Cantabridgian

This weekend has been my first chance to explore my new neighborhood since I've moved in. I am officially a Cantabridgian, but seeing as I just learned that term, I think I have a lot left to learn about my new home.

I've decided, however, to write down my first observations and impressions, in spite of the risk of sounding incredibly dumb. Wait, let me rephrase that. In spite of the certainty of sounding incredibly dumb. Because the truth is that I know I will go back and read this in a few months, and have an entirely different image of the place I am living, and be shocked by my own naivete. Nevertheless, it is fun to remember initial impressions, and it may be fun for the two people who read my blog to have any impressions of the place I'm living. So forgive me if this all changes in a few months, but here is what I have seen so far:

1) General location: I live between Magazine Street (which makes me happy because it reminds me of New Orleans) and River Street. I am exactly a 7 minute walk from the T station, which is pretty much right in the middle of Central Square; multiple people have timed this, and we all come up with 7 minutes, so although that seems arrogantly specific I think it's actually just accurate. My street itself is a very short one, and my building (a three story house-turned-into-apartment building) is across from a long section of row houses, painted many different bright colors, and next door to an abandoned elementary school that, this fall, will become home to an alternative high school and a family resource center. (The crowd at my first ever neighborhood association meeting seemed very concerned about this one, but that's an entirely different story...)

2) Churches: I'm pretty sure I live in the district of churches. Directly across the street from my street is the large white Methodist Church. Two blocks down is the Korean Church, which also serves as a homeless shelter. Two blocks down from that is the Greek Orthodox Church, which last weekend held a 3-day Greek festival that shut down a whole block, with tables and lots of Greek food in the middle of the street. One block down is the large Baptist Church right in the heart of Central Square, with two signs: one proclaiming their 190-year existence and another proclaiming the existence of a "new kind of church" that meets in the afternoon. A block and a half past Central Square is my church, although given the plethora of options on my walk to my church, part of me wants to re-evaluate my church membership.

3) Restaurants: According to Wikipedia, Central Square is "well-known for its wide variety of ethnic restaurants." I haven't gotten the chance to try almost any of them, but my two favorites so far are the India Pavilion and the Falafel Palace. Ok, I confess, I haven't eaten at the Falafel Palace and I've only tried India Pavilion once. I think I mostly like them because the names are so fabulous and they're right next door to each other, increasing the fabulousness. I also discovered an Indian grocery store on my way home from the India Pavilion and kicked myself for just having bought the expensive version when I probably could have gotten roughly the same food more cheaply. Oh well--there's always next time. More on restaurants to come soon hopefully...

4) Public spaces: There is a park on Magazine Street just about a block away from where my street lets out. I haven't yet been but it seems very pretty--lots of benches and greenery. (Although, I have been warned by the neighborhood association, it's also a prime spot for teenagers to hang out, which can only mean trouble! Please reread that sentence again if you didn't hear the sarcasm the first time.) My favorite park, though, is the one that I discovered yesterday, which is in the middle of the sidewalk in Central Square. Yes, that's right--a park on a sidewalk. It is basically two rows of trees with benches between them in the middle of the brick sidewalk outside of the 190-year-old Baptist Church, with a plaque verifying that it is, in fact, a city park. (I think it's named after someone, although I also believe the plaque was placed there for confused passersby like myself. Then again, every street corner up here seems to have a special sign denoting it a "square," so I think maybe we're just a little overzealous with our awarding of honor to public spaces.) As much as I am mocking, I really thought the benches were cute and was hoping to go read there this afternoon--but alas, it is thunderstorming. Thankfully, the "park" is right next to a very fun-looking coffee shop, so I'm sure the idea will tempt me again sometime soon.

That's all for now! Hopefully, if you read this and are far away, it will tempt you to come visit (particularly if you know how to cook your own Indian food if given the proper ingredients--which I could supply!) Above is a picture of my building (from the outside, which my much more aesthetically-inclined roommate informs me is ugly, but I kind of think it's cute), just in case you're visual and all these words get annoying after awhile. :)

Teacher Moments

A couple of "teacher moments" to share:

First, I have been amazed over the past few weeks that I have not yet had what I considered the quintessential first-year teacher moment: the feeling of being totally, completely out of control in the classroom. In fact, I was beginning to congratulate myself on not having reached that moment, and believing that I must be pretty amazing. Turns out that instead, I've just been fortunate--until today. Today I gave numerous students after-school "homework club"--basically a detention where you have to do your homework--even though we do not normally give this to 8th graders. I figured this would make them take me (and their dwindling math homework grades) seriously. Instead, it made them declare war against me. First, I had not totally calculated in my head how many students were receiving this consequence until I got to the classroom, where there were more students than desks, making me outnumbered in just about every sense of the word. This lack of desks caused the first bout of chaos; something about not sitting at a proper desk makes a child imagine he does not need to be a proper student. So once I had finally created enough makeshift desks, the whining began. Shockingly, despite the fact that I had clearly explained yesterday the consequences of not bringing in homework today, they all felt that I was just horribly unfair. And the more complaints I heard, the more bold other people became to complain: hearing other people whine about how unfair I was made them feel more confident to voice their complaints at the horrible injustice of staying 30 minutes after school to complete their math homework. (As one student told me, she had "so many more important things to do." I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that I did, too.) Then, the hands started shooting up. Those students who had finally decided to give in and do their homework now had questions about that homework--but as soon as I could move to a student to answer a question, another student would begin whispering across the room and I would need to leave to deal with that discipline problem. Then more hands would shoot up with more questions, and soon even my behaving children were very disgruntled customers--the service was just not quick enough. In the middle of all the chaos the bell finally rang; before I let them go, I gave them a talk about how disappointed I was in them--a desperate grasp to make it seem like I had control over the situation the entire time, but was choosing not to respond until this moment. I don't think they bought it, considering that one student, as she exited, informed me that there would never have been an episode like this with their normal math teacher.

The good news out of all of this is that 1) I felt totally justified in buying a chocolate cupcake for myself after work; 2) I had a chance to see some areas where I struggle and need to improve; and 3) I had some great conversations with teachers in my office about their first years teaching, which were encouraging, insightful, helpful, and community-building. Still, as I left work today, I felt much less like the confident, bold new teacher I was last week, and more like a kid in dress-up clothes.

But on the funnier side of today, there was another moment that made me feel very much like an actual teacher--and a smart one at that. My students were required to make up their own study guides for their exams, listing at least 5 concepts that they need to review and 2-3 questions for each concept. In order to save time, I have been in the habit of simply scanning homework for completion, which may have prompted today's episode. But as I was (more carefully) grading homework today, I noticed that one student had written on his study guide the following:

#4) Using properties
--What is the Commutative Property of Addition?
--What is the Zero Product Property?
--What is the Multiplicative Identity Property?

#5) Anything that comes
--More things
--Will come up
--During class.

It was the dashes that really made me laugh, because they demonstrated to me that this was not a sincere attempt at concept #5, but rather a hopeful assumption that I would not be looking too closely at anything besides format. After laughing about it at my desk for several minutes, I handed back his paper and in a stern voice asked him if he really thought he was going to trick me into thinking he completed the assignment. He looked pretty sheepish and did not argue, but took the incomplete homework grade. It was a funny moment because I remember being on the other side of those interactions--wondering if I (or, usually, my more gutsy classmates) would get caught riding the line, wondering how the teacher always found out, wondering why she didn't think it was as funny as we did. Turns out, she probably did, but she also probably thought it was more funny that we assumed we wouldn't get caught.

So, very low lows and some moderate highs all in one twelve-hour period that we call a "school day." A few more hours and it starts all over again!

Stolen blog-post

Ok, they're not really stolen, except from myself, and I think that's allowed if I give myself proper credit. :) A few of my college friends have started a blog documenting our different experiences in the professional world. I've posted a couple of times to that but have neglected this blog as a result! So I'm just reposting them here in case anyone else reads this. I apologize again because my writing is always so "weighty," as a friend said. I promise I'm not just sitting around philosophizing all the time--in fact, I'd say my number one occupation over the past few weeks, apart from the one for which I am paid :), is eating ice cream. And while ice cream may increase my physical weight, I find it adds a great deal of levity to every other area of my life, which makes it worth it right now.

Here is my most recent two blog posts about my transition into the working world. Again, read with a grain of salt, given what I said above about my writing tendencies:

TOUGH LOVE
I am now three weeks into teaching, and one week into teaching eighth grade math, specifically. Who would have thought this is where I'd be a month after college, or anytime after college for that matter? I ran into my high school calculus teacher this weekend, who still remembers me as the student who morally objected to finding the surface area of revolution because the only possible real-world application of that equation is how much paint to put on a cooking wok. I simply wrote at the top of my classwork papers, "I promise never to go into the wok-making industry" and turned them in blank. He did a decent job hiding his surprise when I told him my new occupation, but he still was pretty close to laughing. (He also, I found out, has since ceased teaching his students how to find the surface area of revolution.)

While math is certainly challenging, so far I remain about one step ahead of my students; at least I have solved quadratic equations before, even if higher-level calculus was never my thing. My bigger challenge these past few weeks has been not the material itself, but the students, and specifically how to manage the behavior in my classroom while I teach the material. I hear this is extremely normal for first-time (and even veteran) teachers, which gives me hope. And my school is possibly the best place to be learning, because there are already many sound structures in place for me to use to promote classroom discipline. For instance, demerits: each day, I receive a sheet with each student's name on it, next to several boxes where I can record merits and demerits based on their behavior during the day. At the bottom of the sheet is a key with a number code for (I kid you not) about 39 demerits and 15 merits. There is a demerit for not tracking the teacher with your eyes; for not having proper posture; for not having all the necessary materials at your desk; for speaking out of turn; for being in improper uniform. If you disrespect a teacher or a peer, that is an automatic detention, as is an inappropriate response to a consequence (i.e. "No I was not!" as opposed to, "Miss, I respectfully disagree.") I had to try to figure out this week what response was appropriate to a student coloring on his uniform -- there is not, shockingly, a numerical code for that one -- so I made it an "other unprofessional" demerit and pretended like I knew what I was doing.

As my brother pointed out when I described this system to me, it sounds not only strict but downright cruel when you only hear about it and can't see it in practice. In reality, the system is probably a lot less cruel than many school discipline systems. It is clear and consistent; the students know the rules, and every teacher has the same merit/demerit sheet. It does not require yelling or anger to control; I can remain very calm while redirecting my students with a quick and clear consequence. It allows for positive reinforcement as well--I've given out many merits for "excellent posture," which I find much more productive than giving out demerits for poor posture (since my students all immediately sit up straight, mistakenly thinking that I will be giving them all merits, too).

Nevertheless, while I agree with the merits (no pun intended) of this system, and can't even begin to imagine how chaotic my classroom would be without it, I have to agree with my brother in my gut reaction to it. I feel cruel standing in front of a classroom, regularly handing out consequences because a pencil has not been sharpened, an eye goes astray, a rude remark slips out. I feel badly because I know that I easily have made (and continue to make) the same mistakes. I want to give my students warnings; I want to prevent them from making the mistake that requires the consequence; I want to save them from having to take such regular and immediate responsibility for their actions.

But then as I type this this, I have to stop myself. I know that this is what I want in the short-term; it seems more sympathetic, more gracious, more how I think I want to be treated. But in the long-term, is it actually the most loving? Is it loving for me to teach my students that it is acceptable to roll their eyes at me now, if the reinforcing of such behavior is going to get them fired from their first job in a few years? Or is it more loving for me to make them face a small consequence (30 minutes after school) now, in order to teach them the importance of respect and give them the best possible advantage in a job market which is already going to be unfairly predisposed against them because of race, socioeconomic status, English-language capabilities, etc.? Is it loving for me to allow them to sleep in class, if such a habit will cause their grades to drop? Or is it more loving for me to administer a small consequence (a demerit and a call home), which may cause them to get in the habit of sleeping more and thus being better prepared to perform at the level they will need to in order to get not only admission but scholarships to great high schools and colleges?

These are only a few examples. They point to a larger reality though, which is that my love for my students cannot only be sympathy and excusing their behavior. It needs to be tough, because the world is tough. Their world, in particular, is tougher than what I have had to face. The challenges they will come up against are large, and in many cases are the results of injustices that can and should be amended. But the fact that they shouldn't exist does not mean that I can afford to ignore them, because my students cannot ignore them. In reality, I've realized, when I want to love them by sympathetically excusing problem behavior, I really am not loving them. I'm loving myself. I'm protecting myself from their anger; their frustration; their dislike of me. I'm protecting myself from having to be the adult in the room who cares for them enough to teach them hard lessons, even at the expense of my own popularity. This kind of "love" is easy, because it is my natural response. Real love is more difficult--it is tough, not just for them, but for me to give. It doesn't feel loving, because I, like my students, don't enjoy receiving consequences. But when I think of where this tough love leaves them--and me--I know that both of us are better off with it than with the watered-down versions I am tempted to give.

There is some hope at the end of week one. My first day, I had to give three demerits to the same child in one class period--a pretty big deal. Later that week he landed himself in in-school-suspension, where I had to meet with him in order to get him caught up on his math homework. He seemed a little more timid in the ISS room, so we actually had a very good session and by the end of it I could tell that he was actually understanding the concepts that he had struggled with earlier in the week. After completing one particularly difficult stretch of problems, I bent down and looked him in the eye and told him, "I can tell you are smart, and that means you are smart enough to not only do your math homework but to stay out of this room for the rest of the year. I do not want to see you in here again. Do you understand me?" He actually smiled at me and nodded vigorously. That smile was not one of nervousness or an attempt to please me; I realized that because of my stern demeanor, he understood that I cared for him. He later found me to turn in his previously-failed quiz--corrections completed, all perfect. Granted, a small victory at the end of many consequences, but a hope. I hope that not only he continues to succeed in math, but that he can continue to see the love behind tough love, and to grow because of that rather than shy away from it. And I hope I can grow to have the courage to love in a way that may be costly for me, because the cost of not loving in this way is so, so much greater.

And another one...
THINK FAST
As I reflect on this past week, the soundtrack the Nationwide Auto Insurance commercials keeps playing in my head -- a deep voice repeating, "Life comes at you fast," just as two cars collide (or, in my favorite commercial, simply fly off of a cliff). This short sound bite is probably sufficient to describe my life at the moment. In spite of that, let me continue to ramble.

Two weeks ago, I was a college student. I woke up and went to bed when I pleased, and I was the only one who suffered the consequences of any resulting sleep deprivation. I walked everywhere or, when I was particularly lazy, I drove a measly five minutes and parked somewhere for free. I went by my first name. I peppered my days with random appointments--coffee shop dates with friends, meetings with advisers, errands, naps, quiet time alone--all scheduled neatly in my day planner, just to increase my sense of control over my life. And, in the midst of it all, I claimed to be (and actually felt) stressed, tired, and yet delightfully grown-up.

In this past week, I feel like all of that freedom and the resulting self-importance and imaginary adulthood has vanished in the swarm of reality. I suddenly find myself in the "adult world," where it feels like my own agency is indeed very small. I am now a commuter--it takes me 30 minutes each way to get to work, and I drive down the same crowded highways, pay the same $5/day tolls, listen the same morning radio shows, and sip the same iced coffee (ok, I lied, I make mine at home) as all of those other people. I started to complain to my mom this evening about rush hour traffic, only to realize that I am no longer an innocent bystander trapped in the midst of the chaos--I am the cause of rush hour traffic. Not only that, but I have very little control over my day planner. I arrive at work, and there is an email in my Inbox waiting for me with my agenda for the day. Errands are no longer a random and spur-of-the-moment diversion; rather, they must be planned with what I can only imagine is the precision of a covert military operation. (Can anyone help me try to figure out how a teacher who works 7-5, Monday through Friday, makes time to be at the apartment to meet the cable and internet installation guy, who also works 7-5, Monday through Friday). I go to bed at 10 in a desperate attempt to mitigate the harsh effects of the 5:30 am alarm; thus far, it hasn't worked, but I'm told that's "social jet lag" and it will pass. Casual coffee dates with friends have been replaced by urgent coffee runs for coworkers before the afternoon staff meeting. Most importantly, my first name is gone; I now exist on a last-name basis. This last change, I believe, is supposed to make me feel more like the adult that I suddenly am, but I feel more like a child playing dress-up in grown-up clothes that don't quite fit.

I re-read this and it sounds incredibly depressing. I'm not actually meaning to sound that way. I think "shock" is probably a better word for the emotion I'm feeling right now. Much like the poor drivers in the Nationwide commercials, life came at me fast, I've been hit head on, and I am in shock. Unlike the drivers in the commercials, however, I vaguely knew this was coming. I even chose it. And I am looking forward to the day, sometime in the near future, when I will continue living this life and it will no longer be shocking. In fact, I fully expect for it to be good, just in an entirely different way than my life has been good for the past 23 years.

I'll have more specific updates related to my job soon, although I should probably clarify that for the sake of my own employment status within the school system as well as child protection laws, I won't be able to post many identifying details about who I am/where I am/with whom I'm working. I'm sure there will be plenty of sufficiently non-identifying stories to share, though. Looking forward to hearing yours--and if any of you wants to come up next week and meet the cable guy, you're more than welcome to my couch and some homemade iced coffee while you wait!

Exam-time haiku

A friend recently told me I should try to start writing poetry. I think that's a brilliant idea. Here are my attempts:

Trying to study--
Pointless: must check my email!
Maybe it's lunch time?

Iced coffee is gone.
Why am I still sitting here?
I need a refill.

Work: overrated.
There is sun outside today;
I want to catch it.

New song on iTunes.
It will only take minutes
to Google lyrics...

Grades are no big deal.
Will I care ten years from now?
I give up. Play time!

Beauty

A little girl I know recently asked me why grown-ups cry when they are happy. I remember asking the same question. It seems so ridiculous, a sign that the world is completely unpredictable. I have now joined the inconceivable ranks of those who tear up at swells of music, a view from a mountaintop, a smile in the eyes of a friend. And still, I could not explain it to her.

Tonight I was overwhelmed by the glimpses of true beauty I see in the world around me. The tiny white flowers outside my door that greet me each morning, always surprising me with their simplicity and elegance. The paintings that one of my friends crafted, carefully swirling shades of deep blue until images emerge that reflect her sorrow and joy. Poems whose simplest words capture and distill moments, dreams, hearts. The gentle tones of a guitar interrupted by the sharp sweetness of a violin running through my headphones.

I am not convinced that my tears are truly tears of joy; I think they actually emerge from a deeper sadness than I can even recognize in the moment. Because, the truth is, all glimpses of beauty are only that--glimpses. My flowers will wither. The blues in the paintings will fade, or they will crack, or they will be sold away where I cannot see them again. I will forget sweet words, and no matter how many times I replay the song, it always ends a few minutes later. But if this is the whole truth, then truly "we are to be pitied more than all men." I think, more and more, that the tears I cannot explain represent the truth that we could not know unless God had placed it in our hearts--we were made for unending beauty. We are homesick for a place where flowers do not fade and songs do not end. In the same way my throat tightens when I cannot believe that I must say goodbye to a friend, my tears flow when my heart cannot comprehend why this beauty must end. And the only consolation that could suffice is the message that someday, it won't.

My rainy day song

In every station new trials and troubles
Call for more grace than I can afford.
But where can I go, but to my dear Savior
For mercy that pours from boundless stores.

Grace upon grace, every sin repaired,
Every void restored, you will find Him there.
In every turning He will prepare you
With grace upon grace.

He made a way for the fallen to rise,
Perfect in glory and sacrifice.
In sweet communion, my need He supplies.
He saves, and keeps, and guards my life.

Grace upon grace, every sin repaired,
Every void restored, you will find Him there.
In every turning He will prepare you
With grace upon grace.

To Thee I run now, with great expectation,
To honor You with trust like a child.
My hopes and desires seek a new destination,
And all that you ask, Your grace will provide.

Grace upon grace, every sin repaired,
Every void restored, you will find Him there.
In every turning He will prepare you
With grace upon grace.

--Sandra McCracken

(Special thanks to Becca Giles for sharing that song with me. It's my new "rainy day" song; I think I listened to it in the car about 5 times driving around yesterday, and about 3 times today in the library as I sat trying to focus on my paper while I watched the storms roll in and out. The chorus is worth writing out three times because it's so good. Every sin repaired, every void restored--that's a world I long for.)

Poetic image

My desktop background is currently yellow daffodils in the midst of a rainstorm. I really like it. The image evokes so many things for me; it would make such a good poem, if I could actually write poetry. Someone else want to try?