Okay. So it may be
more like a roller coaster of emotion, but this makes me laugh
and I need to
laugh.
Starting a new school
year is a trip.
There is a lot of
anticipation, fear, hope, optimism, worry, and exhaustion.
Between getting to
know the names of 130 kids--many of them with the same name but different
spellings--Kaylee, Kaleigh, Kalie, Cailey, for example or Maddie, Maddy, Madi,
Madison, and figuring out ways to get to know them, I am swimming in the deep
end those first few days. I told a co-worker that looking at the kids during
passing period on those first few days is like looking at a "magic eye" image.
It is a blurry mess
of awkward teenagers until about the third day when all of the sudden, like
magic, I start recognizing kids and knowing their names
and things begin to get clearer.
and things begin to get clearer.
Sort of.
"Clearer"
is a bit of a stretch, but learning names definitely has me saying
WINNING!"
This year's class of
8th graders has a reputation--
and it's not really the good kind of reputation.
They're true
blue, no question about it, middle schoolers. We were warned by the 7th grade
teachers that we were in for some doozies and boy, howdy.
They did not lie.
There are some lively personalities in this bunch and they are giving me
a run
for my money.
For example, I dealt
with this the first week of school:
Yes.
That is the Mockingjay from The Hunger Games book series, shot dead.
Blood and
all.
The
kids had to make a movie poster about a book they read and this kid chose
Mockingjay. Unfortunately, the first time he drew it, it was the exact emblem
from the book {and the movie} and I had to call him on it. This is a kid that
we had been specifically warned about as someone that is prone to not making the
best choices. I knew I had to nip this sort of behavior in the bud--or at least
try to.
So,
I showed him the assignment instructions {again} where it clearly said that the
illustration for the poster had to be original.
He said he understood and
brought in a new poster the next day.
I
didn't see it until his presentation.
In
front of the class he explained that he drew the Mockingjay like this because
everyone
dies in the book anyway, so why not just kill the bird for his picture?
Great
logic.
The
whole class laughed, including me. After class, in an attempt to build rapport
and to thank him for redoing the assignment, I went on and on about how funny
and creative it was. I told him I was proud of him for "thinking outside
the box" and for doing the correct work. I then asked him how he thought
of it.
I
said that it looked like it could be
--and
he finished my sentence and said,
"A
parody!"
"Yes!"
I said, "A parody!"
"Wait..."
I say, "Is it from a parody?"
"No."
He says. "No, I thought of it..."
"Oh,
okay..."
But
then I got to thinking...is it from a parody?
One
Google image search later and there it was.
The exact same image--yellow and
all.
.
{He
added the blood, awesome.
And no, that doesn't make it original
artwork...}
Ugh.
I
was so disappointed and mad that I had given him
the benefit of the doubt and
it backfired.
To
shorten this long story, the next day I showed him the image, he owned up to
it, I called home, I spoke to Admin, he redid the assignment
and I was left
feeling like the dead Mockingjay.
Teaching
feels like this image.
It
is meant to be an important and respected profession but often
it is shot down
and left to die.
After
I dealt with all of this I felt defeated and worn out.
I
felt like my optimism and enthusiasm for the new year
was killed by a deadly
arrow.
And
then, the very next day, I got this from a former student:
#inspire
At the end of last
year I started using hashtags on my students' reading
responses--because it was
fun.
{#iknow #callmecrazy
#jumpedonthebandwagon #iblamejimmyfallonandjt}
One of the girls
really loved it and would hashtag me back--within her responses, at the end of
other papers and on sticky notes left on my desk.
She emailed me this
year to ask if she could come and visit. Of course I said yes and she arrived
with a card filled with hashtag sentiments and this gift.
I cried.
This is what I want
the symbol of teaching to be.
This is what I strive to do.
This is what I strive to do.
This is why I am in
this job.
This same week, the
district I teach in fell deeper into a spin
of not caring about teachers and what
we do.
I was tempted to feel
like the dead Mockingjay
--all of our hard work being overlooked and misunderstood.
I felt tempted to feel like the dead Mockingjay when I called a dozen
parents over a 24 hour period because of poor choices being made in my
classroom.
I felt tempted to
feel like the dead Mockingjay when I was thrown under the bus at a meeting over
the semantics of task we are being
asked to do to "prove" our ability
as a teacher.
It is very easy to
feel like the dead Mockingjay
and it is very difficult to feel that I ever
#inspire anyone.
But I do.
{At least I try to.}
When I had my epiphany moment
last spring at graduation, I
knew,
deep in my bones, that I am meant to be
a teacher.
I have to be the one
who helps a kid recognize that maybe plagiarism isn't the best choice and I have to be the
one who gets cards and gifts of thanks for
helping them be a better
person.
This dual reality is
teaching.
Maybe my paycheck
won't reflect the latter, and maybe I won't see fruit from some of my labors,
but I will get up every day and try my damnedest to #inspire because
that is my
story.
That is my
hope.
That is enough.
I'm still going to
cry all the way home like I did on Friday because a kid
{a different one...}was super rotten in my class and I had to write a referral, but I am going to
try and remember that even when that happens, there are kids out there who will
be grateful for what I do. To #inspire even one of the kids this year will be
worth it all--
even if I am left a bit wounded in the meantime.
I miss teaching in the same building as you. I love your hope, sweetness and ability to inspire us all!
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