will make it all better...
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Mmmm...
Originally, I didn't have plans to go and see Fantastic Four because I have my doubts, but hopefully, Mr. Fantastic
will make it all better...
will make it all better...
Friday, June 10, 2005
Life Might As Well End Now...
School is almost over. I'm highly stressed.
And I can't find that short novella that I wrote last year, which I would like to start working on again. I won't be able to relax this summer at all now.
And I can't find that short novella that I wrote last year, which I would like to start working on again. I won't be able to relax this summer at all now.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
L.A.
My sister pointed out something to me recently: in LA, you get LA news. In San Diego, you still get LA news.
Now that I live in the Riverside/LA county, all I see on the news are just live coverages of police pursuits, an updated count of shootings and deaths, and one sad reality of just how many stupid people who actually live in this tiny corner of the earth are around me.
Now I know understand why--after six years of living in this area--my sister has become so cynical.
And I teach here. Oh. My. God.
Now that I live in the Riverside/LA county, all I see on the news are just live coverages of police pursuits, an updated count of shootings and deaths, and one sad reality of just how many stupid people who actually live in this tiny corner of the earth are around me.
Now I know understand why--after six years of living in this area--my sister has become so cynical.
And I teach here. Oh. My. God.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Dear Gackt
This albums sucks! I have never been so disappointed as a fan. Please get back to your ROCK roots as soon as possible.
Sincerely,
A devoted fan of seven years
Monday, May 23, 2005
I Touched Connecticut and Massachusetts
I spent the weekend in the East Coast to see my youngest sister graduate from college. Massachusetts and Connecticut are really lovely states, especially the rural areas. I wished I did my studies in the east. We drove by Amherst at night, had sushi in Hampshire, drove over the Connecticut River several times, and awed at old brick buildings and spires that reached the sky.
Maybe I'll post pictures this weekend when my family comes back from their New York trip. It sucks not having a vacation when I want to.
Maybe I'll post pictures this weekend when my family comes back from their New York trip. It sucks not having a vacation when I want to.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Teacher Myths
A friend of mine pointed this out to me: The Teacher Salary Myth
My mother likes to point out that I'm underpaid, but in all honesty, I don't feel underpaid or overpaid. When I get my paycheck every month and look at the numbers that stare back at me, I feel that I am paid just about right. But one must also take into account my situation in life: I'm single, I'm not raising a family, and my debt (three credit cards and one student loan) is under $12,000. I like to think I'm financially stable.
I'll lay my cards out on the table to respond to the article as best as I can: I'm a second year high school teacher making $43,000/year. The $43,000/year is misleading. Teachers only get paid ten months out of the year because we're not working during summer. My monthly paycheck for ten months amounts to approximately $3200 after taxes; but if I were getting paid a full year, my paycheck would come to $2620/month.
In a recent study (and for the life of me, I can't find the article), California was rated the highest for teacher salaries, averaging at $56,000/year. When most people read that, they automatically assume that that is a new teacher's starting salary. The average salary for a new teacher in California starts at $36,000/year. Teachers who are earning $56k are usually veteran teachers who have taught seven years or more.
Arguments about teachers' salaries are frustrating. Those who argue that teachers are already overpaid believe that teachers work nine months only, have shorter work days (6 hours), and play with kids all day. That does seem like a luxurious job for $56k/year. But the reality is: teaching is divided into three stages: prep time, execution, and follow-up. Prep time is when teachers make their lesson plans, execution is the actual instruction and teaching, and follow-up is when teachers assess the work of their students. The six hours that teachers spend at school is only execution, which means the prep time and follow-up stages are outside of the contracted six-hour work day. This is the argument for why teachers are underpaid: they are doing too much work outside of the normal work day. And personally speaking as an English teacher, grading 165 essays (if I were to do that nonstop) would take me 8-16 hours. That's about two working days--working days that I will not get paid for if I have to bring that stuff home on a weekend.
As my mother likes to point out that I am underpaid, it's also people like her who count a job's value by how much work is asked of you and how much it pays. I agree that there must be a balance between the two, but I don't complain anymore. I love what I do, despite how frustrating it can be sometimes. Money was not the first thing I thought of when I decided I wanted to be a teacher, and most teachers will agree to that statement; we knew that there wasn't much money in teaching.
But one day, I know I will be making $56k/year. When that time comes, I know that I'll be hearing comments that I'm just an overpaid teacher who got to go home at 3pm after a hard day's work of playing with kids... and she gets summers off, too!? But the reality is is that I will be an experienced teacher who cut the prep time down to nothing and maximized my work day to include execution and follow-up within a respectable time frame, preferably between 6-8 hours (rather than my current 12-hour workday). That's my goal, and in seven years, I know that I will have earned and deserved every red penny of a $56k/year salary.
For now, I can only liken my career to that equal of a parent; after all, teachers have the same responsibilities as parents: raising and educating kids. No amount of money in the world can put a price on parenting. It's the same fate for teachers: there will always be a dispute about how much we are really worth.
My mother likes to point out that I'm underpaid, but in all honesty, I don't feel underpaid or overpaid. When I get my paycheck every month and look at the numbers that stare back at me, I feel that I am paid just about right. But one must also take into account my situation in life: I'm single, I'm not raising a family, and my debt (three credit cards and one student loan) is under $12,000. I like to think I'm financially stable.
I'll lay my cards out on the table to respond to the article as best as I can: I'm a second year high school teacher making $43,000/year. The $43,000/year is misleading. Teachers only get paid ten months out of the year because we're not working during summer. My monthly paycheck for ten months amounts to approximately $3200 after taxes; but if I were getting paid a full year, my paycheck would come to $2620/month.
In a recent study (and for the life of me, I can't find the article), California was rated the highest for teacher salaries, averaging at $56,000/year. When most people read that, they automatically assume that that is a new teacher's starting salary. The average salary for a new teacher in California starts at $36,000/year. Teachers who are earning $56k are usually veteran teachers who have taught seven years or more.
Arguments about teachers' salaries are frustrating. Those who argue that teachers are already overpaid believe that teachers work nine months only, have shorter work days (6 hours), and play with kids all day. That does seem like a luxurious job for $56k/year. But the reality is: teaching is divided into three stages: prep time, execution, and follow-up. Prep time is when teachers make their lesson plans, execution is the actual instruction and teaching, and follow-up is when teachers assess the work of their students. The six hours that teachers spend at school is only execution, which means the prep time and follow-up stages are outside of the contracted six-hour work day. This is the argument for why teachers are underpaid: they are doing too much work outside of the normal work day. And personally speaking as an English teacher, grading 165 essays (if I were to do that nonstop) would take me 8-16 hours. That's about two working days--working days that I will not get paid for if I have to bring that stuff home on a weekend.
As my mother likes to point out that I am underpaid, it's also people like her who count a job's value by how much work is asked of you and how much it pays. I agree that there must be a balance between the two, but I don't complain anymore. I love what I do, despite how frustrating it can be sometimes. Money was not the first thing I thought of when I decided I wanted to be a teacher, and most teachers will agree to that statement; we knew that there wasn't much money in teaching.
But one day, I know I will be making $56k/year. When that time comes, I know that I'll be hearing comments that I'm just an overpaid teacher who got to go home at 3pm after a hard day's work of playing with kids... and she gets summers off, too!? But the reality is is that I will be an experienced teacher who cut the prep time down to nothing and maximized my work day to include execution and follow-up within a respectable time frame, preferably between 6-8 hours (rather than my current 12-hour workday). That's my goal, and in seven years, I know that I will have earned and deserved every red penny of a $56k/year salary.
For now, I can only liken my career to that equal of a parent; after all, teachers have the same responsibilities as parents: raising and educating kids. No amount of money in the world can put a price on parenting. It's the same fate for teachers: there will always be a dispute about how much we are really worth.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Street Fighter
I went to a Street Fighter video game party last night, hosted by a co-worker who is a fan of Chun Li. She actually owned one of those arcade-style video game machines. I never really played Street Fighter during the height of its popularity, so I didn't know any real combos for fighting. I thought I wouldn't last the first round, but I made it all the way to the finals. I used Chun Li and got bitch-slapped by the host.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
I Need to Find a New Career
New Secretary of Education
Is it me, or is California slowly descending to hell?
Oh, I guess it's just me and my job.
Is it me, or is California slowly descending to hell?
Oh, I guess it's just me and my job.
Friday, April 22, 2005
I Like Making Kids Cry
Today is Friday. I was extremely tired this week and just down from fatigue, so I was partially glad and pissed off when I had a parent conference at the last minute today... on a Friday!
But this was good: I called up a parent to give her an update about her son's progress in class--which was not very good anyway. We talked and when I told her that her son is still getting an F, she freaked out and said, "You said he was getting a C-, and that he's doing well in class."
"Um... no, I don't remember saying that. Shorty* was absent yesterday and he hasn't brought his book to class, so he's not even paying attention."
"But in your note, you wrote, 'doing good' and that he's getting a C-. Your signature's on this note."
"Is that an old note? He's not getting a C."
"But he gave me this note today."
"I haven't signed any paperwork for Shorty for a long time."
"Are you still there... at school?"
"Yes..." I replied, not liking the sound of that question.
"Can I come over? I'll be there in, like, three minutes."
"Sure," I replied unenthusiastically.
Lo and behold, she got there in three minutes with her son. After a short introduction, the first thing I asked for was the note. There it was: this awful lie in the comments section of a weekly progress report staring at me in the face: "Doing good. C-" My last name was written next to it.
"That's not my signature," I instantly replied. "You never gave me this paper during class."
The student started lying, "Yes, I did. You signed it."
I invited his mother to my classroom and showed her her son's current grade that was posted in class for the last week and a half. The date was written on it. I proceeded to tell his mother what Shorty does in class, his behavior, his progress, his habits, as well as the assignments and homework that were due. His grade could not have jumped from an F to a C- in less than two weeks--not with his poor habits. After studying the fake progress report, his mother noticed that three other comments from three other teachers looked suspicious because all the handwriting was the same. When his mother demanded to know who signed the fake progress report, Shorty started swearing up and down to God that he gave me the report and that I signed it during class. But I refuted that by giving his mother a sample of my signature. As soon as she saw it, she recognized it from previous reports that I officially signed in the past. She started shouting at her son, and at this point, Shorty started crying.
I gave his mother the homework that Shorty should be working on, and he seemed to be weakening knowing that his mother now controlled his upcoming weekend.
It's great to have a parent on my side. It was great to see her get mad at her son and yell at him--because I can't do that. But I am pissed off that he tried to forge--or got a friend to forge-- my signature. Even though it didn't look anything like my signature, I felt violated that some student tried to take a part of me. Strange as it may sound, that's what it felt like. Then he swore to God that I signed it. When he said I did, and I insisted that I didn't, it sounded like a childish "Nuh-uh. Uh-huh. Nuh-uh" argument. That was infuriating!
But I got to see him cry. That felt kind of good.
But this was good: I called up a parent to give her an update about her son's progress in class--which was not very good anyway. We talked and when I told her that her son is still getting an F, she freaked out and said, "You said he was getting a C-, and that he's doing well in class."
"Um... no, I don't remember saying that. Shorty* was absent yesterday and he hasn't brought his book to class, so he's not even paying attention."
"But in your note, you wrote, 'doing good' and that he's getting a C-. Your signature's on this note."
"Is that an old note? He's not getting a C."
"But he gave me this note today."
"I haven't signed any paperwork for Shorty for a long time."
"Are you still there... at school?"
"Yes..." I replied, not liking the sound of that question.
"Can I come over? I'll be there in, like, three minutes."
"Sure," I replied unenthusiastically.
Lo and behold, she got there in three minutes with her son. After a short introduction, the first thing I asked for was the note. There it was: this awful lie in the comments section of a weekly progress report staring at me in the face: "Doing good. C-" My last name was written next to it.
"That's not my signature," I instantly replied. "You never gave me this paper during class."
The student started lying, "Yes, I did. You signed it."
I invited his mother to my classroom and showed her her son's current grade that was posted in class for the last week and a half. The date was written on it. I proceeded to tell his mother what Shorty does in class, his behavior, his progress, his habits, as well as the assignments and homework that were due. His grade could not have jumped from an F to a C- in less than two weeks--not with his poor habits. After studying the fake progress report, his mother noticed that three other comments from three other teachers looked suspicious because all the handwriting was the same. When his mother demanded to know who signed the fake progress report, Shorty started swearing up and down to God that he gave me the report and that I signed it during class. But I refuted that by giving his mother a sample of my signature. As soon as she saw it, she recognized it from previous reports that I officially signed in the past. She started shouting at her son, and at this point, Shorty started crying.
I gave his mother the homework that Shorty should be working on, and he seemed to be weakening knowing that his mother now controlled his upcoming weekend.
It's great to have a parent on my side. It was great to see her get mad at her son and yell at him--because I can't do that. But I am pissed off that he tried to forge--or got a friend to forge-- my signature. Even though it didn't look anything like my signature, I felt violated that some student tried to take a part of me. Strange as it may sound, that's what it felt like. Then he swore to God that I signed it. When he said I did, and I insisted that I didn't, it sounded like a childish "Nuh-uh. Uh-huh. Nuh-uh" argument. That was infuriating!
But I got to see him cry. That felt kind of good.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Mental Wellness Day
I'm at that point in the school year where I am reaching a burnout. My fire is dying and I'm always tired. Geek Colleague convinced me that I should take a "mental wellness" day and not go to work. He had to persuade and convince me that I should take a personal day to just de-stress myself. I'm a perfectionist and a control freak when it comes to teaching, so it's hard to let things go and just blow off one day.
But GC was right: a refreshed teacher is more effective and productive than a burnt out teacher who will be moody and snappy at students. So I will enjoy my unofficial three-day weekend.
God, I'm going to hate Monday.
But GC was right: a refreshed teacher is more effective and productive than a burnt out teacher who will be moody and snappy at students. So I will enjoy my unofficial three-day weekend.
God, I'm going to hate Monday.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Death Comes in Three
In 1997, I can recall three famous people who died during summer:
Princess Diana
Versace
Mother Teresa
Now in 2005, three famous and controversial people died during Easter season:
Terri Shiavo
Pope John Paul II
Prince Ranier
In both these sets, there is a religious person, a royal person, and lay person.
Princess Diana
Versace
Mother Teresa
Now in 2005, three famous and controversial people died during Easter season:
Terri Shiavo
Pope John Paul II
Prince Ranier
In both these sets, there is a religious person, a royal person, and lay person.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Everything I Know, I Learned from Horses
There are two quotes that come to mind when people ask me what teaching is like. These are also the same quotes I say to myself to make myself feel better when I feel like I'm a lousy teacher.
The first quote: "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink." No matter how well I try to teach and teach to the best of my capabilities, I still can't make a student want to learn. I can teach them to read, but that doesn't mean they'll understand. I can teach them to write, but that doesn't mean they'll think and have ideas on their own. I can teach them compassion, but that doesn't mean they'll practice it.
The second quote: "... like beating a dead horse." I can pound these lessons over and over and over again... and I'll still get nowhere.
It's depresssing, but at times it can be uplifting. I know it's not my fault if these kids fail. I know that I've done every little thing I possibly can. I've reached my limits. The kids still need to reach theirs.
The first quote: "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink." No matter how well I try to teach and teach to the best of my capabilities, I still can't make a student want to learn. I can teach them to read, but that doesn't mean they'll understand. I can teach them to write, but that doesn't mean they'll think and have ideas on their own. I can teach them compassion, but that doesn't mean they'll practice it.
The second quote: "... like beating a dead horse." I can pound these lessons over and over and over again... and I'll still get nowhere.
It's depresssing, but at times it can be uplifting. I know it's not my fault if these kids fail. I know that I've done every little thing I possibly can. I've reached my limits. The kids still need to reach theirs.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Go Home!
I had tutorial after school today from 3-4pm. At 4pm, it was actually nice and quiet and peaceful. I locked my door and got down to work. I was working as a busy bee when at 5:15pm, Needy comes knocking on my door. Luckily, it was locked and I was working at my desk where I can't be seen from the windows. A few moments later, he went away.
Only nerds stay at school past 5pm, and Needy is not one of those kids. Oh, he irks me!
Only nerds stay at school past 5pm, and Needy is not one of those kids. Oh, he irks me!
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Highs and Lows: Two Boys
No, this is not one of those pedophile stories.
This story is about the highs and lows of teaching.
I have two boys in two different classes. One has been with me since the school year started, and the other just transferred in at the beginning of the second semester. The first boy shall be called Needy and the other one shall be called Indie (for Independent).
Needy was generally a good kid until his grades started slipping. Since that time, he didn't feel the need to try anymore. But at the last part of the first semester, he wanted to work again--much to my joy and dismay because that meant more work for me (grading all that late work?). It's now halfway through the second semester, and he's slipping again. I've seriously tried to help in the past, but I'm at the point where my own patience is wearing thin with him, and it's not even for academic reasons. I'm beginning to see that he's so needy. He hangs around my classroom when the school is almost empty, save for administrators, custodial staff, and other students participating in school events past 6pm. The thing that irks me most: he comes into my classroom just when I need to be alone for myself. I hold tutorial sessions after school for one hour, and he never shows up for those. But when I'm ready to lock the door and work to catch up for my organizational sanity, he comes in and just... lingers there. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand the concept of a locked door either. He kept knocking on the door and the windows until I relented.
That's when I noticed that he just wants attention. When I give him attention, he stays longer. When I give him attention, he'll sometimes open up to me and sometimes he won't, but I think he just likes the fact that I ask; like one of those, "No, I can't talk about it... Okay, I will--No, I'm not ready to talk about it just yet... well, maybe I am..." That's what my conversations feel like when I'm with him.
I hate to say it, but I'm almost sick of him. I'm not his mother. I'm not going to give him whatever he wants (he keeps asking me to change his grade), I'm not going to give him any more attention, I've stopped being sympathetic, I've stopped giving him advice because he doesn't listen anyway. Bottom line: I'm done being nice with him. I've come to the point that whenever he'll ask me a question, I'll only help him as far as his question takes me. If he jokes around with me, I don't laugh. The only thing that matters to me now is his grade, which only means I'm getting tougher with him. It's a tough love--not that I love him because he drives me crazy. But I stopped caring about his personal problems because I know he just uses that to get attention from me. And it's not just me, two other teachers noticed how needy he is with them also. We're all sick of it.
The low part of this job is is that even kids can drain the energy and life out of you. Not to sound callous, but even I need my solitude after school just so I can recuperate. Five and half hours straight of instruction and being a disciplinarian, and 165 students later-- I am fucking tired, mentally drained, and I just want to be alone and enjoy the silence of an empty classroom. I know that my job means being involved with kids, but you know what else? I'm not their parents. AndI may sound unapologetic, but you cannot pay me enough money just to be a surrogate parent for someone else's messed up child. At 6:30pm, Needy should be at home with his parents, not hanging out in my classroom because he wants attention.
I noticed that when I don't talk to him or give him attention, he will go away. Sometimes I feel like a bad person for doing that, but I am seriously tired of spoiling him with attention. I am done.
On a good note, there's Indie. Indie's been with me only for two months, but he's such a great student. He does all his work, he participates in class, he gets along with everyone... I could go on about him. He transferred in from another school and he adapted so quickly to this school. He's humorous at the right moments-- appropriate humor for the classroom while I'm teaching and just funny with friends and peers.
When Indie heard about the special junior college program that our high school offered with the local community college, he asked so many questions to the counselor, and he was the first one to give me a rough draft of the college entrance essay because he wanted me to check it. I made him rewrite it three times. Most students would have given up if I told them to just do it again after I made corrections on their first draft. Not Indie. He would give me the next draft the very next day. We kept working on it until the deadline. After the deadline, he kept nagging me, asking me if I had heard anything about acceptance letters. He got upset when he still hadn't heard anything after a month.
Finally, the acceptance letters were being handed out this week. He kept nagging me again. I kept telling him that I never got anything. He was in suspense this whole time. Today, after school, he came into my class and gave me a hug.
"What's up?" I asked him.
He showed me his acceptance letter. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me with my essay. I'm in the college program."
I smiled and gave him my congratulations. That's the high part of my job.
Most people think that it must feel great to be a teacher because--and I quote the most common thing people say to me--"you're always helping people; you know you did something good at the end of the day;" like I'm doing it because I like feeling good and proud about myself. That never really crosses my mind. Yes, I feel great, but only because the student wanted to share his happiness with me. It's like when someone you care about wants to share personal things with you because he/she wants you to be part of their life. That's the feeling I get. It's only when a student says "thank you" does it hit me: "Oh, yeah, I helped you with that." That's when my pride overfloweth.
In this job, there are more lows than there are highs. Every little high is priceless.
This story is about the highs and lows of teaching.
I have two boys in two different classes. One has been with me since the school year started, and the other just transferred in at the beginning of the second semester. The first boy shall be called Needy and the other one shall be called Indie (for Independent).
Needy was generally a good kid until his grades started slipping. Since that time, he didn't feel the need to try anymore. But at the last part of the first semester, he wanted to work again--much to my joy and dismay because that meant more work for me (grading all that late work?). It's now halfway through the second semester, and he's slipping again. I've seriously tried to help in the past, but I'm at the point where my own patience is wearing thin with him, and it's not even for academic reasons. I'm beginning to see that he's so needy. He hangs around my classroom when the school is almost empty, save for administrators, custodial staff, and other students participating in school events past 6pm. The thing that irks me most: he comes into my classroom just when I need to be alone for myself. I hold tutorial sessions after school for one hour, and he never shows up for those. But when I'm ready to lock the door and work to catch up for my organizational sanity, he comes in and just... lingers there. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand the concept of a locked door either. He kept knocking on the door and the windows until I relented.
That's when I noticed that he just wants attention. When I give him attention, he stays longer. When I give him attention, he'll sometimes open up to me and sometimes he won't, but I think he just likes the fact that I ask; like one of those, "No, I can't talk about it... Okay, I will--No, I'm not ready to talk about it just yet... well, maybe I am..." That's what my conversations feel like when I'm with him.
I hate to say it, but I'm almost sick of him. I'm not his mother. I'm not going to give him whatever he wants (he keeps asking me to change his grade), I'm not going to give him any more attention, I've stopped being sympathetic, I've stopped giving him advice because he doesn't listen anyway. Bottom line: I'm done being nice with him. I've come to the point that whenever he'll ask me a question, I'll only help him as far as his question takes me. If he jokes around with me, I don't laugh. The only thing that matters to me now is his grade, which only means I'm getting tougher with him. It's a tough love--not that I love him because he drives me crazy. But I stopped caring about his personal problems because I know he just uses that to get attention from me. And it's not just me, two other teachers noticed how needy he is with them also. We're all sick of it.
The low part of this job is is that even kids can drain the energy and life out of you. Not to sound callous, but even I need my solitude after school just so I can recuperate. Five and half hours straight of instruction and being a disciplinarian, and 165 students later-- I am fucking tired, mentally drained, and I just want to be alone and enjoy the silence of an empty classroom. I know that my job means being involved with kids, but you know what else? I'm not their parents. AndI may sound unapologetic, but you cannot pay me enough money just to be a surrogate parent for someone else's messed up child. At 6:30pm, Needy should be at home with his parents, not hanging out in my classroom because he wants attention.
I noticed that when I don't talk to him or give him attention, he will go away. Sometimes I feel like a bad person for doing that, but I am seriously tired of spoiling him with attention. I am done.
On a good note, there's Indie. Indie's been with me only for two months, but he's such a great student. He does all his work, he participates in class, he gets along with everyone... I could go on about him. He transferred in from another school and he adapted so quickly to this school. He's humorous at the right moments-- appropriate humor for the classroom while I'm teaching and just funny with friends and peers.
When Indie heard about the special junior college program that our high school offered with the local community college, he asked so many questions to the counselor, and he was the first one to give me a rough draft of the college entrance essay because he wanted me to check it. I made him rewrite it three times. Most students would have given up if I told them to just do it again after I made corrections on their first draft. Not Indie. He would give me the next draft the very next day. We kept working on it until the deadline. After the deadline, he kept nagging me, asking me if I had heard anything about acceptance letters. He got upset when he still hadn't heard anything after a month.
Finally, the acceptance letters were being handed out this week. He kept nagging me again. I kept telling him that I never got anything. He was in suspense this whole time. Today, after school, he came into my class and gave me a hug.
"What's up?" I asked him.
He showed me his acceptance letter. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me with my essay. I'm in the college program."
I smiled and gave him my congratulations. That's the high part of my job.
Most people think that it must feel great to be a teacher because--and I quote the most common thing people say to me--"you're always helping people; you know you did something good at the end of the day;" like I'm doing it because I like feeling good and proud about myself. That never really crosses my mind. Yes, I feel great, but only because the student wanted to share his happiness with me. It's like when someone you care about wants to share personal things with you because he/she wants you to be part of their life. That's the feeling I get. It's only when a student says "thank you" does it hit me: "Oh, yeah, I helped you with that." That's when my pride overfloweth.
In this job, there are more lows than there are highs. Every little high is priceless.
Friday, March 18, 2005
I'm Not That Young
Many people like it when others assume that they are younger than they really look. I used to like it, too, until now--especially when I work in a high school.
Two days ago, the cafeteria women thought I was a student. While most people would find that flattering, I found it really upsetting. Why? Because they scolded me like I was a student. One woman kept telling me to slide my lunch chard through the scanner when I gave her a five-dollar bill. Another woman angrily told me to get back in the original line where I came from.
I hate being treated like a child, and I especially don't like being mistaken for a teenager. It really sucks.
Two days ago, the cafeteria women thought I was a student. While most people would find that flattering, I found it really upsetting. Why? Because they scolded me like I was a student. One woman kept telling me to slide my lunch chard through the scanner when I gave her a five-dollar bill. Another woman angrily told me to get back in the original line where I came from.
I hate being treated like a child, and I especially don't like being mistaken for a teenager. It really sucks.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Driving Hellhole
Potholes are bad, drivers are bad, too much construction on the roads, roads are too narrow from all the construction, too many dead dogs, traffic sucks... and the thing that irks me most: expired registration tags. I see at least one car a day with tags from 2004. And there aren't enough cops to monitor the roads.
When friends warned me saying that Riverside has the worst of driving, including the smog and accidents, I'd say it's pretty accurate.
When friends warned me saying that Riverside has the worst of driving, including the smog and accidents, I'd say it's pretty accurate.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
White America
Last week, my students and I were reading a story by Alice Walker. In order to reflect on the story's message, I asked my students to think about their culture and heritage. Many of them have difficulty thinking about that--where they come from, their cultural identity, and their family traditions. They think that culture is limited to the ethnic foods that one eats.
It's even more difficult for students who are of European descent. As one of my students said to me, "This is an unfair question. I'm white; I have no culture."
I have no culture. Those are the most disappointing words one can ever say. When I hear students--especially white students--say this, I think to myself that multicultural America has done this. I believe in diversity, but not to the point where one culture, that of European descent, has been forgotten. Unfortunately, that's where we are today. Multicultural America, multicultural education, multicultural literature, and multicultural history has been the craze in the past decade in order to give equal time in the books to historically oppressed cultures. In implied ways, educators and even the common laymen have pointed the fingers that the whites are to blame for slavery, for oppression, for Hitler, and for being too dominant.
When talking about culture in the classroom, my white kids feel left out. They think being white means having no valid cultural experience. They sit with idle thumbs while they listen to Asian, Mexican, and black kids talk about how they spend Christmas, the foods they eat during holidays, and the superstitions that their mothers pass down. They think that being white is something to feel guilty over because their ancestors have historically oppressed other people. If America is supposed to be about pride in one's identity, my white kids don't have much to be proud of. They've been taught to oppress themselves while multicultural students have their moment in the "multicultural spotlight."
It's even more difficult for students who are of European descent. As one of my students said to me, "This is an unfair question. I'm white; I have no culture."
I have no culture. Those are the most disappointing words one can ever say. When I hear students--especially white students--say this, I think to myself that multicultural America has done this. I believe in diversity, but not to the point where one culture, that of European descent, has been forgotten. Unfortunately, that's where we are today. Multicultural America, multicultural education, multicultural literature, and multicultural history has been the craze in the past decade in order to give equal time in the books to historically oppressed cultures. In implied ways, educators and even the common laymen have pointed the fingers that the whites are to blame for slavery, for oppression, for Hitler, and for being too dominant.
When talking about culture in the classroom, my white kids feel left out. They think being white means having no valid cultural experience. They sit with idle thumbs while they listen to Asian, Mexican, and black kids talk about how they spend Christmas, the foods they eat during holidays, and the superstitions that their mothers pass down. They think that being white is something to feel guilty over because their ancestors have historically oppressed other people. If America is supposed to be about pride in one's identity, my white kids don't have much to be proud of. They've been taught to oppress themselves while multicultural students have their moment in the "multicultural spotlight."
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Pain
I've said it once, and I'll say it again: being a teacher, one is constantly surrounded by the boundless domain (oxymoron, people!) of stupidity.
It is painful to be around it... and it's only February.
It is painful to be around it... and it's only February.
Friday, February 04, 2005
A Different Breed
A teacher from San Diego who is also teaching at the same school where I work warned me that "the kids up here are a different breed." I thought that there couldn't be that much difference: kids are kids. They all hate homework ,and they all think school is just a six-hour social gathering.
Now that I'm into the second semester, I do agree with the above statement: the kids up here in Riverside are a different breed. They are lazier than the students I taught in San Diego. (Actually, there was this lower than low moment of stupidity in San Diego...)
Just a few days ago, I was in the computer lab with my class teaching them on how to format their essays using the MLA style. I gave out the handout with instructions. I even went the extra step and cut and paste pictures on the insructions so that kids had a visual when they looked at MS Word. We went over the directions before they started. Then I asked, "Does everybody understand what to do?" I got a resounding "YES" as a reply.
As soon as they logged onto the computers and opened up MS Word, I got a dozen hands up in the air and a bunch of whiny complaints of "What are we supposed to do?" or "I don't know how to do this." The handout of instructions was tucked under their keyboard or thrown on the floor. Some students stashed into their books and back pack thinking it was homework.
"Did you read the directions?" I asked.
"No. Where are the directions?"
I pull out the handout from under the keyboard. "Were you listening as we went over the handout?"
"Yes."
"Then follow the directions here." I turn to the side where there are instructions.
The student still stared at the blank screen of MS Word with a blinking cursor. "But I don't know how to make the heading."
"Read the instructions. They're there." I point to the pictures and the words--God forbid-- the words!
"I don't read. Nobody reads. You expect us to read?" the student whined. "Can't you just show it to me?" [In other words, "Can't you just show it to me by doing it for me?"]
"No," I disgustedly replied. You fucked up little snot, I thought to myself.
They are that fucking lazy to read up here. Reading a paragraph is too much for them. They sleep during a four-page short story. No one reads the daily agenda that I write every day. Every time they walk into class, they still ask me, "What are we doing today?" and when I point to the board to show them the daily agenda, they don't even bother to read it. They bring their books but they stare at the walls. They complain about the homework, which they never do. They turn in low quality work because no one believes in typing or neatness or careful work.
And they bitch about why they got an F.
I'd like to say, "You got an F because you're stupid." Let me define my meaning of stupidity. Stupidity to me, is not the incapability to learn, because all kids can learn, stupidity is when one fails to use common sense. Stupidity is the incapability to see how one's actions and the consequences of those actions are directly related. Stupidity is when one doesn't even use simple reasoning and logic to figure out their own mistakes and to see how everything is connected. Two plus two is four; no homework plus sleeping in class is an F.
"But I come to class everyday" does not mean credit. The kids up here are stupid. They think merely existing or taking up a seat in a classroom means they're passing. Where's the logic in that reasoning?
Now that I'm into the second semester, I do agree with the above statement: the kids up here in Riverside are a different breed. They are lazier than the students I taught in San Diego. (Actually, there was this lower than low moment of stupidity in San Diego...)
Just a few days ago, I was in the computer lab with my class teaching them on how to format their essays using the MLA style. I gave out the handout with instructions. I even went the extra step and cut and paste pictures on the insructions so that kids had a visual when they looked at MS Word. We went over the directions before they started. Then I asked, "Does everybody understand what to do?" I got a resounding "YES" as a reply.
As soon as they logged onto the computers and opened up MS Word, I got a dozen hands up in the air and a bunch of whiny complaints of "What are we supposed to do?" or "I don't know how to do this." The handout of instructions was tucked under their keyboard or thrown on the floor. Some students stashed into their books and back pack thinking it was homework.
"Did you read the directions?" I asked.
"No. Where are the directions?"
I pull out the handout from under the keyboard. "Were you listening as we went over the handout?"
"Yes."
"Then follow the directions here." I turn to the side where there are instructions.
The student still stared at the blank screen of MS Word with a blinking cursor. "But I don't know how to make the heading."
"Read the instructions. They're there." I point to the pictures and the words--God forbid-- the words!
"I don't read. Nobody reads. You expect us to read?" the student whined. "Can't you just show it to me?" [In other words, "Can't you just show it to me by doing it for me?"]
"No," I disgustedly replied. You fucked up little snot, I thought to myself.
They are that fucking lazy to read up here. Reading a paragraph is too much for them. They sleep during a four-page short story. No one reads the daily agenda that I write every day. Every time they walk into class, they still ask me, "What are we doing today?" and when I point to the board to show them the daily agenda, they don't even bother to read it. They bring their books but they stare at the walls. They complain about the homework, which they never do. They turn in low quality work because no one believes in typing or neatness or careful work.
And they bitch about why they got an F.
I'd like to say, "You got an F because you're stupid." Let me define my meaning of stupidity. Stupidity to me, is not the incapability to learn, because all kids can learn, stupidity is when one fails to use common sense. Stupidity is the incapability to see how one's actions and the consequences of those actions are directly related. Stupidity is when one doesn't even use simple reasoning and logic to figure out their own mistakes and to see how everything is connected. Two plus two is four; no homework plus sleeping in class is an F.
"But I come to class everyday" does not mean credit. The kids up here are stupid. They think merely existing or taking up a seat in a classroom means they're passing. Where's the logic in that reasoning?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)