ten.

Tuesday, November 2nd, 2004
Subject: secret to teenage acne:
Time: 7:57 pm.

high schools clog your pores!



Sunday, October 31st, 2004
Subject: pardon the typos.
Time: 6:21 pm.
Mood: gah.
Music: notwist. neon golden.

to distill this week into paragraphs. what a tricky thing to do.

i've built a community in the classroom. both classrooms, to be exact. it took me awhile to crack period four five. but i did. they are immersed in a program called "map for life" where every thursday a guest speaker joins the class and maps out his or her life (o, what a clever program name) via a chalk and talk as the children fill in the veins of a workbook with the plasma, blood cells, and platelets of information about the speaker. it's an interesting program. i had had my doubts. but now that i've witnessed the sound of silence filled with only breath and a sniffle here and there, i am happy the program has been implemented. how is it that they can stay so silent for so long? it makes me want to dress up as a new person everyday--dress up so they won't recognize me, and then, maybe, just maybe, i could get through more than ten minutes of a lesson.

i mapped my life out for them the following friday. you know those lunatics thought i was teaching for the money?

"miss, you make a hundred dollars and hour."

i had to turn my head away when i heard that one. i felt like saying "zelda, if that were the case, don't you think i'd be in ireland or dollywood soaking up the culture?"

i told them about how my father was an english teacher as well, and as he worked on his masters and worked full-time at a juvenile facility he fell ill and passed away. and i was fifteen.

"ms. dow, do you teach because your father taught."

i didn't have to think. the word just flew out:

"yes."

it took until that moment to realize why, i suppose, i'm truly teaching.
__________

[we'd be leading slanted parallel lives if he'd grown younger and healther as i, older and increasingly unhealthy (thank you bacon and coffee).] <---- i need to work this part into a syllabic and slanted poem.

_________________________________

i thought about my father all week. i cannot wait to go home and exhume graphic organizers from nineteen ninety three.
____________

on a shittier note. my handheld was lifted from the faculty bathroom. isn't that lovely? i had finished a mentor meeting and ran upstairs to de-chalk before another class. i placed the cased gadget on a sink counter. and ran out the door down to two thirteen. as i paced around the room taking a mental status of the class, i looked around for my handheld to mark attendance. and realized i'd left it upstairs on the sink counter.

i'm a fucking idiot. really. i am.

i grabbed a passing teacher to monitor my room as i ran upstairs. i fully expected to find the gadget sitting, still, on the counter since only ten minutes had passed. it was gone.

strangely i feel as though part of me has died since wednesday. how can this be? people have functioned years without a handheld. teachers still get by using a pencil and a log book. why can't i?

what saddens me, other than the fact that i'm an oaf, is the fact that a faculty member has taken my little electronic 16mb heart. fuckers. why? i hope it dies on them and they are too ridiculously incompetent to figure out what sort of charger they need to revitalize and eventually pawn off to their little cousin as a used birthday present. because christmas for bid they walk around the school sporting technology they never would have ever used until they laid their little beady eyes on that sink counter i will bust at the seams until they see green and tattered jeans and the spitting image of dr. david bruce banner's alter ego.

i'm pissed. wow. it feels good. it feels better than this shitty i hate myself feeling i've been carrying around for days.
________________________________

the parent-teacher festivities on thursday evening and friday afternoon were interesting. i was nervous only about whether or not the parents would think me very young looking and take me less seriously than if i was old and tweedy (because really when i think "teacher," i think of my own--and they were old and tweedy). i had my inclusion co-teacher with me, the one that works with my period four five. we had a ball. sang mister sandman during the dull moments, and begged mr. cerny (young and tweedy) to buy us a round of flan from the student bake sale downstairs (yes, flan. weird. i know). thursday left me a tired egg for friday's early class schedule--a half day followed by more meetings with parents and guardians.

i did not make it to happy hour. i knew if i had made it up the block for a beer and game of beer pong, the sticky tables of down the hatch would have become my bed for the rest of the day.
__________

i took adam to a play at the opera house on arion place. hamlet. it was amazing, what i saw at least. adam fell ill fifteen minutes before intermission. i met him outside and we traveled back home. this summer i will do theatre. and with lisa's helpful friends (i watched her movie today, swimming, and thought fondly again of acting) maybe i can get some head shots done.
_________________

all in all i had a weird week. i wish i could talk more about my father, but those feelings, still, don't have words, even after nine years.



Subject: i need to have a dance off with this girl.
Time: 9:07 am.

http://home.comcast.net/~subtlelikeatrex//...orage/dance.avi

i'll write later. it's just too early. and i've had only one cup of coffee.



Wednesday, October 27th, 2004
Subject: i hate.
Time: 6:01 pm.

myself when i lose things.

i feel like an idiot.

two people have made me feel a little bit better. thank you joanne. and thank you adam.



Tuesday, October 26th, 2004
Time: 5:01 pm.

today was a not so great day.



Sunday, October 24th, 2004
Time: 4:00 pm.
Mood: positive.
Music: the pharcyde. passin' me by.

I sort of dreaded sitting down and logging all my goods and my bads of this week. It sure felt hectic. I felt unprepared starting the week. Having worked the weekend, leaving me little time for planning, I was sure the work week’s motto was going to be “sink or swim.” But I was okay.

I survived the week. And it wasn’t that bad. Sadly, Ramp-Up to Literacy leaves little to no room for creativity. Well, it depends if you follow the model. I do, pretty much, to a certain degree. I ride the wave of twenty to thirty minute independent reading time, fifteen minute independent writing time, fifteen to twenty minute mini-lesson and homework review, and a fifteen to twenty minute read aloud session. By the time the class is settled into surfing through the motions, the class is over. Ramp-Up is what you put into it, I suppose. Ask me three months from now if I’m still riding this wave—chances are I won’t be. It’s boring, but I’ll settle for it, as I settle into teaching. I’ll change it around when I feel the urge to jump out of our classroom’s third story window.

Between professional development, mentor meetings, academic meetings, meeting with this so-and-so artist from this gallery for a trip (next spring no less), last minute paper grading, student participation and general assessment write-ups, and class on Thursday evening, I was able to breath, eat, plan (minimally), sleep, and relax. How?

This is a profession of balancing duties and working under pressure—two things that I do very well. This is how I made it through college. It reminds me of a survival of the fittest game. I can see how people burn out. But, summer—summer is my recuperative time. I’m sure I will be busy with class and maybe teaching summer school, but everything will be moving at a much slower pace, affording me all the rest and relaxation needed for the second year.

I think I might have found my calling. It just feels right. I can deal with all the politics, and paperwork, and poor behavior (of students and colleagues, alike).

I’m not in the disillusionment phase of teaching. Though there are weeks, days, hours, minutes, and even seconds that I drop into that phase—but I move in and out of all of them on a moment-to-moment basis. I feel a range of emotion that has been vacant in me for some time. It makes me feel alive.

I sound crazy, don’t I?

I feels like a good crazy.
______________________________

My nine-ten block can see right through my feigned meanness. They tell me I’m no good at being mean. I’m okay with it. I’m strict, and that warrants me respect. I’m fair, and that warrants me respect. I give one hundred and fifty percent of my attention to my students when they need.

So I can’t wear mean. I knew that already.

I just don’t have it in me, and they respect that too.
_______

After bubbling in all my marking period grades and comments, journaling, and lesson planning for the day, I need to run to the market for chocolate chip cookie ingredients. Tonight I will bake, as a few of my students and I will be having a cookie luncheon in the afternoon (thanks for the game idea Carolyn).
______

I’m nervous about parent-teacher night. I catch myself giving speeches in the shower.



Wednesday, October 20th, 2004
Time: 6:40 am.

three three?

guh.



Sunday, October 17th, 2004
Time: 9:00 pm.
Mood: anxious.
Music: yankees.

As for a long weekend and a short work week, this felt like the longest week ever. It might have something to do with the fact that I worked the high school fair at Brooklyn Tech both Saturday and Sunday. The assistant principal of our academy had approached me on Wednesday. He said to me, “Ms. Dow, are you available Saturday and Sunday?” With the mantra, imbedded in my head from the Fellow’s program; from the unwritten rule of new teacher hood; and from the advice spoken directly from the academy’s assistant principal, I said, “Yes.”

But it was on Friday I truly learned what I yessed. It had been a long four days…all I wanted was a good game of beer pong at Down the Hatch and good napping sessions over the cold weekend:

“Ms. Dow, you are available both Saturday and Sunday, from ten to four?”

“Yes…but what will I be doing?”

“You’ll be promoting our high school and its new art academy. You are exactly the right person for the job!”

I thought, right?! What? Are you sure?!?! I was somewhat flattered, but then I thought that maybe I was just the only one available and willing.

When I stepped foot in Brooklyn Tech, I was overwhelmed. I felt like I should have had my mother by my side. Half of these eighth graders looked older than I. And what the hell did I know about Chelsea? Certainly not enough to field the first hour of questioning by students and parents alike.

This weekend work can’t even be considered a shitty end to a shitty week because tomorrow I’ll wake up at five in the morning and continue this steady stream of going through the motions. I’ve never wanted a weekend off so badly. I cannot what until Friday.
__________

I browsed my handheld notes and realized the only thing I noted was the poor behaviors of my students in both my blocks. Most of the notes where filled with foul and swear words and racial epithets—anecdotes to shove students into our main academy office where they had the opportunity to sit and brood over their juvenile behavior.
__________

Some of these kids are so vacant. They won’t look you in the eye. Where is the respect?
____

I feel like I have to work one hundred and fifty percent harder than a lot of my colleagues because I’ve been stigmatized as looking twelve indefinitely. I think the crappy vernacular of the student body tends to slip out more in my presence than it really should. Sure I make them write, “I will never say (this racial epithet, foul or swear word) ever again” one hundred times…but does it sink in? Does sitting in the office with the dean register any remorse? Am I fighting the wrong battles? Does the idea, the threat of, suspension phase the majority of the teenage population? Why the fuck is it so goddamn different down here than anywhere that I’ve ever seen?
__________________________

I really did some much deserved drinking on Friday, and as much as I tried to avoid conversations related to work, they just kept on sprouting up like unwanted weeds in a slightly kempt garden. Yes, I like to commiserate…its healthy once in a while, but situations like these make me want to run. Far. Far. Away.

I really should take up skateboarding more seriously. Or yoga.
_________________________________________________

One major obstacle I dealt with all week was -----. That kids just loves to push my buttons. I had two informal meetings with him in regards to his poor behavior and failing grade, and he was cool one to one. But there is something about the classroom…it becomes ------’s arena where he is the master of ceremonies. He just wants to get in trouble. He loves to drive me insane. And it drives him nutso when I don’t punish him immediately. It irks him that I take notes on his behavior during the class and don’t do anything with them. Yet. I will. I just need to really observe him now to see what he really needs, rather than give him what he wants. I’m too tired to chase ---- around all day, to battle with him ever other minute in the classroom. He’s not that special to deplete the little energy I have, day in and day out.
_________

Oh, to be thirteen again.



Monday, October 11th, 2004
Subject: a letter to a friend made me think.
Time: 7:24 pm.

that maybe i haven't been explicit:

alas, my graduate class is a joke thus far. can you imagine thirty new teachers in one room? can you imagine thirty new teachers drinking in a bar together? you could only imagine what they bitch about in and out of class.

we have good literature to read for the class, yet we do not discuss it. the assignments, these in-task course assignments, spread out over our two year track at pace, are but a one page joke. to most. but i put my best effort forth, and squeeze as much thought on one page (believe me i stretch the margins, something, as an undergrad, i would have never done).

i look forward to classes with more content and less student venting. maybe this is what the course was constructed for. and academic hug for those teachers who are not getting hugged enough in these formative stages.

teaching though. wow, it's amazing. it's a career that you can not not care about.

in one day two people said to me," erica, you just have to stop caring. some of these kids don't care, why should you?" the other spoke something equally profound, "you can't change the world by teaching."

both phrases are a crock. i wanted to say to them, "well maybe this job isn't for you." but working hard, and sleeping less hours prevents me from saying a lot of things. i've harbored the art of censorship, indirectly.

i love teaching. but i can understand the short-lived careers of others. you burn out. you give and give, and receive, what some would say, very little.

all i know is this: this is first job i've ever cared about. i don't ever question why i'm doing it, and because of that, i know that i'm a good point in my life.

the theatre lingers always in my thoughts, but my classroom is my stage, every academic calendar day.



Subject: sorry for the typos.
Time: 4:23 pm.
Mood: lazy.
Music: fan humming.

This week I approached daily journaling by not journaling at all, but rather committed myself to taking notes on my palm pilot through the day to see if I could pinpoint a common theme threaded throughout the week.
____________________

I logged on Monday, October 4th at 10:47 am: “No one likes to read. Why?” Has the routine of the Ramp-Up to Literacy program lost its novelty in only four weeks? Are my students raging a fight against turning into procedural drones whereby they absolutely hate walking into class silently everyday, filing to the back corner of the room and picking up their silent reading books, silently, and silently returning to their seats to silently read? Any dip-shit could have told you that this sort of thing would be a battle from day one. Petrified and unprovoked, students for the first week didn’t mind (in the sense that they struggled less) the prescribed procedural nonsense of rotating a block period into twenty minute disjointed disciplines of study. At 10:47 am, seventeen minutes into my first block period, it became acutely clear that this battle would be a tiresome one, filled with zip its, shushes, be quiets, and stop staring out the windows.

At 1:24 pm, I logged, “Shoot me. Ugh. I have a dry throat. Chin told me I would not like him after he gives me my formal observation write up.” He has such an odd sense of humor. He said it with a half grin. What the fuck? I remember feeling then, as I do now, dead tired and full of sniffles. The last thing I wanted was some bizarro ambiguous comment from my boss relating to my teaching styles, especially after a fair post observation meeting. With a clear mind, a comment like that would have seemed congenial and witty. Then, I secretly wanted to cough and sneeze all over him.
_______________________

For Tuesday, I have nothing logged. Which makes perfect sense considering I did not have an ounce of time to myself between meeting with two mentors and fully revamping the planning I had done all night for my four five block. There will be many days like Tuesday, and many planning periods where I frustratingly tear up my plans for my block four five because I cannot seem to adequately plan for their learning needs.
_______________

Wednesday, October 6th, 2004, I logged, “Kids can’t even swear properly.” As I was descending the stairs to the front door of freedom, I heard some kid utter “That kid almost shitted his pants.” How about just shit? Can we just say shit? Can we just learn how to say something right? Because when you say shitted, it sounds like you have a speech impediment. Does shit even have a past tense? Does it even posses any merit to warrant any other tense other than present?
___

On Thursday at 11:50 am ---- alerted to me that the word shit was, in fact, not a swear word (after he blurted it out right in front of me). Whereas this once might have seemed funny, I felt no need to stifle a laugh. I looked at him and asked, “Since when?” This was intended as a hypothetical question, though with his response I gathered that he didn’t see it as such. I ended our conversation by saying “Right, it’s not a swear word, and I live on an island with gnomes, fairies, and rainbows. I’m going to write you up.” He looked at me puzzled, and I walked away.

2:24 pm, “Call ----’s grandmother!” Did I? No, and I should of because all I got the next day was more lip and more sass.

Seriously, what is with the mouths?

But this e-mail made my Thursday:

Dear Erica & Nikki,

It was a pleasure to meet you and your colleagues today. Your Assistant Principal and I discussed the program after our meeting and both feel that since you can both work together on the program it will be a great fit for your class. I'd like to schedule a time to meet with you both and discuss some curriculum links and give you a timeline for the spring semester. I am in on Tuesday, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, please let me know over the next week or so when would be a convenient time to meet. I look forward to working with you this year.

Best Regards,

Dina

The Drawing Center - Drawing Connections Program
___________________________________________

The common theme for the week has been swearing. These kids have terrible mouths and no sense of censorship. Friday, 11:31 am ---- shouts out, “Fucking faggot” across the room. I escort him down to the main office. This is the third time this week that I’ve had to deal with his mouth. Tuesday the principal caught a whiff of ----’s foul mouth during a presentation he (the principal) gave to the class about credits and the importance of the freshman year. Wednesday it was “Fuck you ----, you fucking bitch” where I escorted him down to the main office.

What happened to the art of being sly when being deviant? When did it become fashionable to be so overt when displaying poor behavior like swearing and passing notes? Has the art died? What are they trying to prove? Do they enjoy getting in trouble? Has getting in trouble become some masochistic art form?

Wednesday ---- got up from his seat to pass ---- a note, to which ---- promptly showed me. The note was a caricature stick drawing of both ---- and ----. Stick figure ---- says, “No don’t kill me!” and stick figure ---- says, “You are going to die bitch!” ---- wanted to show me the note, wanted to get ---- in trouble, even though she might not have been threatened by such a juvenile drawing. Her mother happened to be visiting the school that day and she wanted to show her mother the picture. I went for the note, because it was obvious she wanted me to have it, yet she struggled to let it go…giggling and squirming as ---- pointed at laughed.

I wish I majored in Psychology. ---- has been suspended.

To remedy this growing disease of foul language I have threatened my students with writing the epithet or foul word used one hundred times following the format of “I will not use the word _____________ ever again.” Collectively, our academy has adopted this archaic mode of discipline. I will follow through. No more suffering in empty threat syndrome.
_________

Does this weekend have to end?



Time: 1:45 pm.

often i wonder if people in the world get up as early as i do, or perhaps they are just going to bed, and at rising, or just before falling, they eat a grand display of foods--peanut butter, cheese, ice cream, and pickles--and after doing so they return to, or turn to, slumber and dream of folks living in empty grocery stores; teachers yelling at students to remove their hats; and small children with pumpkin heads riding on unicorns.

i know i do.

do you?



Wednesday, October 6th, 2004
Time: 7:06 pm.

bathing ape sneakers are nasty. what the fuck are you thinking?

i want the nike golden lucky sevens hi.

also, kids can't even swear grammatically. christmas.



Sunday, October 3rd, 2004
Time: 4:32 pm.

i did heed the advice of not planning on saturday. but i must admit, i'm lacking some motivation today in regards to planning for the upcoming week.
___

i feel a tickle in my throat. also, i love wal-mart. i miss upstate. i should go home for october break.
_____________

listen, i love you fellows, but i can't keep up with the babble. i do miss my fellow's advisor. it was nice to see her on friday evening. i mean, i have mentors up the ying yang, but atleast collen can talk to me like an adult.
__

is it because i look twelve? because really, i feel like i'm all seventy-six, bedtimes at eight, and flat shoes for comfort.



Thursday, September 30th, 2004
Subject: frustrated.
Time: 10:58 pm.

frustrated at the idea that my block ----- is not an inclusion class. that it is tracked, most likely. and that my general education students are hiding under the guise of this title due to the fact that they've slipped through the cracks of testing. and how come no one told me until today?

____

what should take one day, takes three. and strict discipline doesn't work. someone suggested prizes. pencil sharpeners and bookmarks. but i feel like i don't even know how to teach this type of class. it seems so unexpected and sudden. i've got to figure out something fast.
_____________________________________________________

also coverage teachers are a joke. i think it's great that they pay considering the amount of misery we experience.



Wednesday, September 29th, 2004
Time: 7:35 pm.

i'm incapable of planning or working or studying this evening. i read about eight pages of alfie and realized that i didn't digest any of the words or ideas.

my observation went well. the only criticism i received was about the negative sarcasm i bring to the classroom environment (yes, i pick on them for not eating lunch and sleeping during my class). i was told to try teaching without the comments, because what purpose do they really serve? he told me i was lucky that they were even coming to my class, considering it's the last period of their day. he said they want to be there, or they wouldn't show up; that they like me and want to be there.

at first i thought, what is a classroom without sarcasm? but today i taught without the comments, and it still went well. but, i did bite my tongue here and there.
___

my students are overwhelmed by all the visitors. and i am too.



Tuesday, September 28th, 2004
Time: 5:16 pm.

blargh. i feel like i'm just going through the motions, trying to keep awake and afloat in this sea of tired.

how come my kids didn't know the definition or purpose of revision? i feel like i'm not just the ninth grade teacher, but a sixth, seventh, and eighth grade educator as well. i have a lot of work to do.



Monday, September 27th, 2004
Time: 6:41 pm.

i felt pretty good today after a full sunday of preparation. i was happy to learn that i did not have professional development this afternoon (it's every other week erica), but i still came home later than i wanted after an academy meeting after school. i'm to be observed tomorrow by the art academy assistant principal.

also, my students don't follow directions well.



Friday, September 24th, 2004
Time: 7:39 pm.

i have no entry for thursday.

by the time i got home from pace all i wanted was bed. my head hurt. i could feel my eyes becoming watery. i didn't even accept a hug from adam, and i blamed it on the germs.

i felt pretty awful today too.

i didn't get a coverage today. i was pretty happy about that. i've had two already. my first coverage was a disaster. each academy is on a different bell schedule. they assigned me for another academy's period which they thought fit within my school's bell schedule. and it did not. i sat in the coverage class. no one showed up until five minutes before the period was up. five minutes before i had class.

a veteran gave me attitude. and i stuck up for myself. man she was snotty. i was to consult her for work students could do during that period. she looked at me (with disdain) and said:

what?!

i'm here to gather materials from you for my coverage period.

well, how many students are in there?

i don't know.

what do you mean you don't know? did you not go the class to count?

i've come a half an hour early to gather the materials. as i should. so, i don't know how many kids will be in there.

man, she was a bitch. pardon my phrasing. but just because i'm a new teacher it doesn't give anyone the right to treat me like a twelve year old in front of colleagues and students. and just because i have young face, it doesn't mean that i'm naive. it doesn't mean you are going to walk all over me.

i think she was surprised, and most likely angered, by my age appropriate and professional mannerisms.

---- showed up before the period was to end. for me. apparently it was to begin for him. i took him to her office. i told her there was a scheduling problem. she picked up the phone and told me it was not her problem.

i stayed in that room until she addressed me again, where i said calmly: as you know, i can't leave--we can't leave children in the classroom without a teacher, it's illegal. i cannot be in two places at once. i cannot check four floors down about scheduling issues. i cannot stay in the classroom if i'm to teach my own class within five minutes. so, they will have to stay with you.

and i left.
_____________________

today i broke it down to my ninth and tenth period classroom that i did not want to battle with them all year. i'm their teacher. and they have to deal with it. i told them i don't want to butt heads. i don't have the time nor the energy. i told them i don't want to bring the drama home, because i have a life too. i have dinner plans, and party plans, and relaxing plans too. i told them it hurts my feelings when they talk out of the side of their mouths, because i can hear it. and it's not cool. i told them if they are here to learn, they will. if they feel like they are forced to be here because of their parents, they are not...and if they don't want to be here, then don't come. but if they cut, and i call home to the parents (especially the onces that "force" them to come to school) how is going to make their situation better when their parents are going to be more upset at them for cutting?

i tried to problem solve with them today. they feel disrespected, not necessarily by me, but in general--i don't know if they mean by other teachers, administrators, or the school. they feel that they are being treated like third graders. and i asked them why they are treated this way. and they all admitted, in some way, that they are not disciplined enough to be treated like adults.
___

my ---- made me cry today. i didn't cry in front of them. instead, i cried in the women's bathroom.



Wednesday, September 22nd, 2004
Time: 3:54 pm.

i feel the germ creeping up.

my co-teacher spoke to ----. it went well. he admitted to copying. he's going to do it again. now, if we could just get him to pay attention in class.

i have so many mentors it makes my head swirl. board of education mentor. pace mentor. literacy coach mentor. lead fellow mentor. english department mentors. and i'm collaborating up the yahoo with matt (who never received ramp up training), two other english teachers from another academy (for ramp up), nikki (for english period four and five), the academy's science teacher (for advisory), and the literacy coach.

my head. it swirls with everything i'm to do. thank goodness i have this palm pilot to log everything. i just have to remember to use it more.



Tuesday, September 21st, 2004
Time: 4:32 pm.
Mood: concerned.
Music: van morrison.

i spent hours last night reading about the artist cam'ron. if i never have to read another article about cam'ron, i will die happy. ---- handed me a questionable paper on monday. questionable in the idea that what he wrote was most likely written by somebody else. either the entire essay was plagiarized. or bits and pieces. in any case, i know that cam'ron didn't go to his house. and cam'ron didn't get caught with drugs at his house that lead cam'ron to his heavy possession charge.

how do you approach a kid? a kid who definitely has some learning disabilities, and some emotional needs. how do you not embarrass him? how do you tell him that what he did was wrong, and have him process it?

he didn't show up for class today.

he obviously wants to do well in class. he obviously needs one on one attention. but i have nineteen other kids to manage.

note to self: start bringing lunch. or leave the building. erica why do you trap yourself in these walls?