and body language into a celebrity’s mouth.”- Marlena
Translation: Not everything shown on TV is reliable and questionable editing oftentimes distorts the truth.

“Dora the explorer is a five year old who picks up a paper with a clue and she just picks up and leaves. That ain’t right.”-Alfred
Translation: Even a supposedly educational show like Dora the Explorer has the possibility of setting the wrong example for susceptible young viewers.

“TV can show nasty stuff that’s REALLY bad for teens to watch. Especially boys, you know.”-Bea
Yeah, I know Bea. I know.

C'EST LA VIE!

It’s just been one of those days, where the minute I stepped out of my apartment, I dropped my thermos cup filled with soymilk. I proceeded to stand there, glazed eyed, as a milky, white geyser exploded. Then I closed my car door in such a way as to get my bangs trapped in it. My tongue got all tied up as I commanded, "Take out your paypels and penshils". On my way to lunch I got the living daylights scared out of me by a squirrel scrambling out of the bushes. And now I see dried soymilk spots dotting my black skirt.


Just one of those days.

Sweet and sour

My students will soon read a novel called Beacause of Winn Dixie. In the book, there's a candy that has a peculiar taste.

"There's a secret ingredient in there,"Miss Franny said.

"I know it," I told her. "I can taste it. What is it?"

"Sorrow," Miss Franny said. "Not everybody can taste it. Children, especially, seem to have a hard time knowing it's there."

"But how do you put that it in a piece of candy?" I asked her.

"That's the secret," she said. "That's why Littmus made a fortune. He
manufactured a piece of candy that tasted sweet and sad at the same time."

I was worried about the concept of a candy embodying both sweetness and sorrow being too abstract and romantic for my monkeys to grasp. But I was wrong, very wrong. Here are some quotes I've uncovered from their life journals:

"My sister got my parents mad and moved out. They are nice to me but if I do anything bad at school or something they get furious at me because they have no one else to be mad at." - Kate

"I like I have no one to go to. Inside of me everyday is like hell for my heart! My heart needs love and it's dieing without it."- Evelyn

"Well I am doing good right now. PS. but WOW! some of my classmates are going through a lot of things." - Jose


Lesson plan: Describe a food that symbolizes something more than just food, like in Winn Dixie. It can be a meal that reminds you of a person, another time, or place.
Extra Credit: Bring enough of the food you wrote about for everybody in the class to sample, including Ms. Won.

Meditation

My usual morning walk to the main office consists of navigating through a swarm of 2,000 students. But on a rare day like today, I come early enough to see the hallways devoid of crowds and activity. The already warm morning embraces me with the promise of a blisteringly hot day. The pale, yellow green leaves show off their neon glow when the sunlight hits them. All I hear is the rhythmic clacking of my heels in the hallway.

In the quiet, I could hear my hopes whispering. That today may be a memorable day. That the lesson will go according to plan, or wonderfully, magically veer off course. That I waste not a drop of opportunity with my kids. As the searing sun lifts the morning mist, the silent prayers evaporate also. The day unfolds and begins.

Quick Fix

If Thursday is the new Friday, then why does going out on Thursday night always lead to inevitable regret? Friday morning found me baggy eyed and half zombied. And of course that is the day that all middle school students decide to join forces and be on their craziest behavior.

Friday is also the day that I have a weekly raffle. Popsicle sticks with students' names written on it are picked randomly and given a prize if they've been good. Problem was that I was completely out of candy. Zip, zero, not even a tiny jolly rancher rolling around in the cabinet, nada.

With period 1 commencing in mere minutes, I bolted out of my classroom in heels and knocked on every nearby door.
"Do you *gasp* have any candy in your classroom? Sorry, sorry for bothering you."
"Uh, candy, like what kind?"
"Oh my god, anything, any old easter or valentines candy. Maybe 10 or more if you have it. Anything please!"
"Let me check," says a teacher, eying me strangely. I hear the bottom of a drawer being scraped. "Thank you! Thank you! I REALLY needed this!" I say as I grab a handful of old, crusty tootsie rolls.

Today, I found this teacher and thanked her for her generiosity. She nodded understandingly and shared, "You know, sometimes I just need candy badly too. Just one of those days, and you feel like you'll die without that sugar rush. So, did you enjoy it?"

Etiquette for dealing with a sick teacher

1. Do ask her if she's feeling alright. It really does make a difference.

2. Don't ask while she is talking about tonight's homework and asking if anyone has a question.

3. Do hand her a tissue from the student table.

4. Don't covertly point to her red nose and snicker with others during groupwork.

5. Most importantly: never ever sneeze in her face when she was leaning down to your desk to help you understand what adverbs are. 

I know exactly which student got me sick. In my sick delirium I see her face looming in front of me. When I get back on Wed or perhaps Thursday, I'm gonna get a bazooka sized water gun and just. go. AWOL! 

 

Blindness

“What do we call a person who keeps on talking even when no one’s listening?”
“A teacher!”

I’ve found that the greatest tools aren’t shouts, threats, or pleas. I should know cause I’ve tried them all.

Surprisingly, the greatest weapons are the eyes. As my students enter, I simply look at them until they get the clue. The words, “get to work” or “let’s start now” never leave my lips. Every day, despite feeling the blood boil over to my head from watching them talk, sit there cluelessly, or look at the pictures in each other’s binders, I just stare. Like clockwork, the first couple fall quiet and the rest follow. I’m always scared that it’ll stop working one of these days, but it’s never failed me yet.

Staring isn’t easy though. Making sure that I don’t open my eyes too wide to scare them (being Asian helps immensely), I keep my eyebrows and forehead very relaxed. With my eyes I try to ask in the calmest tone, “What are you doing right now?” despite being close to strangling those who are looking right back at me. It’s even better if you’re far away and they catch you looking at them. The perception of being seen is more powerful than actually being seen. When it comes down to it, it seems that all they really need is to be seen.

I have a dream

"Alright everyone, now that we've read the introduction of the two friends and their future dreams of becoming boxers, you'll write a journal entry describing yourself and one other friend. Describe a future dream that you and your friend have. Everyone understand?"

*Heads nod vigorously*

10 minutes later:

"Selena is my best friend. Me, I'm short and I love animals. We have nown each other since we were in dipers."

"One thing we promised each other is to never stop being friends. I picture us grown up and in our houses with nice clothes, highheels, and dogs and kids and our annoying husbands, but before that we have to invite each other to each other's wedding!"

"Me and my amiga want to live in the same house. With 3 rooms, 3 bathrooms, and a pool. We want a big house to do parties, have family over, and friends. Have lots of candy and chips (takis), and also soda."

"1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10" (really wish that I could post a picture of this)

"One dream about me and my friend happened after a sleepover. We just saw a movie about aliens and it was scary. I had a dream that aliens were coming to kill us. We run and run and don't get anywhere. Then I woke up in the morning and didn't say a word."

 

Paper or plastic?

This recession can’t be denied: horror stories of mass layoffs, homes being lost, and make shift “tent cities” popping up. The depletion of hope inverted with an increasing every-man-for-himself mentality is painting our lives with cynicism. Although there isn’t any shortage of students who need education, the economy is hitting my school hard.

At a curriculum planning meeting, a teacher named Mrs. B offered me words of advice when I expressed how increasingly unmotivated my students are. Those words were, “Face it, these kids are the ones who are going to be bagging your future children’s groceries.” Before you mark her forehead with a bulls eye for why our education system is so screwed up, consider that the 7th grade California standardized test consists of INSTRUCTION MANUALS for vcrs and radios. These manuals are targeting the “comprehension of informational material” but why is it that none of those multiple choice questions require our kids to evaluate, judge, or create something? Why are these tests geared towards measuring how good of an instruction following employees our students will be as opposed to problem solving bosses?

Mrs. B is a smart, realistic teacher who has taught in the official ghetto for ten years. During the 90s she had one student who took a liking to her, and offer her Doc Martins shoes stolen during the LA riots. She’s been through the mill and is still here coordinating the ESL program, doing after school tutoring, and helping me do a research project with my students. Thankfully, her words do not match her actions.

But these are tough times. When you consider the actual number of people who share my student’s ethnicities, economic backgrounds, and home location, and make it to the top paying jobs, it’s depressing low. And so it feels silly having my students draw comic strips depicting a story when there are grim realities to face. But it is only silly hope that could help these kids beat the sad statistic awaiting them. And it is only hope that could prevent me from feeling like an Albertsons staff member training a new batch.

Customer Satisfaction

I’m can’t say that I entirely disregard what my kids think about me. I’m not going to pretend that being a called a “retarded Chinois bitch” in a confiscated note 2 years ago didn’t break my heart (though it was partly due to the bad spelling). Honestly, I want them to like me. I want them to leave my class saying, “What an enjoyable lesson that was, and such good care did I receive,” upon which I would screech out, “Thank you, come again!”

In this business, it’s about the quality, marketing, and the delivery of the product that the teacher sells. Quality control: if I think a story’s boring, the kids will doubly hate it and make my life a living hell for that one period as a punishment. Marketing: I sell that sucker, whether it be essay writing or analyzing non fiction text, as if my life depended on it. For that one day, the whole universe revolves around my students being able to support their claims with textual evidence. Global warming? War in Iraq? Nope, if you can do this, you’ve basically found the cure for cancer in my eyes.

Delivery: Bottom line is that my students are sick and tired of me. I don’t blame them cause I’d be annoyed if a young, know-it-all teacher tries to spoon feed me answers telling me that it’ll help me grow big and strong. They’re tired of my sales pitch and I now sadly accept that I am amongst the ranks of nagging parents and telemarketers. I give up! However this downfall of delusions had opened my eyes to the effectiveness of using them as my little minion to sell the goods for me. The trick is to trick them into wanting to sell the stuff. Give them enough competitive group activities or extra credit points for being the winning side of a class debate and they’ll clamor for an opportunity to teach others. And when that product actually becomes theirs to sell and the profit goes into their pockets, it’s absolutely golden.

Young Love

Brooke and Chris are boyfriend and girlfriend. It became official after Chris got into a fight with Brian over her. They've been together for about a year now, which for 7th graders translates to 9 adult years.

Every time I assign a partner activity those two sparrows pair up and pour over their papers. Actually, it's more that Brooke provides the answers while Chris sits there unanimatedly. She's actually a very smart girl who's mum about her own intelligence. To her future mortification, she totes around a picture of Chris in her the plastic cover of her binder. On top his bucktoothed photo, she scribbled, "Chris is SEXY...Luv 4eva". The appeal is somewhat understandable: Chris is a little skater, blonde, and wears flannel shirts. He's also about a foot shorter than she is. I often catch her unabashedly smiling at him as he hunches over his paper, copying her work.

Bobby Sanchez is my resident troublemaker. He loves challenging me with condescending snorts of laughter when I try to joke around with the class. You can imagine how cute that gets. He's a class clown with a dash of animosity for authority figures. I noticed some tagging on his backpack and expected the same "Wilmington" or "Wilmas" that the kids brandish with pride. But his was different. Written in white out were the words, "Randy Sanchez you will be missed. I will never forget you. RIP". Sneaky, pissy, chatty Bobby Sanchez.

I too remember tossing around "4eva" and "always" so freely. And not because they were cheap but it was a time when forever was a possibility. Life, or at least love was what I made it to be. Now, shackled by reality and experience, I ogle at foreign, young love that dares to give, and give, and grieve.

If the thought, “when all else fails, I’ll just teach” has ever crossed your mind…

Signs that your son’s an IDIOT and you’re not doing any villages a favor by keeping him alive:

1. If he sees the teacher approaching and he floats and swirls his pen over his blank paper, pretending to write something down. Kinda like a french mime but armed with a pencil.

2. If he’s busily laughing like the ugliest hyena for a good 5 min until he finally notices me watching him. Upon which he awkwardly freezes and slowly turns around while keeping me in his peripheral vision. And he does this everyday.

3. When directed to write the definition for limbs he misspells it limbes and ends up writing the definition for limes instead (which are n. small, green citrus fruits).

Ah, rarely does a fine jewel of a young man decide to grace my classroom. As one teacher delicately put it, “the sight of him blinking his f$%^*& stupid eyes makes me want to punch his face in”. Mmmm~ to put in restaurant terms, he would be a heaping pile of immaturity with a side of a brain.

I can’t stand the kid. So much so that I changed his seat to the furthest possible corner away from me under the guise of classroom management. Ugh, why do such challenges exist when Obama’s inspiration has hope branching into my backyard like a trespassing tree? Stupid doofus.

Lost in translation

Never trust teachers who say they love all their kids. Never. They’re either genetic freaks coded to be compassionate multi-taskers or they’re lying to your face. Either way, it’s unfair to make love seem like the indisputable answer to all.

The ones who constantly talk about loving teaching are flashy CEOs with the Tom Cruise grins, reclining on plush leather seats in high-rise offices. Those who actually do love teaching are the grimy children getting comfy on hard little stools in sweatshops. My respect goes out to the blistered fingers.

So much of actual teaching has nothing to do with the talk. With the time it takes to chat, good teachers are busy snaking in and out of rows of unhygienic students, chipping away at a stack of papers, and planning the next day’s lesson. They are the dry erase marker stained, braving a smile at 7 am workers who put in countless hours into the unsung glory of their classrooms.

I know that love can’t be lost in translation to real, tangible action- that it's just the starting line to a long marathon of trials and endurance. Sentiment without actual work will result in my heart being sold at Walgreens for ½ off after valentine’s day.