I talk to myself. A lot. No, not in public … well not in very public areas. I talk to myself in the car, in the shower, as I grade… well, you get the idea.
I also talk to people/creatures/ things that can’t talk back. You can call me crazy, but I would much rather talk to a dog, a baby, or the guy sitting next to me in traffic playing the air drums than the people I actually encounter in real life half the time. I guess maybe it’s because I don’t really care about the result of the conversation as much as having the conversation, if that makes any sense. Some people are the journaling type… but I always got so distracted, and if no one was ever going to read it, I didn’t really see a point.
I feel as though now is as good a time as any to confess that I used to make fun of people that blogged. “If your stuff is so great, then why aren’t you a published writer?” This was my general (internal) comment to people that would ask me to “follow” them on their blog.
But maybe some of these people feel the same way I do. An ashamed and truthful fact I confess here and now is that I am not the best listener. I always want to finish the other person’s sentence for them, and this MUST drive some people crazy. But it’s not what you think at all. It’s not that I know better than them, that I have the solution to their problem, or that I am an expert. It usually comes from a good place. I usually just want to scream, “I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU MEAN, AND YOU AREN’T CRAZY AT ALL… and let me tell you why…”
I talk all day. And I’m pretty lucky, because I get to talk to kids about a subject I love and adults with whom I have important, silly, and intelligent conversations with. But sometimes, I don’t want to talk about what anyone else wants to talk about. Sometimes, I just want to talk about what I want to talk about… and maybe I want to talk about it for more than five minutes, hence the conversations with myself in free and inconvenient moments. I once got busted talking to myself by a student during my conference period. That’s right about the time I started locking my door during conference period.
An author was writing about being an introvert and he said, “I am something of a recluse by nature. I am that cordless screwdriver that has to charge for twenty hours to earn ten minutes use. I need that much downtime. "
That really is me. I have notoriously, my entire life, picked jobs that require me to be in front of a group. It’s like I turn something “on” when I get in front of people, and suddenly I can speak to a group by using humor or silly charm. But when it’s over, after I teach five periods back to back, I am exhausted. My fellow teachers and I were talking about this the other day. It’s like having a stage act that you perform for your audience…and then there’s the real you. I am an introvert, but you would never know it. I actually prefer to do things by myself, and I have my entire life. So when I start to talk to myself, sometimes it’s the only time in that entire day that anyone has seen or heard the real me… and I guess I might as well be the person who gets to spend time with the real me.
People who are writers, real writers, are doing exactly what I’m doing. They just don’t look crazy because they have their conversations on paper and not in their car like I do. So I decided I would split the difference. I’m not a real writer, but I only look crazy half the time now, instead of most of the time.
The other day I was leaving for work and I was not wide awake yet. I tried TWICE to use my car door clicker to lock my front door before I figured out that it wasn’t going to work. And right there, out loud, in front of the seventy year old dog walker passing by I said, “Jackie, I swear!”
I should be concerned because he looked at me like I was crazy, but I just said hi to his dog and got in my car.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Tales from a Texas School House...
Every morning I grab my coffee cup, I turn down my air conditioner, and I grab my keys. I run through a mental checklist before I leave: Did I make my bed? Did I grab any papers I need to hand back to my students? Did I pray for patience when I woke up? I head to my school, and I say good morning to those I encounter, and I head to room 129.
I turn on all the lights and I immediately start thinking about everything I want to accomplish that day. Sometimes I focus on the emails I need to get out, the copies I need to run, or the conversations I need to have with fellow teachers before I can start first period.
I lead a little life. I teach high school English, but I choose to believe that I make a difference. I belong to a bible study group made up of fellow teachers of every grade level. Before the school year started, we prayed at every campus in our district, and I managed to just listen to the prayers of those around me... until we got to the high school.
I broke down in tears, because I could not contain the joy and the love that I feel for my job, my colleagues, and my kids. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I know the heart of the matter. The fact is, there are days when I would rather not have to be the decision maker, the confident, or the enforcer. There are days when I just want to crawl inside myself and forget that I have any obligation to anyone but myself. But this year, I feel something so much deeper than what I have felt in the past; I feel a true sense of purpose behind what I do. I know that teaching truly is my calling in life. Yes, I lead a little life, but it is one that I feel truly passionate about, and here's why:
I fight for the kid that won't fight for themselves. I look for the child that doesn't speak in class, that takes everything that is given with no refute or rebuttal, the child that evaporates as soon as the louder, more imposing kids walk into the room... and I fight to make them care. I want them to care about themselves, and my class. Sure I want them to love English, but more than that, I want them to love the safe place that I try so desperately, daily to create for them.
I show up. No, this doesn't make me a hero or a celebrity... except to maybe a group of fifteen year-old kids. It's wearing the jersey on game day that a kid has eagerly laid at my doorstep just for me. It's going to the choir concert that no one else will go to for a child, and being the only person in the audience that stands for that particular kid and claps just for them. It's marching next to a band kid at the parent-appreciation game because their parent works two jobs and can't make it. "I came for you just for you," I tell them, and their eyes are overcome with joy... and they feel loved.
I encourage. I force them if I have to, but at the end of the year, I need for them to know a set of skills when they leave room 129 for good. I need for them to know that Homer wrote The Odyssey, that a dictionary is not just a paperweight, and that reading a book for your own enjoyment doesn't make you nerdy, but quite dignified. I also need for them to see and understand all the things I don't say. I want them to know that there are people that care about them, and that they are allowed to care about each other. There is nothing greater that I can do for them than try and show them that the peace that passes all understanding exists for them both inside my classroom and outside in the world, if they are only willing to seek it out.
I work with amazing people. About a year ago, I had a friend call me after school. I was in a horrible meeting where my colleagues and I were forced to spend our time analyzing data in an old copy room, filled with mold and broken trophies. He could barely hear me above the laughter that my colleagues and I were partaking in. When I called him back later that evening he said, "You have no idea how jealous I am. You work with people you enjoy, and you have a great time no matter where you are or what you are doing." He was right. I work with some of the most uplifting, positive, and intelligent people I've ever met. I have a mentor teacher that I adore. A best friend that I can laugh with. A team that I can lean on.
There are two people in my department that I greatly admire. They have been teaching for a number of years, and they are smarter than I will ever be. On two separate occasions this week they both pulled me aside and told me that I have grown into a wonderful teacher. They told me that to watch my development has been a true joy, and that I am confident and strong in my abilities. I was overcome and I thanked them profusely, although I hardly knew what to say. One of them told me, "Of course! Roses for the living!"
I thought about that. Why not offer roses for the living more often? What good are accolades if we save them for after the person changes jobs, chooses a different path, or moves away?
I try very hard. I mess up. I fall apart. But in the back of my mind, I keep thinking of something Reese Witherspoon said when she was accepting her Oscar. She talked about a series of interviews she had with June Carter Cash before she died. Every time Reese Witherspoon would encounter June, she'd ask her how she was doing that day. June would reply, "Oh, I'm just trying to matter."
I'm just trying to matter. Jesus, isn't everyone?
I turn on all the lights and I immediately start thinking about everything I want to accomplish that day. Sometimes I focus on the emails I need to get out, the copies I need to run, or the conversations I need to have with fellow teachers before I can start first period.
I lead a little life. I teach high school English, but I choose to believe that I make a difference. I belong to a bible study group made up of fellow teachers of every grade level. Before the school year started, we prayed at every campus in our district, and I managed to just listen to the prayers of those around me... until we got to the high school.
I broke down in tears, because I could not contain the joy and the love that I feel for my job, my colleagues, and my kids. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I know the heart of the matter. The fact is, there are days when I would rather not have to be the decision maker, the confident, or the enforcer. There are days when I just want to crawl inside myself and forget that I have any obligation to anyone but myself. But this year, I feel something so much deeper than what I have felt in the past; I feel a true sense of purpose behind what I do. I know that teaching truly is my calling in life. Yes, I lead a little life, but it is one that I feel truly passionate about, and here's why:
I fight for the kid that won't fight for themselves. I look for the child that doesn't speak in class, that takes everything that is given with no refute or rebuttal, the child that evaporates as soon as the louder, more imposing kids walk into the room... and I fight to make them care. I want them to care about themselves, and my class. Sure I want them to love English, but more than that, I want them to love the safe place that I try so desperately, daily to create for them.
I show up. No, this doesn't make me a hero or a celebrity... except to maybe a group of fifteen year-old kids. It's wearing the jersey on game day that a kid has eagerly laid at my doorstep just for me. It's going to the choir concert that no one else will go to for a child, and being the only person in the audience that stands for that particular kid and claps just for them. It's marching next to a band kid at the parent-appreciation game because their parent works two jobs and can't make it. "I came for you just for you," I tell them, and their eyes are overcome with joy... and they feel loved.
I encourage. I force them if I have to, but at the end of the year, I need for them to know a set of skills when they leave room 129 for good. I need for them to know that Homer wrote The Odyssey, that a dictionary is not just a paperweight, and that reading a book for your own enjoyment doesn't make you nerdy, but quite dignified. I also need for them to see and understand all the things I don't say. I want them to know that there are people that care about them, and that they are allowed to care about each other. There is nothing greater that I can do for them than try and show them that the peace that passes all understanding exists for them both inside my classroom and outside in the world, if they are only willing to seek it out.
I work with amazing people. About a year ago, I had a friend call me after school. I was in a horrible meeting where my colleagues and I were forced to spend our time analyzing data in an old copy room, filled with mold and broken trophies. He could barely hear me above the laughter that my colleagues and I were partaking in. When I called him back later that evening he said, "You have no idea how jealous I am. You work with people you enjoy, and you have a great time no matter where you are or what you are doing." He was right. I work with some of the most uplifting, positive, and intelligent people I've ever met. I have a mentor teacher that I adore. A best friend that I can laugh with. A team that I can lean on.
There are two people in my department that I greatly admire. They have been teaching for a number of years, and they are smarter than I will ever be. On two separate occasions this week they both pulled me aside and told me that I have grown into a wonderful teacher. They told me that to watch my development has been a true joy, and that I am confident and strong in my abilities. I was overcome and I thanked them profusely, although I hardly knew what to say. One of them told me, "Of course! Roses for the living!"
I thought about that. Why not offer roses for the living more often? What good are accolades if we save them for after the person changes jobs, chooses a different path, or moves away?
I try very hard. I mess up. I fall apart. But in the back of my mind, I keep thinking of something Reese Witherspoon said when she was accepting her Oscar. She talked about a series of interviews she had with June Carter Cash before she died. Every time Reese Witherspoon would encounter June, she'd ask her how she was doing that day. June would reply, "Oh, I'm just trying to matter."
I'm just trying to matter. Jesus, isn't everyone?
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