Educational Experts

You've heard the phrase: "everyone's a critic." Well, when it comes to education, everyone is an expert.

In my six years teaching, I have attended quite a few professional development conferences--most of them trying to promote some new method of teaching or a new product to be tried in the classroom. Everyone wants to market to the schools and these "experts" have the panacea that will correct all the wrongs of educational mishaps.

In this recent training, professional teachers are looking over the California Frameworks, a document on what to teach at each grade level. As I look at certain reading standards and benchmarks at each grade level, it surprises me--as well as other teachers--that some skills are just not taught enough, and some just slowly fade as the grade levels go by. Teachers were appalled at what we discovered. We've been using this book for nearly a decade, but none of us actually traced a skill from the second grade. Admittedly, I only look at skills I have to teach at tenth and eleventh grade; but now I see what is missing or inconsistent in the previous nine years of education before a student comes to me.

This is a document put together by "educational experts" who want sixth graders to apply abstract interpretation in poetry and discern an author's intent in writing emotionally charged verses. If you don't know what that is, don't worry: I can't even get my sophomores to think abstractly. And these experts think that sixth graders can?

This is a document put together by "educational experts" who want sophomores to write a timed-essay within an hour, yet the skill of handwriting is lost by fourth grade. Hardly anyone teaches the physical act of writing, nor do they encourage the practice of it beyond fourth grade. And these experts wonder why so many students score so poorly on the essay portion of the High School Exit Exam and college placement exams for composition classes, two tests which require students to write an essay on-demand without a computer.

There are flaws in this document, and now I question the California Frameworks.

Yet at this training, we were forced to give positive testimonials to this federal document about why they work for us. That was difficult for me now that I saw the shortcomings of this educational manifesto. Reluctantly, I blurted out some optimistic statement about teaching forward and focusing my lessons for the future (and not looking at the ugly mess in a student's blotchy educational history).

Affirmation statements are so cheesy. It's like they want us to praise conglomerate work that is so poorly put together. I'm done with "experts." I, myself, may not be an expert when it comes to education, but I think I know what works for me and my students. If I don't know it, I will ask a teacher who does, not an expert who's trying to sell a book.

Confessions of a Coward Under a False Sense of Bravery

In the Roman Catholic Church, absolution is gained through the act of confessing sins or problems to a priest. The idea is that if Catholics ever expect to get to heaven, they first must let go of their conflicts and burdens, ask for reconciliation from God, and then promise that they will never ever commit those sins again.

Growing up in Catholic household, I participated in this rite several times. There were two ways in which we could go about wiping our souls clean: facing the priest and honestly revealing ourselves and our transgressions as we sit before him, or remaining anonymous by hiding behind a thin partition of intricate woodwork. In the few times I had confessed my sins or let go of my troubled mind, I chose to remain nameless and concealed myself behind that screen.

Forgive me, World, for it has been seventeen years since my last confession. Since that time, I have strayed from my spiritual roots and chose to confess my sins and express my mind through the Internet.

Hmm… I guess not much has changed.

Oscar Wilde wrote, in The Picture of Dorian Gray, "It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution." When we confess, we really just need to let go of our inner conflicts, whatever they may be. Wilde even assumes that confession does not have the religious connotation as it did in the past, for the priest does not absolve us. In today’s technological world, the Internet is the modern day confessional, and the confession ranges from secret sins to blatant rudeness.

When it comes to confession, there are some people who find strength behind an alias. We have this false sense of courage because we tell truths that we would not openly say to a person's face. We say that we are “being honest,” but does it count when we hide behind the screen? There is no honesty when we still hide something. When we discharge our hateful thoughts, proselytize our radical ideas, and eject offensive words, we do not always filter what escapes from our lips. Why filter the words when we have filtered our identity? We sit behind a computer screen and then justify our behavior by lying to ourselves that we have not broken any rules of social decorum.

Many of us--Catholic or not--have chosen this great technology as the vehicle for testimonials, yet continue to hide behind the computer screen or some false identity. We unleash a horde of confessions--sinful or not--because we look for absolution or affirmation from a network of cyberspace strangers. Just like in the Church, we seek for conformity and acceptance with other Catholics; we certainly don't want to burn in hell while everyone else has cleansed their souls to get to heaven; whereas in society, we seek that comfort when we know that there are others "like us." We divulge our opinions and feelings because we hope someone will listen and accept us for who we are. For some, to be accepted by the world or by anyone is simply heaven. The Internet has become the new Church, where everyone worships only themselves and confesses their indiscretions and animosity towards each other.

I begin to wonder how much I have confessed or shared my life on this blog. I do not seek acceptance or absolution, so what am I confessing? What am I sharing to you? Although I've opened up on some personal matters, I feel anonymously safe because I'm behind the screen. For so many of us who have impersonalized blogs, like mine, ones that have very personal thoughts and stories, we are comforted by the fact that we have not stripped to our bare identity and then asked to step out from behind that technological partition. We would be completely naked without our alter-ego and our computer monitor; in essence: we would be facing the priest. That is a frightening prospect: when the world knows of your sins and can put a face to them, the revelation is the apex of vulnerability.

Whether you are a coward or a hero, confessing openly is sharing everything about yourself—all your goodness and your iniquities—and then trusting someone to care and accept you while you're still vulnerable and exposed.

For many of us out there, that's still hard to do.

Widening My Horizons

I got an email from the Department of Defense last month, asking that I update my application if I still wanted to be on their database. As I clicked on the link, logged into my account, and reviewed the application I wrote in 2001, I thought of the possibilities that could have happened in my life.

I love teaching and traveling. Working for the Department of Defense would have merged these two things--teaching overseas in military bases. I wanted to live in Japan for a couple years and then in Germany, too. I would have lived on base, gained civilian-military status, paid off all my debt while enjoying the luxuries of diverse cultures and societes.

Although my parents and friends say that I'm at that age where I need to settle down and start establishing roots--the genealogical kind--I feel that I need to accomplish as much as I can while my roots have not yet taken root, so to speak.

With that, I updated my application. As I wrote more paragraphs to describe my skills, clicked on all the qualifications that applied, and revised my references from college professors to colleagues and supervisor bigwigs, it made me realize just how much I have grown and developed professionally in my career. I may not have established genealogical roots, but my professional roots seem to be firmly planted. Do I really want to leave all that to start over in another country and in another educational environment?

It was a question I pondered for five minutes, and my final act was clicking on the "SUBMIT" button... for the 2009-2010 school year, the school year after next. I can't leave this place just yet. There is still some major ass-kicking to do at the district.

I'm going to play this by ear. I don't count on being hired; after all, my first application was back in 2001 and they interviewed me three years later. Although I would love to have a job with the Department of Defense, I wouldn't be disappointed if they overlook my application again. But if I am hired this time around, I'm ready for a change.

State of My Affairs

While doing my taxes, I always complain how much money the government takes from my paycheck, and sometimes I still end up paying more on April 15. I don't understand how a teacher--who still spends $1000+ on yearly school supplies (books mostly)--still has to pay. I mean, I practically donate my money back into the classroom, and all I get a $250 deductible. It's true that I don't have any kids of my own to spoil, so my money goes back into my work where I use it for the students anyway. Tax time makes me realize the futility of my job and that it really is a thankless career to the government and to the politicians.


Then I realized this ugly thing about taxes--which has nothing to do with my job. As my brother-in-law breathes a sigh of relief at how easy his taxes are, especially since he's married, I begin to realize that married people have it easy with their finances... and how Christian values have influenced the machinery of economics and government. Married couples--people who have dual income--get less money taken from them, but a single person like myself is squeezed dry like a broken piggy bank. I think that's our government's way of promoting nuclear family values: "Get married, procreate, and we take less money from you because you are ensuring the security of American morality." But if you're single, the government will punish you: "We'll take more money because you are living the hedonistic life and promoting immorality and breaking down family values."

I'm not poor, but when my money is taken from me, I really feel cheated and unappreciated. Not to mention that I feel like that half the year already from the shit I have to deal with from school district bureaucracy. I'm a teacher and unappreciated. I'm single and I'm scolded financially. I live in California, the most progressively backward state in the Union.

Life Is Like an Essay

Life is like the five paragraph essay that I teach in class. I tell my students that their audience will always remember the introduction and the conclusion, so they need to start off strongly and end their essay just as powerfully. And like life, you will be remembered most by how you came into this world and how you leave it.

The introduction is birth: people will remember how you hooked them with your cuteness, your baby feet, and your little fingers. Everyone will start to make plans and dream big things for you. Their goal and their hope is that your life will be free of troubles and imperfections. You didn't define how or what your life would be like. Instead, other people have defined it for you.

The three body paragraphs are benchmarks of life: childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. They are the parts of your life that you struggle with--the construction of your foundation and beliefs, the development of your identity, the improvement and expansion of your independence. Nothing will be perfect as you try to organize these parts of your life. As you rewrite your paragraphs, you keep asking yourself about your goals. Are you struggling to support your own thesis or someone else's? Whatever you decide, this section is where most of the revision takes place. You're never sure if you got it down or not.

Then there is the conclusion. Everyone fumbles over the conclusion. Do we summarize everything we already mentioned in the essay? Do we repeat our main points? How do we close and end gracefully and thoughtfully? What do we want our audience to remember most? What do we want our loved ones to remember of us? The conclusion is accidental, like most of life itself. Sometimes we can end that essay with grace and wit, and everyone will remember the perfection of it that they will forget the errors of your life and forgive you for your faults. But death is unexpected, so that concluding paragraph does not always come out as you had planned. The conclusion's short and abrupt ending does not give the audience the closure that they seek, so it leaves them confused and puzzled.

As they search for answers, they will reread the conclusion and maybe the entire essay all over again, combing over the stages of your life and criticizing your imperfections. They will ask themselves, "What was the thesis in the first place?" and then reread the introduction. They will realize that you never really had one... not your own, anyway.

A conclusion that doesn't give closure, body paragraphs that are not organized, and an introduction that never defines who you are make a weak essay. And that's all you will be remembered for. The conclusion can be that exclamation point that gets everyone to applaud and leave the auditorium with echoes of your accolades, or it can be the ellipsis that confuses everyone to silently boo you off the stage with their disappointment.

No matter how hard you tried or worked on your essay, that conclusion will be the defining paragraph that sings your praises or negates your life.

Guilt and Death

A student of mine passed away this weekend. I hate emotional moments like this, when I'm taken by surprise. Of course, that's what happens when Death pays a visit. He is an uninvited guest that people hope would leave.

I took a moment away from the students in the morning, but I couldn't stay away from the class that knew her. The grief counselors came in, but none of the kids wanted to talk to them. Although the counselors suggested that I take the afternoon off, part of me just felt it wasn't right to leave the students alone with strangers either. After the counselors left, the students opened up a little; apparently, they didn't want to talk to them. The students wanted to talk amongst themselves. They wanted to remember their friend with laughter and funny stories, not with cries and tears, like the counselors expected them to. They even got me to talk about it. It helped a little to talk about it in a happy way rather than with sadness.

I did leave school early, but I didn't want to go home right away either. When it comes to grief, I'd rather just bury myself in work so I won't think about it. I felt guilty for some reason, like I didn't have the right to go about my normal day. I went to the bank and did some laundry when I got home, but the whole time, I kept thinking of my student.

Some people will say that burying yourself in work or denying that death happened is not how to handle grief, but who cares? Doesn't everyone handle their grief in their own way? I dislike it most when people try to analyze it and try to rationalize what I feel. When I want to remember my student in my own way, and someone tells me that there are five stages of grief, do I really care what stage I'm in? I do know that I'll get through this, and so will my kids... I guess I just really hate grieving in public.

I feel selfish now. I can't stay home tomorrow because I need my work to give me a sense of normalcy and routine; yet at the same time, I don't want to be around people. I feel guilty if stay home, and I feel guilty if I'm not there for my kids either.

The Ice Cream Girl

When I was ten, my father came home from military deployment from South Korea and returned with a strange book called “The Melting of the Ice Cream Girl,” which is a how-to novel for novice teenagers dating in high school. This funny how-to manual had a story woven between its technical pages about a boy who had a crush on a girl at his school, but she barely noticed him. She wasn’t a snob at all, but she just had a crush on another boy who didn’t give her the time of day either. She and Boy #1 were in a class together, so they actually became friends, much to Boy #1’s happiness. Throughout the novel, Boy #1 laments as the girl of his dreams longs for popular Boy #2. The girl suddenly realizes that Boy #2 wasn’t worth her time, and then Boy #1 slowly makes his move. He sends her a secret message “IHATCOY” which puzzled her; and he then revealed at the end of the novel that IHATCOY meant “I have a tremendous crush on you.”

That novel seemed to set the standard for my romantic ideal notions of relationships. Girls want the “happily ever after,” but the real work of relationship is after the so-called happy ending. The question is: do we want that post-storybook happy ending?

“The Melting of the Ice Cream Girl” ended when Boy #1 got the girl of his dreams, but there was never a sequel about their lives after. Romance novels are the same way. We all have this notion that love will always be a happy journey of two people who are meant to be together, but as I got older, that notion is blown out of the water.

I hung out with friends about two weeks ago, and we openly discussed our lives—career, latest events… and dating. Sometimes I hate the topic of dating. Talking about dating opens up other topics connected to that, like relationships, ex-significant others, and sex. I don’t have much experience when it comes to any of those, so I still cringe or gasp when friends describe the latest practices of the dating scene: hooking up, breaking up, jerks who play around, ditzy girls who sleep around, dishonesty, hidden truths, and other things that just turn me off.

When friends asked me if I had dated anyone since my last boyfriend, I said no and that I was “done with dating.” Immediately, my three friends cried out, “NO!” Their tone was strange: it wasn’t a “NO!” of incredulity and disbelief, but a “NO!” that meant “some guy will be so deprived if you pull out of the dating pool now!” It was really complimentary how they adamantly tried to give me hope that there is someone out there, but as I've said before: I don’t care anymore.

When I think about the previous relationships I’ve been in and what the dating scene looks like now, I realize that I’m too old-fashioned to try dating the modern way. I’m not ready to settle down, but at my age, I’m not a spontaneous mid-20’s spring chicken either, which means I can be quite boring. There are times when I have that “been there-done that” attitude, but I think that kind of mentality comes with age. I’m not into clubbing, drinking at bars, or wild parties—never have been—yet people suggest that I should find a man in those places. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll find a man who has anything in common with me when he’d rather party and I’d rather stay home to watch a foreign film or cozy up to Earl Grey tea and a good book.

Yet the pressure of finding a mate always looms before me. People constantly ask me why a BITCH (Beautiful Intelligent Talented Caring Helpful) woman like me is still single. I’m pitied because I have a career I love but no Mr. Right, as if my life is incomplete; but I’d still be pitied even if I had a Mr. Right without a meaningful raison d’etre; after all: a modern woman needs something other than her man. Why is life’s success measured by relationships? I could have everything I want, except the trouble of a relationship, but I’m considered a failure just because I’m still single. I know I can’t compare myself to anyone of the cleric, but no one criticizes them for choosing the single life. It’s not a waste when a man or woman of the cloth decides to dedicate his or her life to helping others, but when the common layman decides to do the same, it’s a horse of a different color.

Do I think about spending my life with someone forever and forever? No, not anymore—not when everything I learn about men ruins any idealistic or realistic notion I had. Do I even think that I’ll ever meet the man of my dreams? I don’t wonder anymore; like I’ve said before: I’m resigned. If the man of my dreams enters my life when I’m 50, so be it. Until then, I’m not actively going to search in a club or bar, nor am I going to put myself out there in the booby-trapped jungle of modern dating. If you think I’m just a bitter single feminist, I’m not. I’m a single and very happy semi-feminist. I’m very content with my independence and everything else that I currently have that fulfills me. I always tell my students that my life is ice cream: I’ve already got peanut sprinkles and chocolate syrup. Men are just the cherry on top. Some cherries are just too tart, too soft, rotten, or not ripened enough. At this point in my life, cherries are optional. The ice cream is still good without them.

To Protest or Not to Protest?

A co-worker once said, "shit floats to the top," to describe how some people are just not fit for management duties. When my students often lament that presidents or leaders are inept, in their target's defense, I often say that leaders do their best within the parameters of their job. People can promise many things, but when certain rules or limitations are difficult to overcome in order to achieve a goal, leaders will look inept because nothing has been tangibly accomplished for all to see.

I'm beginning to feel that way. As a department chair, my priority now has been to revise curriculum and defend my colleagues in the professional decisions we all make. We have many ideas and goals, and I had hoped we would accomplish them while I was department chair. But it's difficult to achieve anything when management conflicts with the ideas we want to try. In real life, I begin to see that there are situations that really demonstrate how some things are easier said than done. I feel like I hit a dead end no matter what I do.

When I took on this position, I just wanted to implement ideas and procedures that I felt would benefit my colleagues and benefit the students. While everyone in my department has been supportive of the decisions I make, there is also a division amongst us: those who want to make change, and those who just want to stay in their classrooms while change happens around them. I guess I'm a radical when it comes to my beliefs, and in the past two weeks, I've opened up my big mouth too much that my department is getting a spotlight of unwanted attention from district management. And as I step up to the plate to defend myself and my colleagues, I'm also getting a full frontal of an ugly beast called "political micromanaging." I hate being told what to do, but when I'm being told to do something just because some inept leader said, "I said so," it is even more aggravating and frustrating; they want me on a leash. I don't like being the mediator for their dirty work.

In the midst of all this, I'm teaching students of American literature--a body of work which is full of patriotism and protest and ideals of nonconformity that shaped America. I'm inspired by this and in my own small way, I want to protest against the district of how teaching to a test isn't really teaching, nor are students really learning. As I read all this protest literature, I also have to think about how much am I willing to suffer for the sake of what I beleive in. Am I ready to be hated? Am I ready to get sent to the office for constant reprimand? Am I ready for embarassment and vilification as my name gets touted as the rebel English teacher from that school? Most importantly, as a leader at my school, am I ready to bear that burden if my department falls down with me, whether they supported me or not?

Upper management is an obstacle that I have to overcome, and at this point, I'm feeling the limitations slowly surround and restrict me. That being said, I find it difficult to do my job--whether it's teaching students or defending colleagues or revising curriculum--when shit floats to the top.

Sad Revitalization

I find it disappointing and almost pitiful that most musicians and actors I admired or liked in the '80s are now fodder for the reality shows that plague television. What is the point: our nostalgia for our past, or our eagerness to see our idols fall?

This Is a Test

Six years ago I wrote about how my car guages the perfection of my life, and each time I think too highly of how my life is perfect, I get into a car accident.

As of 7:45pm this evening, I became a victim of a hit-and-run accident. My emotions are running a bit high, from anger to relief. I'm angry because the other [teenaged] driver said he would help me out, and then he got into his car and drove off. I hope karma bites him in the ass. My car withstood the impact; I hope he and his passengers get whiplash, or his car will break down, or he'll get into another accident (because he drove away pretty fast).

But now I am left to ask myself: is my life perfect that God or fate had to send me another accident to remind me of how life is not always perfect? I'm not upset that my car is damaged; maybe that says that I'm not upset too much about the impact of this accident on my life. I'm relieved I'm not hurt. My car is still taking beatings for me. I'm content. Life is okay.

I still hope that teenager gets some karma back at him though.

Five Year Reflection

When I first started teaching, I never believed that I would have lasted this long. I wanted to give up because I truly thought teaching was too hard. Five years later, I'm still here. I can honestly look back at my first year of teaching and laugh at it; I can laugh at my immaturity and my neophytic perspective that almost made me want to kill myself.

As a first year teacher, I would get all kinds of advice and inspirational aphorisms from veteran teachers who wanted to keep me in the field and keep me motivated. All the while, I used to silently think, "You have no fucking clue what I'm going through." It was colossal adjustment--trying to teach something when I did not know what I was teaching, grading work when I did not understand my own philosophy about measuring intellect, accepting the fact that my weekends would never be truly mine, disciplining kids when I never had my own, and feeling guilty when I needed a moment for myself. In a span of three weeks, I was emotionally drained and mentally pushed to the limits, stretched thin in between that I lost my balance and made a decision to leave the teaching field. I'm glad I did not leave. I'm glad that I discovered my own strength in determination and pride: my pride never would have let me accept that I failed at something I have always wanted and loved; my determination kept me afloat in, what appeared at the time, Sisyphean waters. If I hadn't known these two things existed within me, I never would have stayed in this profession.

During these five years, I've learned so much more and discovered new things about myself. I may not have as many epiphanous moments, but I have rejuvenating episodes with my students, and every year, I know that I am growing professionally, mentally, and even spiritually. I'm at a point where I no longer wish to know my future and have the wisdom of old age. As I grow comfortable with my life, I've learned to be patient and embrace each day: the future will always be there waiting for me, but the acquisition of wisdom and experience is what makes life worth living slowly.

Watching From the Mountaintop

Sometimes I think I stand on the verge of a cliff, just watching the slow decline of humanity and the fall of civilization.

Or am I the only teacher that feels this way?

Affirmation

As the semester ends, procrastinating students have been coming to me after school to ask for help on essays--college essays, final essays, writing tutorials, letters of recommendations, etc. I was feeling burnt out as students asked me to read their essays one more time.

Yesterday, while reading an essay, two students conversed about the difficulty of writing. They kept saying that my class was challenging and tiresome because I made them write too much. In a strange complementary way, they said that taking my class was like a "slap in the face" because they didn't learn much about writing essays in their previous English classes. My class was a "harsh reality," and that my Nazi-English teacher reputation was almost accurate--the fact that I'm not a Nazi makes the moniker partially true.

And here I thought I was losing my edge.

Pushed to the Limit

There's a saying that goes, "The reward for hard work is more work. "

Two years ago, I was left alone in my classroom so I could actually focus on teaching, planning, and grading. I connected so much with my students that they still come to me as seniors when they need help on essays. I can write a recommendation letter for them because I feel that I have known them solidly for two years. When I see those seniors, I feel proud that I did a good job. I get so many compliments from other teachers about how Class of '08 has a bunch of talented writers. They are living proof of my success and hard work.

That was two years ago. Hard work led up to leadership duties. I don't feel as successful teaching this year. I know this curriculum like the back of my hand; I've taught it for four years. Because I have so much on my plate this year, my focus has shifted to multi-tasking for various committees, clubs, and teaching. Some of the seniors noticed that I'm losing my "edge," and that I'm gone all the time. The juniors hate it when I have to go to a conference and leave them with a substitute. My current sophomores totally lack in writing skills--and I feel to blame for that because I'm not there to focus on teaching them.

I'm not feeling burnt out, but it's bothering me that I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed anymore either.

When Class of '09 graduates, I wonder if they'll prove to be another success story or a mediocre one.

Resigned

I realized that as I get older, I get more set in my ways. This becomes an obstacle when it comes to relationships and dating.

As I observe young couples, from teenagers to college students, they have an advantage that older couples don't have: flexibility and growth. As these young people grow, they mold and develop their ideas and emotions around people and experiences. In a relationship, there is so much discovery about oneself and about one's partner. They learn to compromise and grow together if they want to stay together.

But as people get older and develop their own ideas and self-worth, it becomes difficult to compromise who you are when someone new comes into your life. This is probably why I am still single. It's becoming difficult to find someone who has anything in common with me. I cannot make someone change, and he cannot make me change. The only thing left is to argue about who is right and who should bend to the other's will.

It never bothered me that I was single for a long time, but it did bother me that it left me to wonder if anyone out there was right for me. I think I am resigned to be single for the rest of my life, and I'm going to stop wondering about Mr. Right. At my age, they are either married or too set in their own ways that we would never work out anyway.

C'est la vie.

Best Day

I have been a fan of his since 1998, and I never saw him perform until he came to Long Beach on June 29, 2007. Oh, baby! I was so happy to see him in concert--finally!

Men

Relationships suck, especially with men who think they know you.

Graduation

Graduation has passed and school has finally ended. As a teacher, it's always my proud moment to see a student march and cross that stage for the graduation ceremony. Although there are some students who do not deserve to graduate, due to their own lack of work ethic, it's more heartbreaking when a student doesn't march because of adult responsibility. A student informed me that he will not participate in next year's graduation ceremony because he has enlisted in the marines.

I have great respect for our military, but this one hits me hard: depriving me of a moment I always look forward to. I only hope this changes sometime in the next year and that my student will still get to march in the 2008 procession.

Rekindle

An old internet friend found me after a six-year absence. It was odd to see an email from him. Through the power of Google, he searched my name and it was linked to the website of the school where I am employed.

I used to depend on the high population of the internet community to remain anonymous, but search engines are suddenly making that impossible. Not that I was trying to avoid him, but it was such a surprise to hear from him. It's an unexpected reunion, and it's such an odd thing that could ever happen in my life: a guy made an active search for me just to tell me that he misses talking to me.

TA

Sometimes I learn the most sensible things about life from my teacher's assistant.

A year ago, he came into my classroom after school, needing to talk to someone about his girlfriend and the complications and hassles of a relationship. Before I started to silently scoff about "teenage relationships" and drama, I listened to him and tried to understand his problems. His frustrations and opinions made me reflect about my relationship with an ex-boyfriend and the similarities of my relationship and the TA's relationship--regardless of differences in experience and age. My student did not ask for advice; he just needed to vent. But if he was seeking counsel from me, I would have to think carefully before saying anything, for I faced my own hypocrisy at that moment. In retrospect, I finally realized that letting the ex-boyfriend go was necessary, like conquering an inner demon. I have no regrets now. I learned something about relationships from my TA.

Another incident arose again. He came into my class to vent about another teacher who is screwing him over about assignments, and he's a bit stressed about his grade. We talked again for about an hour and the end of our conversation was about hobbies. He said he needed a new hobby in order to de-stress, and as he slowly observed my desk with a sarcastic eye, he flat out told me I needed to get a hobby, too.

I thought about all the hobbies I used to have: mountain-biking, reading fun books, writing fantasy stories, playing the cello... He's right: I need to get into a hobby again, maybe even a new one, like archery, knife-throwing, or shooting. I eat, breathe, sleep, and live my work, and he makes it known to me all the time. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if I had something else to occupy and cultivate my mind besides the decaying quality of my students' essays. *sigh*

My TA certainly lives up to his job description.

The End of Teaching

In the wake of the Virginia Tech massacre, apathy and inhumanity swept across our campus. I hate to generalize, but why do the few bad apples at our school ruin it for everyone else? In the past week, we've had fire alarm pulled, an object thrown at a teacher, and a lockdown because of a possible weapon-threat. When I asked my students why they don't care about taking care of their school, one student replied that it wasn't their job.

It was the most heartless and apathetic thing I have heard in my life. If there is one thing that will drive me from teaching, it's the inhumanity and immorality of the students. I feel like I bash my head against the wall trying to open their eyes about ethics, responsibility, values, and morality. I'm trying to teach them life skills about what it means to be part of a community and a larger society, but they could care less. That attitude affects me. One day, I'm going to be as numb and cold-hearted as they are, and I'll leave teaching before my work is done.

I'm still holding on for now.

Grief

When I returned to school this past Monday from Spring Break, I was excited to talk about my trip to Japan with my students. Instead, our entire school was stunned when we learned the news of a teacher's untimely death. When I read the email, I held it in and did not bother to tell my students. Part of me did not know how to process the news and my own emotions. Eventually, I broke down during second period where my entire class saw me cry openly. I was no longer in the mood to teach.

Today, there was a short memorial service at the school. So many teachers and students were out to share grief and release white balloons into the sky. Everyone was crying.

How do you continue on with the school day after such a somber and heart-wrenching event? I tried to go on with lessons, but I broke down again, this time in my fifth period class.

I hate losing control of my emotions, especially in front of my students. I don't like showing my vulnerability, I don't like revealing private thoughts and pains, especially. Not to mention that it makes everyone uncomfortable when they don't know how to comfort you or each other. What is a teacher to do when they are still expected to maintain some semblance of normality and console others' agony when they can barely ease their own?

Surreal

I broke up my first fight today: two girls pulling their hair in a deadlock embrace. When I first saw it, I asked with disbelief to a bystanding student: "Is this a fight?" The student nodded, and then I stepped in to break it up. It was awkward because I never want to grab students like I did, pushing them, and even looking dumbfounded because no one was there to help me.

I was lucky that it was a girl fight. I don't think I could step in the middle of a boys' fight while they throw punches.

The Power of Words

Words have power. Power does not always mean a good thing.

Today, in class, I had an argument with several students about the connotation of words, "gay" and "bitch." First of all, I know that words like that are not even appropriate for the classroom, but no matter how much I try, students stick to the words they know. Forget vocabulary lessons; they don't ever stick.

Anyway, the students and I got into it about the offensive connotation of those words. They defined "gay" as "stupid." That's the definition they know, and they think that's the definition that is right and acceptable now. Forget the dictionary meaning, the historical development of its slang meaning, the connotations and its offensiveness! The word "gay" is inappropriately misused constantly, and I'm sick of it, as with "bitch" and "fuck" and any other noun that's used as an adjective.

I got nit-picky about it, and they got nit-picky about how English is an evolving language. I agreed with that, but the purpose of an English class is to distinguish slang English and standardized English. To teenagers, it's all the same.

I expect too much from the immature teenage mind.

"300"

I saw a sneak preview of "300" this evening. I loved it! I have never seen gore, blood, and violence so beautifully done. I'm not into the whole CG thing, but this film was quite an aesthetic experience.

In comparison with the graphic novel, and the movie does take quite a few liberties with character development, especially with the queen. But it's not the characters that glared so much differently as much as the context. When I read the graphic novel, the whole reason for the war was to protect Sparta from an invasion. While watching the film, I couldn't help but notice that the theme of fighting for liberty was so prominent; it was like war propaganda for Bush. The original comic was published in 1998--well before 9/11 and the Coalition. But to see the story in this time's context, it has a whole different meaning.

But that's the English teacher in me critiquing and analyzing things. The comic geek in me is just so pleased that 98% of the film did not stray from the original comic, and of course, beautiful gore.

It's been a while since I posted a stupid kid story.

This one is a stupid story and an offensive one.

His name is the Mumbler, because he mumbles in class. He mumbles ad-libs when I teach, and when I ask him to repeat it, he says, "Nothing," like a coward. Like a whining child, he has to have the last word in every remark made in class. When I'm teaching, he has to add something, even if it has barely anything to do with the topic. When another student contributes to the discussion, Mumbler has to add a comment.

To put it simply: he is fucking annoying.

Today was the cherry on top. We were discussing Julius Caesar and his physical flaws, one being that he had epilepsy. The students and I discussed epilepsy before because Simon of Lord of the Flies was also an epileptic. Mumbler declared that he wanted to have epilepsy.

What the fuck?

I told him that I did not find his comment funny and that he should count himself blessed because he was healthy. I went off on him after class and how I found his comment offensive; it was an insult to any person who suffered from a dibilitating disease or illness. He did not understand why I was offended until I told him my grandmother suffered from epilepsy. Then he suddenly had the "Oh, shit! I offended the teacher" look on his face. When I asked him why he made that comment, he said because sick people "have an easy life."

I had to stop myself from going on a morality rant, so I told him he was a weakling coward who can't handle life and that asking for a disease was a cop-out. What a shithead.

Am I cruel to wish something bad happen to him so he'll know how easy his life will be when he's a quadraplegic or becomes mentally incapacitated after a car accident or even gets diabetes?

Hell Can Freeze Over

In sunny southern California, known for beaches and the everlasting sun shining upon us, it can be hellish when summer hovers for three (sometimes five) months. This winter has proven that it can be quite cold down here as well.

It snowed up in the mountains this weekend, which is not a rare occurence. The rarity of the weather is that the Santa Ana winds are chillier and more brisk than usual. It freezes the dew on my windshield and it creates frost on the grass. This morning, it created icy patches along the street. Twice, I thought I almost lost control of my car. Damn scary.

New Toy

Rejuvenated

A three-week holiday is just what I needed. I've never felt so productive. I've read three novels, and most importantly, I've been writing again. My brain is on fire and my finger has a callous. I don't want to go back to work.

Non-Stop

I've been grading a stack of papers non-stop since November 24th. I'm finally done, and I have a one day reprieve before I spear-head the schoolwide writing project this Saturday--2700 essays to grade.

My mental energy is hitting the red zone.

My Inner Geek Should Stay in the Closet

Your results:
You are Jean-Luc Picard

Jean-Luc Picard 70% Geordi LaForge 65% Will Riker 60% An Expendable Character (Redshirt) 60% Mr. Scott 45% Leonard McCoy (Bones) 40% Worf 40% Data 39% Spock 37% James T. Kirk (Captain) 35% Deanna Troi 35% Chekov 30% Beverly Crusher 25% Uhura 20% Mr. Sulu 5%

A lover of Shakespeare and other fine literature. You have a decisive mind and a firm hand in dealing with others.

Click here to take the "Which Star Trek character are you?" quiz...

Tiny Surprises

In my last entry, I felt a little peeved because no matter what I did as a teacher, I thought it was all useless.

Several things happened this week that made me begin to believe again that teaching is always about the students. I could be as disgruntled as high as the heavens, but if I remember my job is about the kids, I should remain sane.

The events that happened were like a pat on the back--I must be doing something good. Things like this are rare. It's not everyday a student comes up to me to say thank you--or to any teacher at all. It shows in other ways.

Two students came up to me to ask me to write their recommendations for jobs and colleges. I used to think that writing recommendations is more work, but later came to realize that these students have trust in me. Trust is important between a teacher and student. If a student respects, likes, and trusts a teacher, then they do more for a teacher. These two students--both students from the past years I've been teaching--trust and like me. Writing those recommendations are so much easier than writing a recommendation by a student who just needs one. Trust is a compliment for my personality. I did something right by gaining their trust.

There are several students who I taught in the past and am teaching now who are acting in the school play of "Antigone." I love this play, and to see so many of my students playing in it inspires me. They all later tell me that they, too, liked the play when I taught it to them. They especially remember the crazy PowerPoint I made which I used to lecture about the Oedipus Myth. Everyone hates English, and if they don't hate it, they just don't like reading anything. To hear my students say that they remember "Antigone" or that their favorite book is Lord of the Flies is a compliment to my teaching. I did something right by engaging them and helping them to bring characters to life.

Recently a student wrote an essay in which he explained important events in his life. He wrote about meeting me and how I am one of the few teachers who pushed him to do any work. Just to read that one-third of his essay was about me, my energetic way of teaching, the tough-love approach I have when I tell my students to work, and probably the only teacher who ever believed in him when most teachers were put off my his "gangster" mentality and machismo attitude towards girls and women--all that he wrote about me made me laugh and inspired me. He writes about how I changed his life. He ranks me up there with his grandmother who passed away. Out of all the compliments I received in my life, his touched me the most. I cried when I read his essay. It was a compliment simply to me and everything that I stood for as a teacher.

June 2007 will be a difficult month. I'm going to see the sophomores I taught two years ago graduate as seniors. Most of them still come up to say hello and talk to me. It's nice to know that they haven't forgotten me just because they had me two years ago. It's nice to know that--no matter what I did--I did something right.

Disgruntled

I'm in my fourth year of teaching, and someone once told me that teachers burn out at their fifth year. I didn't believe him, and I said I can't burn out doing something I love.

As a department chairperson, I believe I'm hitting that burnout period now. I'm seeing and learning new things as a department leader. It's like a "behind the scenes" look--not even a look, but more like a peek--of administration. I'm not impressed with what I see at administration or at the district level. There is so much mismanagement and inefficiency that I begin to believe that what I do is futile. No matter how much I want to fight for what is right for students and for teachers, I'm also understanding what is going on at the management level that makes my job that much harder. I feel like I am not supported when I make a decision.

The students are dysfunctional. How can I teach when they lack the basic social skills that is needed to function in society? Manners are the fabric that keep social order, but the students I have in the morning are disrespectful, arrogant, uncaring--the complete physical embodiment of hedonism. They disregard the environment they are in and the people who interact with them. Why does bribery have to be the impetus to get them to do anything? Why do I even have to consider it when I tell students they have to take a test? Whatever happened to doing things just because you have to?

Yet with all these problems that teachers face in the schools everyday, people--even parents-- think that schools will cure society's ills. Society gives us their problems--drug dealers, gangsters, illiterate immigrants, homeless students, runaways, apathetic troublemakers, potential whores, truant hoodlums, and even criminals--and expects them to be socialized into productive members. They want a miracle. Many teachers, myself included, are tired of fixing other people's problems.

People up in their ivory tower are forgetting what schools are about: they are a place of education, not a rehabilitation center. Although we can work at making schools safe, it's no longer a learning environment when we are asked to feed all the poor students, or to counsel pregnant teens, or to study data of why our students are not passing statewide tests. They ask teachers to reflect on their practice and ask ourselves what will make our kids succeed? That's a backhanded way of saying teachers are the problems.

That whole "it takes a village to raise a child" is complete nonsense. Society doesn't want to help raise the child; they dumped the child into our schools and hope that the teachers will raise them--and pass tests. They give us rotten tomatoes and then ask for lemonade.

Sometimes I forget my actual job description.

Reliving My Fanaticism

Early Christmas present to myself.

I bought three DVDs.

Hey, if I'm going to spoil myself, I'm going all out.

Starbucks and tobacco companies

Starbucks has 50% more caffeine than a regular cup of coffee found at restaurants; so just like the tobacco companies, Starbucks will be a company that will be tough to get rid of.

I'm not against Starbucks, but I just had a thought: caffeine is addictive. With the high dosage of caffeine in its coffees, Starbucks is insuring its longevity by creating addicts... just like the tobacco companies.

It's just a thought.

Get Over It and Move On!

When the Tick leeches on, it can't accept change.

There's an important meeting taking place tomorrow, and the Tick is rallying up a battle cry. Everything the Tick does is for the memory of a beloved leader. It reveres this person like African-Americans admire Martin Luther King, Jr. and how Irish people still hang up portraits of John F. Kennedy.

The leader is gone. The leader has a new life. Stop dwelling on the past, Tick, and move on.

The new sheriff in town is a leader for this year, and he has some pretty big shoes to fill, but who says he's not trying?

Parental Pressure

I met a parent today who also happens to work at the school. The parent's kid is in my class. The student is good--in behavior and academics--but it's still difficult to say if he's innately good or pressured into being good.

I get the feeling that he's pressured into being good. Given his parent's approach to asking about his grades, how I teach, my grading standards, I feel that the parent is trying to pressure me into giving the student an A. "He's an A student. If he's getting B's and C's, then we've got some problems," the parent said.

I don't know what the parent meant by the use of "we." We, as in the parent and me are going to butt heads and have issues; or we, as in the parent and child are going to have a long conversation at home?

If I was a first year teacher, I would totally succumb to that pressure. Now that I'm seasoned, I feel much more confident in standing by and defending my grading policies. A's are earned, not given.

If the parent's got issues, well, the buck stops here. I'm also department chair.

Typical Hollywood

When my comic-reading friends would gripe and groan about Hollywood making film versions of beloved graphic novels, I never really understood their "pain," so to speak. My friends would get into long discussions about the politics of comic writers and how their visions become misunderstood when Hollywood is at the helm.

I now share that pain.

My graphic novel: Priest.

A movie is in the works, expected to hit theaters in 2008.

It's a long way off, but I already read a plot summary, courtesy of Internet Movie Database: "A priest disobeys church law to track down the vampires who kidnapped his niece. " First of all, Ivan Isaacs, the title character, was adopted when he was a child. He has no niece.

I shudder to think about this movie. Just the plotline already tells me that I will not be satisfied. There are no vampires in the graphic novel. The comic is about a renegade priest who is possessed and bent on revenge. The story is chockful of Biblical references, good versus evil, fallen angels, heaven and hell, God, forbidden love; not to mention it's total blasphemy to all Christians.

In 2008, I don't want to see a remake of John Carpenter's "Vampires", nor do I want to see a movie that is full of CGI, regardless of how well it will be done. I want a movie that has the same elements of the graphic novel.

I want religious blasphemy, horror, and unattainable tortured love. I want the priest who sins, and a devil who dares to do good. I want beautiful angels who commit murder and savages who salvage humanity.

And not that looks matter, but I want someone else to be Ivan Isaacs. As much as I like Gerard Butler, I think he's too mature and too hunky to play a man of the cloth. Ivan was a young man who became a fighter against his will. He wouldn't have had time to work out and be hunky.

Damn you, Hollywood!

Summer Vacation 2007

Summer 2006 is not even officially over yet, and already I got an email and a call regarding my next summer assignment for another international trip.

Spain, Italy, Southern France, and Monaco--here I come in 2007!

Fresh Start

School starts up again next Wednesday. There are plenty of changes this coming year:

1) I'm teaching freshmen (and no one got me a whip)
2) I moved to a new classroom that is closer to the administration's office (*shudder*)
3) lots of new English teachers have been hired (fresh blood!)
4) I'm one of the new co-department chairpersons (and no one got me a whip)

It's going to be a GREAT year.

New Zealand: Day One--Rotorua

We visited a small town where Lord of the Rings was filmed, but we didn't take a tour of the farm that it was film on. We just passed through the town.

We visited a Wai-o-Tapu, which is a large volcanic plateau of craters and mudbaths. This is called the Devil's Bath, and it changes colors from green to yellow, depending on the season.

G'Day, Mate!

I had no plans for summer until opportunity came knocking--actually, it fell in my lap! I'm going on an international trip where kangaroos, vegamite, and kiwis are to be had; where boomarangs are used for hunting, and taking coral from the Great Barrier Reef is illegal.

How did this come about, you may ask? I applied for a position in the People to People program for next year's delegation, and that's how I got my name in a pool. Let's just say that teachers this year backed out due to personal commitments, and therefore, the program was short on two chaperones. I got called to fill in a spot.

I think of it as more of a business trip rather than a pleasure trip because, technically, I will be working. I will be monitoring and chaperoning high school teenagers who are student ambassadors for the program. Not only am I there to ensure their safety, but also to ensure that they do not do anything shameless that could embarrass and damage relationships between the United States and Australia and New Zealand--oh yeah!--and instruct them on cultural sensitivity. Not that teenagers could do anything irreparable on an international level (*august thinks of Michael Fay's caning in Singapore for graffiti.*)

No pressure...

I leave next Sunday, and I will be gone for three weeks, just in time to still catch the Comic Con.

It's Over!

School ended today. Grades are done.

Free at last.

"Wonderfalls" DVD Set

I saw one episode of this quirky show back in 2004 and I was hooked. Unfortunately, it was cancelled after the fourth episode. I bought the DVD set a month ago, and finally had time to watch all of it. I love it!

Next DVD set to watch: AEon Flux (the animated episodes)

A Sad Commentary About Men and Me

I went to a wedding this weekend, and all I did was dance with a couple of gay guys and got hit on by the father-in-law of the bride.

Am I lucky or what?

*rolls eyes*

I Hate Him, Too

I share my classroom with a teacher who has no classroom management skills whatsoever. I can see it by the way the students ignore him, and when he sometimes ignores them. From what other teachers have said, he tries hard to be cool with the students. He lets his kids get away with too much shit.

And my classroom is constantly a mess when I get there after sixth period. There's gum on the white board or in the tracks of the white board; trash on the floor, books left over, candy wrappers and lollipop sticks stuck to the carpet, minor graffiti on the desks... That's just the small stuff. Last Friday was over the top--graffiti on my posters, stolen pins from the walls, so my posters were crooked, a ghetto drawing of Mexican flag higher than the American flag (I think not!), stolen supplies from drawers, and missing books.

I want to bitch and rant at him because this has been going on since September 2005. I've talked to the teacher before to watch his kids, but nothing has been done. In fact, only more books have gone missing since then. Of all things, why do they steal the books? They don't fucking read them!!! How do I know that? Because they leave their own books in my classroom, stashing it in corners, like it was their own private hideaway locker. Why did they steal my CDs? They can't understand Swedish or Japanese rock music? When I mentioned this to the teacher, all he said was, "Sure... I'll talk to them." He said that with such conviction as he nodded his head with a nonchalant yet timid look; I don't fucking believe him at all. He's worse than the Tick. I heard that the principal is going to make a special visit to his classroom to lecture his students. That's just bad. If the principal has to come in to discipline the students, that just shows that the teacher can't do it or is just plain weak.

I hate him. I want my books back, I want my CDs back, I want my stolen goods back, and I hope he doesn't come back next year.

Kill the Television

I can't resist TV. I don't watch it, but when I do, I'm glued to the couch and a day could be wasted. I don't know why I can't just turn it off... there are so many interesting things to watch. It's probably because I resist it all week when I'm not working that it catches up to me when the weekends arrive.

Should I get rid of the cable?

But if I did, I'll never watch educational things on the History or Discovery Channel ever again... or tear-jerkers on the Hallmark Channel. Damn...

Trust Is Not Unconditional

I have instilled the fear of God in my students. My afternoon classes were in fear for their lives after they heard what had happened in my morning classes. I take comfort in that, that they can still be afraid and learn something from this.

The site is down. That is all I wanted. Things are better, but that doesn't change the fact that it still happened. I think they know better now; they know their roles.

Many of them have voiced their concerns that "said-student" crossed the line, and I think they have learned not to mess with a teacher's or anyone's personal life. If they didn't learn that, then they've learned the value of trust and how it will never be the same once it is severed.

Sometimes I think it is my own fault: I'm too friendly or comfortable with the students. Was I gullible in trusting them? I believe in a respectable teacher-student relationship, but I've always known my role and kept a distance. They've opened themselves up to me, and I've shared things (mostly knowledge and advice and experience) with them. But my private life is still my own.

Maybe next year I have to define my boundaries more. As a professor explained once, there is a difference between being friendly and being a friend. Adults and professionals know where the lines are drawn, but teenagers and adolescents can't distinguish the difference. It's virtually the same and so everything is fair game.

My students just learned the difference yesterday. I hope they'll remember it. (And if they don't, I hope karma bites them in the ass!)

I Hate My Sophomores!

I fucking hate my sophomores now. One of them created a fake website about me over the weekend, and I got wind of it today. Although the site is bare, they put up sensitive info nonetheless: my last name and the school name of where I teach. That's too much information. Not only that, they gave it a title that has a negative connotation.

Fuck them all. I know that only one teenager was responsible for it, but since the majority of teenagers that I teach have a website, they all know who created the site, and they are not going to tell on each other.

My privacy has been violated. I don't trust my sophomores anymore. Life for them is hell from here on out.

YouTube.com

My sister and I were clicking links one evening and found this cute and humorous video:

OK Go's "A Million Ways"

I cannot believe how many high school students actually imitate this video for airband and talent show competitions. I find it fascinating.

Pearl Harbor

The one thing I had to see while I was in Hawai'i. It was a very somber experience.

Alma Mater

Recently, one of my younger sister's friends stopped by to visit her. She had gone on a trip for the weekend and missed her, but he and I stayed up and talked to catch up. He is currently working as a substitute at our old alma mater, and the stories he had to tell me weren't very pleasant. The place has gone to shit. It was taken over by the state (but the rumor-mill says that our school was a scapegoat for three other low-performing schools), the principal was fired yet her legacy still lives on, so staff morale is at an all time low; gang activity is increasing (I mean, how many times have dead bodies been dumped on the front lawn already!?), there have been known attacks on teachers as well as direct profanity. The school probably won't pass WASC this time around. It's so depressing that my old high school, a place I was proud to call my alma mater, is slowly decaying and reviving that gangster reputation that it had in the 1960s.

I asked him why he wants to teach there, and he gave me the same reply I give to my students when they ask me why I teach at a "ghetto" high school: "Even bad schools need good teachers."

I just don't know if I would be able to teach in an environment like that. It sounds ten times worse than where I am now.

When Reputation Precedes You

A seasoned teacher once said that your second year of teaching becomes easier than the first because then you will have a reputation. My third year is coming up. Can you imagine the reputation that already spread between all the students I have had and have now?

I had to make some presentations to the ninth grade honors classes. These are students I know will be coming to me next year. They have to do a summer reading and I gave them the assignment today. Already they are in a state of panic: "What! No extra credit!? Fifty percent of the grade is writing essays!? We have to read two novels now?"

Rumors are going around that I am a strict Nazi English teacher, a witch with a capital B. My current sophomores love me and they can't believe such horrofic names are being said about me! I told them not to quell any of those rumors, and that if any freshmen wants to know what I'm really like, I told my sophomores to just fuel the fire. Burn, baby, burn!

Stress?

I hope I'm not speaking too soon, but this semester doesn't seem as stressful as last semester. I know I'm jinxing myself by saything that...

Musik Non Stop

The album is old, but it's about time I finally picked it for myself.

Rewards

Yours truly got a "Teacher of the Month" award for hard work, most notably for staying late hours and working with the school's most challenging group of students.

I can finally scratch off "get an award for teaching" on my "Things To Do Before I Die" list.

CATE

I went to my first professional conference this weekend in Anaheim. It's called CATE, which stands for California Association for Teachers of English. The district paid for everything--hotel and registration. I really enjoyed the conference. There were so many workshops on writing, reading, and activities; practical activities that I can use in the classroom. I even got a lot of free books and kits for grammar and lesson plans. Besides teachers from my school site, I saw two other teachers from my past--my junior high yearbook teacher and a teacher from another school where I previously worked.

The highlight of the whole event was getting Orson Scott Card to sign a couple of books. He was a guest speaker during a luncheon and he inspired me to start teaching poetry. Before this conference, I didn't care much for poetry, and when I teach it, I usually teach rhyme schemes and patterns and poetic forms. It's a boring way to teach poetry, but I'm not a fan, and therefore, I know I don't teach it well. After Mr. Card's speech though, I was suddenly inspired that I had to get his book of poetry (and his other popular book Ender's Game) and ask him to sign it. Like a crazy fan, I gushed about how I was fueled by his speech and that I will try to teach the art--and heart--of poetry this year. He said he was glad that he left such an impression and wished me luck.

This conference was just as fun as Comic-Con (if that doesn't reveal how much of a nerd I am), and yes, Orson Scott Card is going to be there, too. I should try to get another autograph and maybe give him a follow-up of how I taught poetry. I know he will remember me; we had a funny conversation about my name and how it was spelled when he was signing my books.

Hypocrite Pinkies

I find it extremely annoying that my sophomores declare their communist ideals whenever they refuse to do anything "democratic" in the classroom, such as voting. Then they call me a fascist whenever I try to maintain control and take away their privileges. Whenever they bring up the word "communist" and glorify its ideals and philosophies, I am so tempted to tell them to shut up and start glorifying capitalism and America. Yet I don't. I don't even want to begin to argue with them because it will be like debating with religious fanatics who find every fallacy of arguments to justify their hypocrisy. There is no use in trying to debate logically with those kinds of people.

I can't stand fucking hypocrisy of any kind; they are really beginning to irk the hell out of me with their faux genius.

A Burden Lifted

I have one more set of essays to grade. Next week is finals. A large bulk of essays and grades have been entered. I'm feeling a sense of relief this evening that I want to scream for joy!

Hallelujah!

Implosion

I'm burning out. I got swamped with essays this past weekend, and I didn't get to finish grading them, and the grading deadline is approaching. I stayed up past midnight trying to complete them so I could return them. I decided to take a day off work in order to finish.

I really feel like I'm having a mental breakdown. Here I am... still grading... on my day off. I want to scream...

Monday Happy Hour

I shouldn't drink alcohol on Mondays, but a few teachers and I couldn't resist $3.00 margaritas. I don't drink liquid fire very often, so I'm feeling a strange, unbuzzlike effect. I'm very lucid at this moment as I write this, but my throat feels funny, like it's swollen.

I wonder if I could be allergic to margaritas... or alcohol, in general?

Love that J-Rock!

You have redeemed yourself, Gackt-san! I love this new album.

Moronic

To give you an idea of what students are like in the community where I teach, I shall tell you some stories that have been passed around in department gatherings:

I. "No Child Left Behind"

The No Child Left Behind (NCLB) laws are really targeting teachers' and schools' accountabilities for the quality of their education. In order to ensure quality education, NCLB weeds out teachers who are not qualified to teach in their subject matter. A math teacher can't teach English literature because they are not competent to teach that subject, and this will result in children being left behind because they are not getting the proper education.

So, a counselor was sharing a story about how this law got misinterpreted by a parent. A student who just transferred into the school had to register with the counselor. The counselor reviewed the transcripts and found that the student is deficient on credits and will not graduate on time. The parent piped, "But what about No Child Left Behind?" because he feared that his child will be left behind by not graduating on time. In other words, this parent thought that the NCLB law was a "free credits if you're deficient" program that will ensure his student will graduate on time. This parent thought that by transferring to another school, our school would give his student all the lost credits that he failed to complete at his other school. Yeah fucking right!

II. "No Grades for Tardies"

A fellow English teacher who teaches freshmen shared this story. One of his students who thought English was too hard decided not to attend English class anymore. This teacher hasn't seen this student for the past two months. Said student was going to tardy sweeps instead where students have to stay quiet and write out standards. He attended tardy sweep for the past two months rather than going to class.

The grading period just ended, and said student went to the tardy sweep supervisor and asked him, "What's my grade in this class?" The supervisor told him that there is no grade in this class because it was a tardy sweep; it's a holding tank for late students. The supervisor advised the student to ask his regular teacher to find out his grade. The student goes back to the English teacher and asked him what his grade was. Given that he did not attend class, he is failing. The student complained that English was too much work, so he went to tardy sweep in lieu of regular English class. He thought copying and writing standards in a holding tank was an easier way to get an A than reading a book and writing essays.

III. "But I Need My Credits!"

This is my own story. I was helping a student after school doing an essay, and we worked on it until about 5pm--well into dark. As she was leaving, I told her to walk home safely (she only lived across the street) and escorted her out the door. All of a sudden, I saw the assistant principal marching down the corridor ready to pounce on anyone walking down the hall. She shouted at my student, "Are you in credit recovery? Why aren't you in class?"

"She's not in credit recovery. She was with me," I explained. My student walked away, and then the principal--the most intimidating (yet much loved and admired) woman on campus appeared, too. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Credit recovery classes have a fifteen minute break from five to five-fifteen. Break is over!" the principal muttered under her breath. "What do these students think? I am tired of giving them chances and they're... " she trailed off with a shake of her head.

Suddenly, in the main hall, we spotted six to seven students walking down the corridor with Jack-in-the-Box food in their hands. They're talking loudly with nonchalance as they head back to class without a care or worry that they were about twenty minutes late. The principal and the assistant principal pounced.

"Excuse me! Get over here!" the principal called out to them.

Five or six ran away (stupid cowards!), leaving one student behind with her hand in a Jack-in-the-Box bag grabbing fries. The principal tried to follow the other students who ran off. As she walked off, she said to the girl, "Don't bother going to class. You are late."

"Awww, come on..." the girl started to whine.

"I already told your teacher to mark you absent and anyone else who is not on time from the break. So you can go on home. Get out." The principal pointed to the exit double doors.

"But I need my credits!" The student said with a laugh, thinking she could ease her way back into class with humor.

"No, you needed your Jack-in-the-Box--now get out." The principal kept on walking to find the runaways who high-tailed it back to the classroom. I am sure she found them.

God save the principal!

She's Awesome

My idol. I never thought that in my lifetime would I actually get anywhere near her. Like a complete fangirl, I was speechless. Why am I always rendered silent when I meet great people?

Although it looks classy with just her name, I am debating now whether I should have asked her to personalize it for me.

Communism is the Answer!

Surprisingly, I'm finding that many of my sophomore students are on the verge of communism. I find this startling, yet a little refreshing at the same time. Startling, for the obvious reason that it's anti-American. Refreshing because, as much I have thought to myself that this generation of teens who practically have everything handed to them on platters (i.e. iPods, PSP, cell phones, DVD portable players, brand name clothing), some of them actually do have this great ambition to actually find equality and justice across social classes. They actually do want to try and help others, but they're so pessimistic (i.e. "what's the point if we're going to die anyway?" or "what's the point if no one listens to teenagers anyway?") that it's detrimental at the same time.

Then again... these are my advanced students. If there's one thing I've learned, and most AP teachers have warned me, is that advanced students are one-sided in all their opinions; never really doing full research. Add arrogance to that--they think they're geniuses just because they're in an honors program--and you have a person who is ready to conquer the world with all the wrong ideas.

Poker Night

Coworkers decided to start a poker night: once a month. Twenty dollar buy-in. I thought that was a bit expensive, but with ten people playing, that was a pretty high pot. I lost; ended up in fifth place. Before leaving, I convinced the crowd for a ten dollar buy-in at the next game.

Discipline Is Not an Emotion

Tonight, some asshole made some comment to me about being cold and unemotional. Coming from him, makes it all the more insulting.

The first time he said it to me was in regards to my teaching. "You have a different connection to students because you don't know what they're going through," he said.

"I realize that students have personal problems that they bring into the classroom. I'm not unsympathetic to their needs. I do talk to them, and adjust assignments if they need it."

"But that's it," he said. "You're just... sheltered."

"Sheltered?" I repeated with disgust.

"You've had a perfect life. You've never experienced something emotionally traumatizing, so you don't connect with students like I do."

"I don't think I need a traumatizing event that has shaken me so emotionally to better connect with students. I can pretty much understand what they're going through when they start ranting to me or crying to me."

The gist of that conversation was that he believed that if I were in tune with my emotions more, I can have better connections with my students. I don't believe in that. I don't believe that a person needs to have an emotionally trying experience to be more understanding of one's own emotions or another person's emotions--or in our case-- to have better understanding of teenage emotions or better relationships with students.

Tonight, this conversation came up again, in regards to actual teaching. I made a constructive criticism about his teaching, which I think can be improved if he works on it. He took it as a personal affront and got defensive about it. He starts to make a comparison between us that I'm a better teacher because I can turn off my emotions. "I'm not emotionally balanced as you, so I can't balance my work. I'm not like you. You have high standards, but we all can't meet that."

I've heard his story before, and I was sympathatic at first, but if he's going to start using that as an excuse for everything that he can't do, I'm not buying it anymore.

"They're not my standards, neither am I holding you to them."

"I am more emotional than you. I can't turn off my emotions like you."

"Don't even go there," I shot back. "It's not about emotional balance; it's about discipline. I choose to stay here and work my ass off. I choose to stay here and organize and pull my shit together so I'm not running around with my head cut off tomorrow morning."

"Again, I'm not like you. You don't understand how the imbalance in my personal life affects my professional work. I don't have that balance that you have because you don't know the emotional things I go through."

We were just arguing two different things at that point.

"No, we're not even going there," I said and waved off the conversation. "It's discipline, not me turning off my emotions."

His argument about an emotional imbalance affecting his work is equivalent to a former student saying that she didn't do her homework because she's black. I really wanted to tell him that his "emotional imbalance" is a lousy excuse for not pulling his own weight because he's been using that excuse for a while already. As they say in the workplace, "Get your shit together."

Teachers and Students Are Just Alien to Each Other

Random thoughts...

I.
Teachers have unique personalities. We have to--in this job, it's almost needed, especially in the English and history departments. Those teachers are just plain freaks; they study people and personalities and society. Compound that with all the learning they have done, you have a genius who is sociable and witty, but still a generation away from their students, therefore, crazy by students' standards.

II.
I played Depeche Mode in class yesterday for background noise while the students worked on posters. One student immediately made a criticism: "I can't work in these conditions. Goth is so depressing and dumb and emo!"

"They're not Goth!" I shot back.

"How many Goths does it take to screw in a light bulb?" he asked. I just narrowed my eyes at him without saying anything. He continued with a fake falsetto, "I don't know. I'll just hit here in the dark and cry. Oh, boohoo!"

"They're not Goth!" I repeated. "They're 80's, and their music was called synth-pop. They're still considered rock now."

"Emo!"

"Oh, yeah... Slayer isn't death metal. It wasn't in my time and it still isn't now!"

Another class argued that Nine Inch Nails was also Goth.

III.
Today, a group of students asked if I could monitor their club because their current advisor had to leave early. They used my room to hold their meeting. Can you guess the club? Anime. I have always hesitated to be associated with the anime club, but now a good majority of students know I like anime. I think they are secretly plotting to overthrow their current advisor because they want me instead-- a knowledgable teacher who knows anime and a bit of Japanese culture. A few said that they saw me at Anime Expo this past summer. I don't want to see my students in my personal time. I'm going to avoid all of them if they make an attempt to say hello to me at next year's Anime Expo.

I Feel So Used...

I hate to say it. I really like my colleagues, but a certain teacher is beginning to annoy me. I shall call this teacher the Tick (gender will not be disclosed).

As a seasoned teacher, I thought that Tick would contribute more to help out new teachers as well as teachers who teach the same curriculum as Tick does. Tick has been coming to me before or after school asking how I teach certain things. I don't mind sharing tips and ideas, but I draw the line at asking for lesson plans. There's a limit to that. I'll give if a new teacher needs something to start on, I'll give if a teacher is really desperate, but I start to become selfish and irked when a teacher is just plain lazy. Tick was so lazy that it asked for worksheets that were found in the same teacher's edition that we were all given at the beginning of the school year. Tick went into my file cabinet looking for worksheets and lessons. Tick went into my teacher bookshelf and took out books that it wanted to borrow. When I'm typing up lessons or ideas, Tick will ask for a copy through email.

Lesson planning is an art. Sure, I've taken lesson plans from other teachers, but I always modify it to fit my style of teaching and edit certain things and focus on certain skills. I make it my own. Every little lesson plan I create is like a little part of who I am. I have never asked for a lesson plan, made a hundred copies of it, and then passed it out to students--out of pure desperation. I always make time to look it over, ponder how I'll teach it, and then modify it how I see fit. Even now, when I look back at the lesson plans I've created as a student-teacher, I can see how much I've grown and developed as a professional teacher.

I never want to look like a fool in front of students who will catch something that I can't explain or an error that I did not do--or Heaven forbid--can't teach a lesson that I did not make or understand. It's not professional. Because I am a professional, I take the time to look at things and plan, even if planning means having to stay five chapters ahead of the students, or having to stay until 9pm, or having to come in on Saturdays to plan accurately and perfectly.

If I put a great amount of labor into my work, I feel used when a teacher just takes my work without thinking of how they'll use it. When I hand off a lesson plan to a teacher, they think it's easy because they don't have to reinvent the wheel. But as a teacher, one should always think about reinventing the wheel to make it better. It's good for the teacher and for the students.

Feeling Great

When I began eating more healthy, I wasn't on a diet. I was just making a conscious decision to change my eating habits because my mother is always pointing out that I eat too much junk food. The salads I've been munching on are great, and I didn't really think that it would affect me that much because I still drink too much soda and munch on other junkie snacks.

The last time I weighed myself, I was at 155 lbs during the summer. I weighed myself yesterday, and I clocked in at 140 lbs. I can't believe I've lost that much! True, my jeans are more loose than before, but it's unbelievable. And even if it's incorrect, it's still an encouraging thought.

Is The Fun Over So Soon?

My afternoon classes have only tortured three students. We haven't seen any more. I think my method for disciplining is working... much to the dismay of my students, who are eager to put freshmen in their places.

With A Little Help From My Students...

To assist a first year teacher, I agreed to take her problem students into my class for a quick 10-min time out session. I warned my afternoon classes that we would be having "guests" every once in a while. They accepted the task I gave them with such glee and pleasure.

I began, "I'm helping out a teacher who has some problem students. She's going to send them here, and I want you to torture him."

The class reacted with an excited, "YEAH!!!!"

Caustic Tongue, my sarcastic student to date--he and I have a jokey yet respectful banter every once in a while--was especially excited. I gave the entire class rules on how I want them to torture the guest.

"I don't want you to insult him," I said. "I want you to make him feel bad. I want you to make him reflect about what he's done and be regretful about it. Stress the importance of school and passing classes because the bottom line is: this student wants to take a vacation by being suspended or detention in another classroom. I want you to make him see that that is not a wise decision."

Another student asked, "Can we mad-dog him? Can we get into his face?"

"No, you can't touch him physically, but you can give him dirty looks. In fact, let's all stare him down when he comes in. No laughing. Let's make him as uncomfortable as possible."

I could already see my students jiggling in their seats with enthusiasm. After setting the guidelines, I continued with my lesson. About fifteen minutes into it, a student poked her head in and asked if it was okay to send the problem student. I answered in the affirmative, and I heard Caustic Tongue add, "Yeah, send that loser in."

I continue with the lesson, and about thirty seconds later, a student walked into the room. He strutted in with that fake limp that all bad boys do, but as soon as he saw all twenty-eight of my students staring him down, I saw his shoulders slump.

"Have a seat," I said and pointed to the front corner desk near my teacher's desk.

The whole class continued to stare and got a good look at him since he sat at the front.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"[Bobohead]," he replied. [Pseudonym for confidentiality.]

I was hoping my students would start asking the questions, but they didn't know how, so I continued, "Why did your teacher throw you out?"

"Because I was... laughing." He kept looking at his two sheets of paper.

"You were only laughing?"

"Someone was making shadow-puppets on the [overhead] light."

"So, you were disrupting your class?" I rephrased.

At this point, some of my students just started shaking their heads in disappointment, while they continued to stare.

He made some more excuses, but I kept repeating, "You were disrupting your class?"

He shrugged it off.

"Do you have any work with you?"

"No," he replied with a little more gusto, like he didn't want to do any.

"Well, while you're in here, you're going to work. If you have paper, you can write a letter of apology to your teacher. You have ten minutes. Start working."

"What if I don't want to?" he threatened.

"Then you are defying a teacher, and I'll send a referral."

"Make him read it out loud, Ms. G," one of mine suggested, and the entire class agreed with nods and murmurs of approval.

His shoulders slumped again and he unfolded the two sheets of paper.

Caustic Tongue chirped, "I'll keep time, Ms. G."

"Thank you," I nodded.

My students finally pulled their stares away so I could continue the lesson. While I conducted class, I noticed Caustic Tongue kept looking over Bobohead's shoulder and reminding him how many minutes he had left. At the five-minute mark, Bobohead turned around and gave a dirty look to Caustic Tongue, like he wanted to start something. Fortunately, my student can hold his own. He towered over Bobohead and warned, "What! You're only in the ninth grade and already you're getting into trouble!"

I only nodded my approval, and Bobohead completely shut up.

My students gently reminded me that the ten minutes were up. So we all turned our attention to our special guest.

"All right," I said, "read your letter to my class."

He stumbled over the words, but his sentences were full of "I'm sorry for this-and that." There was a change in his story: he admitted to making the shadow puppets and confessed to being the cause of disruption. Because he stumbled over some words, my students said, "I didn't hear that. Can you read that part again?"

"Yeah, read that last part again."

With a sigh, Bobohead repeated a section of his letter. The best part was: "Please don't send me here again. The other students only embarrass me." At this, my students smiled with pride.

"Now, Bobohead, I want you to give that letter of apology to your teacher, and I don't want to see you again. If you have to come here again, I'll be the one to send a referral. Caustic Tongue, please escort him back to class and make sure that he gives that to his teacher."

They got up and left. As soon as the door shut, my students laughed. "He almost cried!"

"Did he?" I asked.

"He was sniffling!"

"And he changed his story, did you notice that?" someone else added.

"Yes, he did," I replied.

Thirty seconds later, Caustic Tongue returned and he was laughing his heart out.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He was about ready to cry. He said that he can't get into any more trouble because he's already in trouble with his parents for getting caught smoking weed."

My entire class burst into hysteria.

"He admitted that to you?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yes!" he laughed.

"Should we tell administration about that?" another student asked.

"Well, his parents already know, and if he's telling people about it, then I'm sure that means the school already knows also. Good job, class!" I applauded them and they applauded each other.

"This class is so fun," added Caustic Tongue. "I hope that teacher sends another one tomorrow."

As soon as class was over, I went to the nearest Best Buy and bought Depeche Mode's new album. I had no expectations, but I really like the what I hear. My favorite songs so far are "Precious" and "John the Revelator." And of course, David's voice is so edgy-awesome.

My Inner Politician

This past weekend, while attending a party of a dear old friend, I met a fellow blogger, Alfonso. It's nice to meet other people who write blogs; it's like putting a name and face to what is normally just HTML and text. Alfonso likes politics. I normally don't post on politics but that is because I'm not as knowledgable as Alfonso or Derek. If I had any latent politician inside of me, I always felt that I was a Republican. I wouldn't dare mention that in the workplace. The majority of teachers are Democrats. This is why I never explored any political thoughts in depth and repressed any political ideals.

But after talking with Alfonso, and learning about the other parties and political idealogies out there, he says I'm a libertarian, which is an extremity of Republicanism. The only shocking thing about this is: I never thought my politics were very extreme.

Depeche Mode

In anticipation of their new album, Playing the Angel, I recently went on a Depeche Mode binge and bought four of their CDs: Violator, Songs of Faith and Devotion, and Catching Up With Depeche Mode. I'm still waiting for Ultra to be delivered in the next two weeks. I'm reliving my youth as I listen to Violator, but Faith and Devotion is quickly growing on me again. (I can't believe I used to own these albums on tape!) I like David Gahan's voice... haunting rich baritone with a smooth melancholic vibrato.

I can hardly wait until Playing the Angel finally comes out!

Life is Good

I. Career

Teaching students in the advanced courses is so much more different than the students I had last year. Being with students who actually want to learn is so rewarding. I feel I'm accomplishing something every day. They make me feel that I'm productive and that I am doing something right in the world... and all that time before, I was feeling guilty that I was just a bad teacher.

II. Health

Lunch is now consistent. Unlike last year, when I would snack on junk food or skip lunch occasionally, I'm now consistently eating salad. I make it every night before going to bed--leafy Romaine lettuce, red-leaf lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, mizuna, baby spinach, croutons, corn, Bacos, and Italian dressing. Maybe the croutons, Bacos, and dressing isn't as healthy, but they're still good. I'm feeling healthier. I noticed that I'm a little more active; I'm less tired during the day, and I always feel that little pep... like shots of energy that keep me going hour after hour. If only I had kept to swing dancing, it would complete my new healthy lifestyle.