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.)