Oh, Fifth Grade

The difference in maturity levels within my fifth grade class is rather astounding. Some of them are still very much babies who play with toys, and others are growing into young adults with all of the awful things that come with that. Today I overheard a very dramatic girl mentioning why she likes a certain male security guard of ours. He is rather good looking, but all the same, I wouldn't say that he has a "FINE" adam's apple. Just not the feature I'd choose to highlight.

In other news, I mentioned to my fifth graders today that it is my life goal to make a graphic organizer that allows for comparison and contrasting that is not a Venn Diagram. I never am able to make enough room in the middle for the comparison section, and the whole non-linear thing is rather annoying to me. One of my students said "Ms. Sablich, just draw lines like these!" She held up her paper and had drawn three columns. "It's a Venn Lineagram!"

Appropriate

There is a third grade cartooning class that meets in my classroom as part of the after school enrichment program. Today they are drawing a winter scene. The enrichment teacher in the room is a bit... well... let's just say she makes me feel like a really great teacher.

When you tell third grade students to create an appropriate winter scene, how do you think they respond to that?

"So no bloody dogs?"

"We can't draw Santa with the milk maid?" (Umm.... huh?)

"Death is out?"

And my personal favorite- "I guess frozen people wouldn't be appropriate either, huh?"

No dearest, it isn't.

The Magic

(At the tail end of an absurdly long day)

"Ms. Sablich, I keep falling asleep and I keep trying to stay awake but I keep falling asleep."

"Okay buddy. Um, oh! I have a magic trick to wake you up. Keep your hands up and snap your fingers three times." (Yes, I realize that I'm a terrible person for manipulating nine year old children.)

Student returns to seat, attempts the magic.

"Ms. Sablich, I can't do it because my finger hurts and the doctor said it would be Friday before it stops hurting so I can't do it until Friday."

"Um... okay. That kind of stinks. Does your finger hurt right now?"

"No, but it won't stop hurting until Friday cause the doctor said."

"Ummmm..."

Student returns to seat.

"Ms. Sablich, I thought cause it was magic then I would learn how to snap. But I didn't."

I love these kids.

Emotional

I'm a teacher of preteen girls. This wasn't such a huge issue... until they realized it.

"We got all kinds of hormones goin' on up in here."

It didn't help so much that I was emotional today too. I only cried three times.

"I guess Ms. Sablich got them hormones too."

Yes baby, she does.

Well Then

Just in case you wondered.

Weekends with a Teacher

Since I have spent the last week crashing with friends of mine whilst on the hunt for a new apartment, I have learned that weekends with teacher Stephanie are not unique. Perhaps when I have a bit more understanding of what I'm doing things won't be like this. Perhaps someday I will spend just 5 hours on a Saturday afternoon planning lessons and preparing for the week.

For now though, here we are.

It is Sunday evening, and I took Friday night off.

It is Sunday evening, and I worked a total of 18 hours since leaving school at 5:30 on Friday evening.

It is Sunday evening, and I had a 61 item to-do list this weekend.

It is Sunday evening, and I have worked 73 hours in the last week.

It is Sunday evening, and I feel guilty about the time I spent relaxing.

it is a good thing I love my job.

Bring it ON, week five. Behavior system, phone calls, small groups, pointless half-days... bring it ON.

Age Issues

Being a relatively young teacher, I do a very good job of convoluting the amount of time that has passed since my birth, and exactly how many years of experience I have. This is important in the younger grades so that parents see me as nothing but an authority, and when I taught high school it was important for very obvious reasons. So, my standard age that I tell people when they ask is 67. 

It is amazing what kids will believe. 

Yesterday, I was reading a Magic School Bus book with my fifth grade class. While they were settling in, I mentioned that the Magic School Bus series was a collection of books, before the television show. I said something about how I was about the age of many of my students when I was watching the shows, and that I was 8 when the book we were reading was published. The paraprofessional in my room asked when the book was written, and I said "96." He looked amazed, and then three seconds later a student burst out with "But Ms. Sablich, that means you're NOT 67!" 

No darling, I'm not. 

Guess What?

When I first started working in a classroom, I tiptoed around issues. I used nuanced language and said convoluted things in an effort to get the kids to like me. 

"Buddy, we just don't do that, okay?" 

"Hun, can you please stop doing that?"

"We all just want to be nice to our friends, right?"

Two years into this, this is how I speak.

"(Student name). You are NOT following my directions."

"(Student name). STOP. NOW."

"You're acting mean, and people aren't going to like you if you do that."

I have found that frank, pointed conversations are best. They are most effective, and they resolve issues quickly, without wasting too much learning time. This morning, my students got a dose of a very frank Ms. Sablich conversation. 

(Stern voice) "Guess what? I'm not your friend, and I don't care if you like me. My job is not to be a nice person. My job is to teach you things. If you are wasting time and stealing the learning opportunities of others, you WILL get a consequence. I don't get paid to hear excuses and put up with nonsense. I get paid to make you the best students you can be." 

Then, like any good teacher, I feign a bit of a personality switch.

(Sweet voice) "Of course, if you happen to love me being your teacher, that makes me feel great."

(Stern voice) "But that is NOT my main job."

We had a good morning. 

Oh, We GOT This

Children of divorced parents often discover the opportunity to misbehave all too easily. They play one parent against the other and win sympathies they wouldn't otherwise have extended to them.

My students play the same game, apparently. Because I teach both fourth and fifth grade, they have the opportunity to attempt to win the support of the other teacher, when they aren't in my class. Unsurprisingly, this typically happens after they had a difficult experience with me.

Sample:

"Dear Miss V: Ms. S said that I pushed D~ but I didn't so this is what happen we walked in the class and he was playing in the line then I exidtly (note- accidently, excitedly?) pushed him to tell him could you stop playing in the line. Then Ms. S thought it was a big push like to push him on purpose so I got a D (note- for not following directions) but I talked to her about what happen and she said that it was okay and she said that you can erased. (note- absolutely NOT true... she talked, I said "you pushed him") And the talking one was not me she had made a mistake about me talking I am not suppose to have a strike because I talked to her so that is what happened about the story I am not suppose to have a strike She made a mistake what happened If you want to talk to me you can but I leave real early so I just wanted to let you know. So I am not suppose to have strike thanks for listening and I love you very much! So can you give me a warning just like everybody else in Ms. S (note- NOT true... I'm crazy strict) and it won't happen again! I prmess it won't happen again!!!"

About 10 minutes later Ms. V walked this note to my room for me to read. We don't play, kiddos. Except for the same team.

I Promise I'm White!

The psychology of the racial relationships between black students and white teachers is becoming incredibly interesting to me. Some of my students seem to get it- I can still care about them and they can trust me, even though I'm white and they are black.

Some, however... just don't totally follow.

I have one special student who  is rather young emotionally, and intensely racially curious. She has asked me many many times what my race is, and each time I explain to her that I am white... and WHY I am white.

"Miss, is you white or black?"
"S~, I'm white. Remember, we talked about this last week?"
"Yeah, but like... you is nice."
"White people can be nice too. We are all just people on the inside, even if we have differences on the outside."
"Yeah, but..."

I talked to another teacher who has this student, and it seems that for this student, good teachers who are white progress slowly to being black as trust is developed. This relationship of trust and care must be reconciled with the racial "separateness" that she feels, and so every white teacher with whom she has a relationship becomes a light skinned black person.

Until yesterday, when I heard this...

"Miss, I like your hair. My hair is nappy."
"No way! I have ALWAYS wanted hair like yours!"
"Nah, Miss. You got that nice hair, that nice Chinese hair."

We've got some work to do.

Females

I have been rather opposed to the use of the word "females" to describe women for some time now. It just sounds disrespectful in a way. Humans are animals, sure... but we are more than animals as well. I am a woman, that human over there with a penis is a man, and that's that.

This idea that it is disrespectful was further reinforced by a student of mine last week.

I suppose I was being rather disrespectful as well.

Me: "I'm observing a lot of students talking, calling out, being mean to each other. What I'm inferring is that a lot of you are annoying."

Student: "Y'all are acting like a bunch of females."

I literally didn't even know what to say.

Updates from the Front

As if I was in a war or something.

Right... I understand that I'm not in a real war, and my life is not at stake here. I understand that no one will invade my country if I stand down from my post. I totally get that the "front lines" of this battle involve no more physical risk than that of dehydration and sunburn, and that the physical violence is limited to some risk of being trampled.

I have no idea what it is like to be a soldier, and I never will. But goodness, it feels like a war... so let's talk about what is at stake.

At stake is the entire concept of public education. At stake is the notion that teachers should be respected professionals. At stake is the idea that black and brown students don't matter. At stake is the thought that corporate power can dominate public interest. At stake... is the future for my students.

It's a big deal.

Pictures- Day Two

I began the morning at 6:30 again, this time outside of South Shore International College Prep Academy, on 75th Street and Jeffery. After four hours I went home to get mentally ready for the rally outside of CPS headquarters this afternoon. We cheered and chanted and ended up marching to Buckingham Fountain. Here are some pictures from the day.

 At the height of our morning, with teachers from many different schools. 

 The beginning of the rally downtown. 

President of the AFT!  

Karen Lewis, CTU Union Leader 

You probably can't see what this says, but something along the lines of "If I'm graded on test performance, will I be fired if my student gets shot on the way to the test?" Violence here is a HUGE issue that affects everyone.  

 On the way to Buckingham Fountain- this is the tail end of the group on Michigan Ave. 

Pictures- Day One

 Ready to go at 6:30 this morning!

SSFAA and Fermi pickets on Stony Island together!  

On the party bus that picked us up to bring us downtown for the rally! 

A very small piece of the picture... something like 20,000 people at the rally. 

Why I'm On The Line

"Go back to work, bitch!"***

Not the most encouraging thing to hear as I'm wearing a sign around my neck at 6:45 in the morning, jumping up and down in the median of Stony Island. The man brings up a good point though. Why don't I go back to work?

Firstly, I should say that there weren't any students... so I literally couldn't go to work. Secondly, I absolutely believe in everything that we are striking for. I believe in capping class sizes. I believe in treating teachers like professionals and negotiating a fair contract in good faith. I believe in making the school day BETTER, not just longer. I believe in hiring more social service support personnel at a time when violence in Chicago is skyrocketing. I believe in supporting the equity of the school environments, in standing up and saying that it isn't fair to rate teachers on an equal system and with test scores when their educational environments are vastly different. I believe in having air conditioning and school supplies and curriculum in EVERY school in the year 2012. I believe that you shouldn't get the shaft when it comes to a school because you were born in the wrong neighborhood or skin color or ethnicity. I believe in standing up and saying that this system is broken, and I believe in standing up and saying that it is NOT my fault.

Teachers say this all the time, and it is true. Regardless of how much we get paid, how many prep hours we get, how great our health benefits are... we work for it. Don't tell me to go back to work when I spent a combined 14 hours of my weekend planning learning activities for your kids. Don't tell me to go back to work when I spent my own money to make sure the classroom was ready for your kids. Don't tell me to go back to work when I am going to get graded on your child's test scores, regardless of the home environment they are living in, or the educational background they are dumped in my lap with. Don't tell me to go back to work when I am working without a contract. Don't tell me to go back to work when the board is telling me that I should be able to teach my subjects to mastery, to ALL of the students that they feel like cramming into my classroom. Don't tell me to go back to work when it is over 90 degrees in there on some days, and if I worked at a different school it would be a comfortable 73. Don't tell me to go back to work when I don't have curriculum for your kids, and they are the ones who get an overworked and stressed out teacher every day. Don't tell me to go back to work when I haven't slept a night in the last 5 weeks without dreaming about my classroom or your student. Don't tell me to go back to work when I live, breath, AM a teacher... 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I AM WORKING.

That's why I'm on the line. I'm on the line because I care about your kids. I'm on the line because I believe in equitable education. I'm on the line because being a part of something big is important. I'm on the line because we NEED people on that line.

Pictures to come!

***For every negative comment or signal we got this morning, there were about a hundred honks and thumbs-up and raised fists. This city is behind us, and that feels GOOOOOOD.

Major Big Things

On June 13, I moved all of the things I need for the summer to Evanston in order to work this summer. I am an Assistant Residential Coordinator for the Equinox program, run by the Center for Talent Development at Northwestern University. What does this mean, you might ask?

This means that I do all of the work.

Okay, in reality I am part of a residential coordinator team that oversees all aspects of residential life here at Equinox. I have a staff of 19 RTAs (Residential Teaching Assistants) who work directly with the students in the program. We have nearly 270 students in the first session, all of whom will be taking classes for three weeks. All of our students are considered "gifted and talented," and many of them will be taking an entire AP course in just 15 days of class. If you can think of something that needs to be done in order for them to successfully live and enjoy life on campus, you've just essentially listed a job responsibility of mine.

I am sore and tired and mentally exhausted. I've literally reached the point where I'm out of words... but I love this. I love my team members and I love my program director and I am pretty sure I'm going to love my RTAs and the kids. It's an intense amount of work (75 hours of work in just 6 days), but it's MY kind of work.

My RTAs move in tomorrow... more to come, when I can find the time :)

Wowzers

You know that series of job interviews that I talked about nailing in my last post? Apparently I am prophetic, because at 5:21 pm today, June 12, 2012... I was offered a job. 

I'm a real person now, friends. With benefits and a respectable salary and my own classroom and everything. The job is an elementary position at South Shore Fine Arts Academy. I'll be teaching either third grade, or a fourth/fifth interdisciplinary type thing- this will be talked about on Friday. 

The job starts on August 6. My summer jobs ends on August 4. Nothing like the craziness of life to smack you right in the face. I have about a day to recover from an intense summer and move into a new classroom and get ready for my first crop of kids to arrive on August 13. 

I am SO pumped. Bring on the ideas... all summer long! 

And Thus It Begins...

The last few weeks have been relatively crazy, as you might be able to judge by my online absence as of late. I have secured a summer job, nailed a three part CPS interview, hosted a CouchSurfer, navigated a romantic landmine, saw a weird movie or two, watched the fireworks at Navy Pier, hung out at the Blues Festival, got really sunburned, procrastinated on packing up my apartment, actually packed up part of my apartment, planned a party for my brother, and spent copious amounts of time lying in front of my fan.

I'm moving myself and some of my things to Northwestern University tomorrow morning, to start 10 days of pretty intense staff training. I'll be an "Assistant Residential Coordinator" for the summer- basically supervising a staff of Resident Assistants (RAs) who in turn will be supervising high school students attending a summer program. These kids are apparently all "gifted and talented," so coordinating activities might get interesting. It's a rather intense summer job (my daily schedule is 7am-11pm, and I get a total of three days off between tomorrow and August 4th) but I think it is going to be fun.

This post is boring. I realize that... I just needed to put something new out there. One of my goals for the summer, aside from not dying, is to blog more often. That's the goal, at least

Weekend Wedding Crazy

My person got married last weekend. I lost her to that tall redhead. There was chaos and drama and pain and heat and incredible beauty. There were friends and family and memories made. Anticipation of things to come and 97 degree heat and crazy amounts of sun. It was a great weekend.

And for the record, a Memorial Day spent watching a marathon of Pawn Stars with some of your favorite people is rather wonderful.

"We" versus "I"

I'm the only one left in my close group of college friends who is an I. This struck me earlier today when I got a text from a friend that began by using the pronoun "We..."

I like myself a lot. I'm generally very happy with the person I am, and I feel like I have a lot to give to the world. I've seen a lot, withstood a lot, accomplished a lot... I'm strong. I can do this. I've got this life thing, I promise.

Just, every once in a while, I'd like to be part of a "we." It's about more than just physical companionship and romantic feelings. It's about belonging to something that is more than yourself.

CouchSurfing

When I introduce people to the concept of CouchSurfing, I typically get one of two responses. The first is "Oh wow, that is SO cool!" The second is "Are you crazy?!?" I want you all to know that I do in fact make a judgement about you based on your response.

I first heard about CouchSurfing in the summer of 2008, and really discovered it for myself in the summer of 2010. By then it had become a relatively well-known network around the world, and I knew it was a community I wanted to plug into whilst in Romania. There are literally millions of members in over 230 countries and territories around the world, a network of people who believe in sharing culture, making connections, being friendly, and exploring the world.

Here is the vision of CouchSurfing: We envision a world where everyone is inspired to help and care for each other, regardless of difference in culture or ideologies. We believe that the more we see the world as an exciting mix of unique peoples, the more motivated we are to protect and preserve diversity. 

The mission of CouchSurfing: Our mission is to create "Inspiring Experiences." Inspiring experiences are fun, exciting, and accessible experiences that stimulate people to learn and grow. Experiences of this nature encourage people to explore and connect with people and places that are different than what they're accustomed to. If enough of us have these kinds of experiences, we may begin to see a world where people feel a greater sense of connection with each other, in spite of differences. These connections help us appreciate diversity and build a global community that is inspired to seek harmony when conflicts inevitably arise. 

Pretty cool, right? If you're interested in learning more, click here.

I'm currently hosting a 19 year old woman from Germany named Aline. She is absolutely adorable in every "little sister" sense of the word, and has a pretty brave story. She has been traveling through the United States and Canada for the last 7 months, and will return to Germany at the end of September. She's rather fantastic, and I'm so glad to be able to share this experience with her.

Sonnet XVII

Today in my creative writing class we are working on explicating Pablo Neruda's Sonnet 17, and comparing it to Shakespeare's Sonnet 18. Because this makes me cry like a small child every time I read it, I thought I should share it with the world.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.


I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. 


I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way


than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. 


Tell me you can't read that without your heart leaping a little bit, and I'll call you a shell of a person.

Weird Dreamin'

On a recommendation from a new friend, I downloaded the "Binaural Beats" application on my phone. Basically, these are "apparent sounds" that somehow stimulate the brain in different ways. There is apparently a number of benefits that can come from using such tones, including stress relief, relaxation, and sleep induction.

I tried out the "Unity" tone last night. The description on the application is "Wander in deep relaxing delta waves and let your mind explore freely and without bounds. May induce dreamless sleep and loss of body awareness." I chose this based on the ridiculous amount of bizarre dreams I've experienced lately.

Friends, let me tell you something. I fell asleep quickly and apparently had NO BODY AWARENESS at all, as evidenced by the ridiculously crazy dream scenarios I found myself in last night. I've never experienced so many personality shifts in one night. I think I slept well, but that "dreamless sleep" bit didn't exactly work out for me.

Well, I'm Proud...

I don't care that it is a bit late in its arrival. This was an historic day, one that I'm pretty happy to have watched happen.

We need to stop the criticism and get around the fact that a Romney presidency would be scads worse than this courageous and intelligent man leading our country.

Convicted

I attend a lot of events on the UChicago campus, many of which I've detailed for you here. I find myself here at least five or so days a week for something or other, whether it is a lecture, to break into the library system, or for a DocFilms screening.

The other night I attended an event that was, hands down, the coolest thing I've been exposed to here at the University.

In the summer of 2011, Jose Antonio Vargas wrote a story in the New York Times, "coming out" as an undocumented immigrant. He is a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist and covered the 2008 Presidential election for the Washington Post. He has been employed at various reputable news organizations, and was hired at the Huffington Post after he was mistaken for a busboy at an event for journalists. He is from the Philippines, and came here to the United States at the age of 12.

I was both touched and convicted by his message. He has been traveling the country since his announcement, rallying support for the "DREAMers" and launching a campaign called "Define American." Check it out here.

Here are some things that stuck out to me from the evening:

• There are 2 million undocumented students in k-12 schools across this country. This IS an education issue.

• 50% of the kids under the age of 18 are minorities.

• This quote from "The American President"and this follow-up: "Undocumented immigrants have been fighting for America for years. You know why? It's not because we're un-American. It's because we think it's worth it."

"America isn't easy. America is advanced citizenship. You gotta want it bad, 'cause it's gonna put up a fight. It's gonna say 'You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours. You want to claim this land as the land of the free? Then the symbol of your country can't just be a flag; the symbol also has to be one of its citizens exercising his right to burn that flag in protest. Now show me that, defend that, celebrate that in your classrooms. Then, you can stand up and sing about the land of the free.'"

• "Do I feel that I needed to come out? You know, what's 'out' to you is 'in' to me."

• "We're so stuck on the who, the when, the where, the how... and we're missing the most important question. WHY are people coming here?"

• Regarding the argument that we should repeal birth-right citizenship, for people who used to be considered "first-generation American" and are now considered "anchor babies.": "Why don't we take it a step further? What if we ALL had to earn citizenship? Why don't we do that? I'm not saying this is necessarily the reason, but could it be because they are brown?"

• "Brown people can't be the only ones talking about this issue. White people need to be talking to everyone."

• Lastly, he was speaking about all the DREAMers and the movement across the country. The final quote, the one that sticks with me the most: "We don't have a number for those who gave up."

Maybe it's time we all get together to do something about this issue, hmm?

What Future for Our Youth?

On Monday night, I found my rather upset and saddened self at an event sponsored by UChicago that brought together two (arguably great) minds, tons of community groups, and over a thousand people to a conversation about the future of minority youth in our country.

The two men on stage were Carl Dix and Cornel West. Carl Dix has a long and interesting history of protest in this country, and is best known for his involvement in the Revolutionary Communist Party of the United States. Cornel West is a leading academic figure who currently teaches at both Princeton University and Union Theological Seminary. A revolutionary Communist and a revolutionary Christian, coming together to debate and converse on this most pressing issue. It was kind of a big deal.

Carl Dix spoke first, and his comments were certainly more incendiary and pointed. He clearly had a political agenda, but I found myself fascinated by what he had to say, even though I disagree with his methods and some of his conclusions. He claims that the mass incarceration of this country's minority population, plus silence about the issue, is tantamount to genocide. While I don't necessarily disagree that our criminal "injustice" society is terribly flawed, I would argue that people who have experienced the systematic and purposeful extermination of their people might take offense to such a comparison. Perhaps it is a slow genocide... but perhaps it is simply an incredibly complicated issue with a multitude of different viewpoints. I believe my favorite part of his speech was this quote he shared by Bob Avakian... the leader of the RevCom party, but apparently kind of brilliant when it comes to saying important things eloquently.

"First, people don’t make choices in a vacuum. They do it in the context of the social relations they’re enmeshed in and the options they have within those relations—which are not of their own choosing. They confront those relations, they don’t choose them. Two, if people feel for whatever reasons that they want to choose to harm themselves and others, we’re going to struggle with them—but we’re not going to blame them. We’re going to show them the source of all this in the system, and call on them to struggle against that system, and transform themselves in the process. Just because a youth “chooses” to sell drugs, or a woman “chooses” to commodify herself sexually, doesn’t mean that they chose to have those choices. And there is no other way besides fighting the power, and transforming the people, for revolution that all this will change for the better. Blaming the masses for bad choices just reinforces the conditions that they are oppressed by."

 I was inspired by some of his words, but his end claim that a communist revolution is the way to go had me sitting back a bit. The first phrase in my mind was "idealism run amok." To note, in the words of one of my favorite characters from The West Wing, Donna: "Communists look EXACTLY like non-Communists."

Cornel West was a bit more tempered, though he remains even a bit further left than I claim to be. He spoke about his own story, and elaborated on the current state of the United States when it comes to treatment of the poor and the minority population. He was a huge advocate for an Obama presidency and now a harsh critic, claiming that the president hasn't done enough. (I'm tired of this, to be honest. We've not gotten all that we were promised, certainly... but people need to realize that it's hard to stay in office if you're pissing everyone off all the time...) He does agree that a right-wing presidency would be much worse, so I'm not totally upset with him. He had some cool quotes as well, the first being about the struggle this will be.

"Anytime you have a profound love for poor people, you are a threat to the powers that be."

The following quote made me swear aloud. He was addressing a question from the audience about the need to "occupy the church" and get it involved in these issues.

"When the blood at the cross is transformed into Kool-Aid, we have some issues in occupying the church."

The implication here being that white people don't drink Kool-Aid, and this is a movement that needs to transcend racial lines. I laughed, pretty hard.

At the end of the night, I was happy to have gone and "participated" in a conversation that addresses the issues my kids, and myself indirectly, face on a daily basis. It was rather affirming, however, to walk out of there with a sense of rightness in my belief and continued assertion. The reason for my passion, if you will.

Education is THE answer. 

Monday Morning News

On Monday morning, I missed my bus. It was drizzling on me, and I was headed to school early to judge a Senior Portfolio panel. I swore too loudly and said "this isn't the best way to start a week."

Little did I know.

Little did I know that 45 minutes later I would hear that he had been shot. Little did I know that a boy, his family, his community... their week was off to a worse start than mine. Little did I know that a student of mine was lying in a hospital bed, trying not to die.

He'd been shot twice, and remained in critical condition. We didn't know anything. There was no information from the police, and if you asked two students for their information about the event, you'd get three stories. Confusion and panic and fear.

Later that night I went to an event and heard a quote that was particularly striking. "They tell us we're the future, but we're not promised tomorrow." Indeed.

Monday morning news.

Weekend Update

Going nonstop from last Monday resulted in a rather early bedtime last night, at the end of a busy weekend. It was around 7pm that I fell asleep. I was awake for about 30 minutes between 9:30 and 10:00, woke up around 2am in the middle of a thunderstorm, and started my day at 6:45 am. I could certainly get used to that much sleep, though I'm not sure how healthy it is.

I Can See Clearly

A few weeks ago I went to the eye doctor for the first time in a few years. Her comment after the appointment was "I don't know how you've been functioning for so long with that vision."

Yesterday I picked up my glasses, and realized for the first time in a while what I've been missing. The whole world looks sharp and focused and just... wonderful. I'm not sure how I feel about having a permanent addition to my "wardrobe," and will probably look into getting contacts at some point... but for now I'm just happy to be able to see clearly again.

And It's Over

Yesterday was a somewhat long and tiresome day. I had ten students presenting Senior Portfolios in the afternoon, and getting them ready was stressful beyond what I care to describe here.

The gist of the story is that it is over. I'm happy, and every student passed, and I got to check 10 more names off of a list. We have presentations for the rest of the month and one final awful day at the end of May, and then I'm free of these projects. This makes me happy.

I was supposed to see a movie yesterday, but I ended up lying on the grass at UChicago and forgetting to get up in time. The weather is heating up, the year is winding down, and that lawn just felt nice.

Things About Men That Annoy Me

This is going to be a terrible post. The only reason this is about men is because I am attracted to men. This could just as easily be about women, but I'm not trying to date them.

"Did you miss me?"
Unless I actually have cause to miss you, I didn't miss you. And unless I say that I missed you, I didn't miss you. What this showcases is either your extreme lack of confidence, your desperate insecurity and loneliness, or your self-aggrandizing need to have women need you. No, I didn't miss you.

"Wen U Type Like Dis"
I completely understand that sometimes standard English isn't appropriate. For instance, it isn't appropriate when you are two years old. For goodness sake, it IS appropriate when you are trying to woo a lady who happens to be both a writer AND a teacher. IS APPROPRIATE.

"I Consider Myself an Intellectual"
I know that you went to college and graduated with that super tough degree and you sometimes read things. I'm sorry though. You're not an intellectual because you watch Game of Thrones. I know that this sounds totally judgmental, but there is more to being an intellectual than having interest in well-made television programming and comics. You CAN be an intellectual and have these interests, but it is not an automatic qualifier.

"You Need To..."
MY GOODNESS, how in the world have I survived for this long without your guidance in my life? Honestly, I just have no idea what I have been doing for the last... you know... 6 years that I have been living on my own, mostly without the support of a man. I shouldn't be alive, really. Thank you though. Thank you for your fantastic contribution to my successful future. I certainly owe it all to you.

"Undue Jealousy"
Nope, you cannot be jealous about someone that you've not laid claim to. If things don't work between the two of us, that's fine. If things never start, despite me, you know, wanting that... it's alright. I can deal with it. However, that completely and totally waives your right to be jealous about whomever I may be seen with in the future. I understand twinges of jealousy about male friends and roommates, or even about personal stories with men in them... but these twinges are not appropriate if you're not my boyfriend.

"You're So..."
When you lavish compliments on me as if you have a quota to meet, it stops being impressive. It stops meaning as much, and it makes me kind of want to roll my eyes and fake-gag right in your face. I KNOW that someone once told you that women love to be complimented and affirmed. I guess I'm just self-aware enough to realize that I am super sweet and really funny and very smart. I know I'm fantastic, so you really don't need to tell me ALL the time. I appreciate the gesture, but I think I see right through it. If you want to impress me, tell me that you are intrigued by me, and then DON'T immediately try to be physical with me.

"You Choose"
Can you make an effing decision to save your life? No? Okay, well then... please don't talk to me anymore. I want you to CHOOSE to be with me, and that is a decision. I want you to know why you're craving MY attention, and not just attention in general. There is a difference between being laid back and being a total wet noodle. I'll take the former, thanks.

"Hey"
Um... why are you sending me a text that just says "hey," and why don't you respond when I reply with "what's up?" It's a question I will never be able to answer.

"*Sob*"
I fully understand that this is the most hypocritical thing I've ever written, but holy moly. I'm an emotional person, and I know that contributes to my attraction to more reserved men. I don't want an unfeeling man by any means, but I also don't want someone who gushes more than I do. I have learned in my dealings with the opposite sex that being overly exuberant and demonstrative about my feelings isn't great. It tends to drive people away, actually. If I can show some self restraint and not write you long emails and go on about how much you mean to me... so can you. There is something really attractive about someone who guards their own emotions. After all, if you are so careful about your own emotion, that indicates that you might be careful with mine.


There are, naturally, other things that annoy me about men. I could write a post about women, and undergraduates, and everyone else... but men have been on my mind lately, and so they get my wrath on this Tuesday morning.

Spin-Off Poetry, Cont.

Here are some of the results from our spin-off poetry unit:

Poem One
The story is money, the danger is greed,
A skinny boy who sat in the back of the class, 
thinking deep thoughts of how he was the son of a whore.
His mother comes home at the crack of dawn, sloppy drunk
And many nights he was in the dark.
He played many roles, but it all came from the heart.
Slave to the streets he's laboring after sundown.
How do you pursue happiness?


The story is money, the danger is greed
His body bloody, falling to the dirt
A little boy is dead for reasons of whiskey... whatever
Red blood, yellow tape
He's killed in broad daylight


Poem Two
Said it was Federico, flinging tomatoes


Slave to the streets, he's laboring after sundown
A skinny boy who sat in the back of the class
Thinking deep thoughts of how he was the son of a whore
And many nights he was in the dark


He played many roles, but it all came from the heart
His focus jittering around
In the dark there is no light. So how can he see?
His mother comes home at the crack of dawn, sloppy drunk
Toxic to his learning and even though our
Minds are still under construction
Knowledge lost in his ear- he can't understand it


What leads to the pursuit of happiness?
Everybody's masked up so nobody knows what's real!
The story is money, the danger is greed
They say crack kill, all it takes is a seal and
Now a little boy is dead for reasons of whiskey... whatever
His body bloody, falling to the dirt
Red blood, yellow tape
He's killed in broad daylight
Only for God's sake he kept his soul awake


Said it was Federico, flinging tomatoes


Poem Three
This is the story
Sitting here, thinking about what just happened
the hours pass, the high wears off, and it's time to go back
I hate the memories and the thoughts
In the dark behind the alley, shooting continued across the dark


Just to fit in, so he could run with the pack
The boy got his cap popped
Who stayed out all night for reasons of whiskey or whatever
When whiskey wild thoughts and whatever wild actions
You can have an overdose and it could be the end of your road
People killed on the street, dying for help while people pretend it's a dream
The soul lays here still alive


Poem Four
This is the story
the soul lays here still alive
She wasn't ever alone, but she always felt cold
The thoughts circled in here head again and again:
His smile, his touch, his scent- lovely
But the man of her dreams became the monster of her nightmares


In the dark, she lay in a glistening white net
Sitting there, thinking about what just happened
Breaking down in shame instead of learning to maintain
Memories lost in her ears, troubles thoughts of fear kept her soul awake
She hates the memories and the thoughts


This is the story


Poem Five
My focus jittering around
becoming toxic to my learning
Trying to pay attention, even
though my mind is still
under construction.
I'm sitting in the back of
the class, thinking deep thoughts
of how I am the son of 
a whore.


Only for God's sake, He kept
my soul awake.
What leads to the pursuit of happiness? 
In the dark there is no light, so how can we see?


Everybody's masked up so nobody knows
what's real
they say crack kills, all it takes is a seal
bloody bodies falling to the dirt,
red blood, yellow tape.
A little boy is dead for reasons of
whiskey... whatever. He's killed in broad daylight. He was a slave to the streets
laboring after sundown.
His mother used to come home at the 
crack of dawn, sloppy drunk.
And many nights he was in the dark. 


Knowledge is lost in my ear- I can't understand it.
The story is money, the danger is greed.


Poem Six
What leads to the pursuit of happiness?
Money, power, respect


The story is money, but the danger is greed.
Even though our minds are still under construction,.
Knowledge is lost in our ears- 
We can't understand it.


Only for God's sake, we keep our souls awake


In the dark there is no light
How can we see?


Everybody's masked up so no one knows what's real
And many nights we were in the dark
We played many roles,
That all came from the heart.


To live and to learn,
This is the pursuit of happiness.


Pretty good, yeah? I've been impressed.

Bold Conversations

I attended an event this afternoon called "Post Race? Trayvon and Racial Violence in the 21st Century" at the Global Activism Expo. The three panelists included Gary Younge (journalist for The Nation and The Guardian), Kevin Coval (co-founder of the Louder Than A Bomb teen poetry festival), and David Stovall (professor of everything there is that is cool at UIC, and a volunteer teacher at the Lawndale/Little Village School of Social Justice High School).

The first part of the discussion was led by the panelists. To open, a member of the Chicago Young Authors read a poem about the Trayvon Martin case, and then Gary Younge started speaking. These were some of his statements and ideas that I took note of:
"You must choose the color of poverty in the place you are, whether it is French Algeria or the Roma in Eastern Europe or the Black kids in America."
"It is important not to make this a crude morality case. This is not about a bad Latino and a good Black kid. Even if Trayvon was a bad kid, that isn't punishable by execution. And Zimmerman didn't need to be a bad guy for this to be a bad thing."
Mr. Younge discussed the conversation we need to have about race and class in this country, and the intra-race tension that is occurring. He mentioned the Skip Gates case, where people were commenting that they "couldn't believe they were treating him like a black person" or the scandal with Don Imus and his reference to "nappy headed hoes," the comment being that "they can't treat kids from a university like that!" There seems to be a sense that these sorts of things shouldn't happen to SOME people... in reality, should it ever happen to anyone?
There are more black men in prison now than there were black men enslaved in 1850. So was it irrational to assume that Trayvon was a criminal? Not really... so what this means is that we need to have a real conversation about the systemic nature of these problems.

Kevin Coval spoke about the following:
"The Black Body" as a criminalized image, rather than individual people- we have been conditioned to think this way, especially those who don't know many "black or brown" people.
Racial violence is really based on a grand and historical inequity, that continues today because of the poverty/education link.

Dave Stovall spoke about the following:
Everyday in his classroom with black or brown students, he thinks "You or I may not be here tomorrow."
From February 26th to April 2, 26 unarmed Blacks were shot and killed by law enforcement, and we have had no collective time as a nation to heal
Education is literally a life or death process in this country
This issue is bigger than America- around the world (ie the Arab Spring) people are claiming their humanity.

After the speaking was completed, there were questions from the audience. Here are some quotes and ideas:

The medical definition of hope is "having a sense of control over one's own destiny." We as educators are responsible for figuring out how to materially support "hope," and knowing what we can do to have the backs of those kids.
Chicago has a history of engineering conflict, particularly in the case of school closings. These conflicts are not caused by the pathology of young people.
President Obama's response to the Martin case was somewhat disappointing. "What if you had a Pakastani son? We've lost humanity when you can't think that everyone could be your son.

Finally, a quote from James Baldwin: "The law is meant to be my servant, not my master, still less my torturer, and certainly not my murderer."

I'll leave these to sit awhile and write more later. 

Arts Integration

As this is a high school with the special tagline "...of Arts Integration," they put some emphasis on art here. Crazy, I realize. Crazier when you know my art skills. I can write, and sing, and I used to play a lot of music... but visual art I can not do to save my life. So when I was told that every teacher would need to do an "arts integration" project for each class, I got a little bit frightened.

Think, think, think.

This school is located two blocks from The Art Institute. "Hello, Art Institute? I'm Stephanie Sablich, a teacher at... I teach a journalism class here, and I was wondering if you had any community outreach programs? Something where my students could perhaps work with an artist from the Institute to do a photojournalism project or something? Oh you do? Great."

So yesterday we went to The Art Institute. I'm not sure EXACTLY how this is going to work, but I do know that of the 19 students on the trip, only one had been to the museum before. I do know that my kids got to walk around the museum in small groups with people who KNOW art. I do know that it was the coolest field trip I've ever chaperoned. I do know that we'll be going back two more times, and I do know that every single student was engaged and interested and excited to be there.

So, you know, score. Score for teaching in a city with these resources. Score for the artists who are just desperate for people to be interested and looking for education. And score for being willing to make a complete fool of myself for the benefit of my kids. I'm starting to realize that it really is part of what teaching is all about.

The Two Extremes

On Wednesday afternoons, I'm typically free to do just about anything I'd like. I have been trying to look for part-time positions elsewhere in the city (it would be great to hold a baby for a few hours a week), but have been unsuccessful thus far. Thankfully, this leaves me free to wander around Hyde Park as if I have absolutely no purpose in life, and my wanderings often take me to the UChicago campus.

I owe my recent exploitation of everything UChicago has to offer to a friend of mine. I'd attended a few lectures in the past, but it was his introduction to campus that made me feel comfortable enough to pretend I belong there. My attendance at the DocFilms screenings and many of the Human Rights and Center for International Studies programs have opened up a whole world of academia to me. I've learned that joining a listserve is a beautiful and beneficial thing, and having access to a campus filled with resources such as this can fill up the part of me that yearns for intellectualism.

All of this glowing praise is going to end in a bit of an anti-climatic matter as I discuss the complete waste of my time that last night was, towards the end of this post. Be prepared for it. First, the good stuff.

I believe as a part of the Human Rights Program updates that I receive, I found out about a conference from the something something center on Humanities something or other. Though I'm appreciative of the generous people who donated enough to have a something something named after them, I tend not to pay attention. Regardless, the conference included a screening of a documentary called "Brother Outsider: The Life of Bayard  Rustin." This man was an incredible activist throughout his lifetime, working most prominently from 1940 through 1970, as part of the civil rights movement in the United States. An openly gay man in an era where homophobia was not just commonplace but totally acceptable, he was an adviser to Martin Luther King Jr. and the organizer of the March on Washington in 1963. The documentary won an enormous amount of awards and accolades from societies and groups in the film, Black, and GLBT communities. If you CAN check it out... you should. I know that it is available on Netflix.

What struck me most about this documentary was the character of the man himself: I'd never heard of him. I know that I've not formally studied the Black Civil Rights movement in any real detail, and I believe the last time it was addressed in a classroom setting was during Black History Month at some point during elementary school. However, I have read a lot and consider myself to be fairly well educated about the era. I've read most of the MLK writings, studied black history as much as a white girl growing up in a white farm town can do, and couldn't get enough of learning about the different fronts of the movement. Is it my own ignorance or this man's relatively small stage that excludes him from my knowledge? It is clear that he was oftentimes pushed from the spotlight because of his sexuality, though he was in fact the most major contributor to MLK's non-violent strategy. Regardless of the reason for my ignorance... I'm glad at least a portion of it has ended.

After attending a screening of this fantastic documentary, I proceeded to go to the DocFilms screening of "Brazil." Released in 1985 by Terry Gilliam, I was looking forward to the film for its humor, dystopian elements, and interesting plot structure. None of these were disappointments, but the film itself was. I know from reviews that this is my own problem- a film doesn't garner a 98% rating on Rotten Tomatoes and get lauded as one of the "best films of the '80's" if it isn't quality. I understand that my own bias goes into my negative evaluation of the film, accompanied by the fact that it is SO LONG. Regardless, it was just too freakin' weird for my taste. Call me uneducated or ridiculous or lacking in understanding... but it was just too bizarre.

Poetry

You know that thing I said about writing poetry?

Yeah, scratch that. Ick.

"Challenges in Combatting Torture"

I've said it before and I'll claim it again: I absolutely love living in Hyde Park. I know that it probably gets old for me to talk about all of the (free) fantastic educational benefits associated with living in this neighborhood... but it's my blog, so shut up. I'll reap the rewards of someone else's education at the University of Chicago any day.

Last night I attended a lecture at the International House called "Challenges in Combatting Torture." It was a talk given by Juan E. Mendez, who is the current UN Special Rapporteur on Torture. The following is simply a recording of thoughts and feelings and facts from the evening:

By accident, I paid money (donated) for a publication from an organization known as "The Revolutionary Communist Party of the United States," thereby precluding me from ever running for public office. Those four quarters I dug out of my wallet have a bigger impact than I realized. The weird thing is, she didn't LOOK like a communist :)

I walked through a group of people who represent an organization seeking to shut down Tamms Correctional Center. The group is called Tamms Year Ten, and if you are interested please click here for more information. They were holding signs saying "Thank you Juan E. Mendez," "Tamms shocks the conscience," and "I AM a mother." There were various other human rights and torture victim advocacy organizations in the audience as well.

Mr. Mendez is from Argentina, and fits the part with a distinctly European look to his South American business flavor. He seems to carry an understanding of his immensely difficult (most would say impossible) task around with him; even before the speech when he stood with his wife, he appeared burdened. The protesters and advocates in the audience have certainly suffered in some ways, but the worst thing many of the rest of the crowd has experienced (lots of undergraduate students) is the stress created by last term's finals... Mr. Mendez was a striking contrast to this. He was weighted with the look of wisdom that experience provides, and when he started to speak I was struck by the heavy quality of his voice, the education he has in his field, and the depth of personal knowledge and doubt he was willing to share with the audience.

He began by talking about his former work with various torture victim advocacy groups, and then his assignment as "Special Rapporteur to Kofi Annan for the prevention of Genocide." At first thought, this seems like a much more difficult position, filled with the horror of hundreds of thousands and even millions of intentional deaths. Mr. Mendez was quick to say that his current role was the most difficult he had ever faced, for one simply reason: public opinion. "We have to spend time convincing people that torture is evil." He commented that there seems to be a new acceptance of torture (especially in the post-9/11 world community) and that over half the countries in the world practice torture of some kind, though it is banned by international law.

In international law, both acts that constitute torture and those that qualify as "cruel, inhuman, and degrading" are banned. Unfortunately, this international law has little mandate... and typically in a nation, only acts that constitute torture can be prosecuted. In the United States, the so-called "Torture Memos" of the Bush era (Click here for info) declare that "cruel, inhuman, and degrading" treatment is NOT a crime that can be prosecuted. This was somewhat disingenuous, both for cynical reasons of flouting international law, and because the acts described in the memo ARE legally classified as "torture." Additionally, it is apparently not legal (the Supreme Court recently struck down an argument) to charge a corporation or nation with allegations of torture- charges must be filed against the individuals involved. Part of what the Torture Memos did was cover up WHO was actually torturing prisoners, thereby avoiding any prosecution in a legal loophole. It is interesting to me that corporations seem to have unlimited first amendment rights and yet have little culpability for their actions, but no matter. Who ever said the law should make sense?

Mr. Mendez talked about the so-called "exclusionary rule," which is commonly known throughout the United States (thank you, "Law and Order"), and is actually fairly strongly worded in this country. This is the rule that evidence, declarations, or confessions are not legally admissible in court if they were obtained by torture or coercion. This governs police actions throughout the country, but has little impact on federal trials, especially those resulting from the global "War on Terror." In international law, there is a MASSIVE loophole that an elephant could soar through: the language states "Evidence cannot be submitted... KNOWN to be obtained by torture." This places the burden of proof on the victim and the defense, and it is very easy to cover up such actions. Simply by waiting a few days before going to trial, a victim cannot prove that he or she was coerced or tortured into providing a declaration, evidence, or a confession.

The UN Council on Human Rights operates many offices, and while Mr. Mendez's council does have jurisdiction over the 193 countries who participate in the international community (United Nations), their findings and recommendations are non-binding. Additionally, many countries have recognized but not granted authority to the Council on Human Rights... including the United States.

Mr. Mendez ended his portion of the evening by discussing the three ways in which his office addresses torture around the world. Firstly, they deal with individual cases of torture, often resulting from a personal complaint to the office that is then dealt with on a country by country basis. These actions are confidential and, as always, non-binding. Secondly, his office submits semi-annual reports to the General Assembly and the Human Rights Council, typically focusing on a certain theme. The previous two have focused on Commissions of Inquiry regarding torture (which oftentimes circumvent actual justice) and Solitary Confinement. Lastly, the office conducts fact-finding missions to countries around the world. Mr. Mendez stressed that their recommendations are non-binding, but that they do carry some weight when reported on to the General Assembly of the UN.

The evening ended with a question and answer session. A few undergraduates got up and asked questions, feeling what I'm sure was a sense of pride about crafting such deep and thoughtful questions such as "Can you talk more about what you see as challenging?" My tears began to flow when a man from Chile got up to comment on the lecture. He was an older gentleman, maybe in his 60's, who spoke with a heavy accent and fairly broken English. The moment he identified himself as a torture victim of the 1973 Chilean coup d'état, my heart broke in a little way. As I heard his voice struggle and crack into the microphone, challenging Mr. Mendez on his pessimism, tears rolled down my cheeks for the fierce spirit of this revolutionary man. He stood there with the optimism that seems unlikely, given what he had suffered. Mr. Mendez answered the man's charges, alight with flickering hope, by repeating himself: "People never needed convincing before that torture is evil." Extending our definition of what constitutes "warfare" continues to prove problematic, as does the public opinion and culture that surrounds the issue.

What's to be done? Hell if I know.

Spin-Off Poetry

To get started with our poetry unit, the class read a poem called "Federico's Ghost" by Martín Espada. This poem fits in with our first theme of "Toxic," during which we are discussing the elements of toxicity in our lives and for other people around the world.

*Note: one thing that I find is really important in this demographic of students is to remind them that there are others sharing in the world's suffering. Often times, it is easy to forget that others struggle and face hardship and pain as well, especially when you're in the midst of a battle every day. When my students fight to get to school, go home to a guerrilla war zone, and battle every other challenge that "normal" teenagers face, it can be daunting to pull their attention from the struggles they face. However, if it is possible... it's also liberating, in a way. The best way to fight against injustice is to actually stand up and fight... and the best way to feel empowered is to be educated to do something. I like to think that for some of my students, learning about the people in the world who maybe aren't black but still face exploitation and racism and economic hardship and war is liberating, in a way. To know you're not alone, whether as an individual or as a demographic or a race... this is freeing... I hope.*

Anyway- the concept of this assignment was to read the poem, and then choose a few lines from the poem to compose an individual piece. Finally, we took a few lines from each individual piece to compose a class poem. This takes more... organization... than I originally anticipated (I frequently forget that even though these students are not first graders, they might need more structure and guidance than I plan to provide), so the process is not yet complete. Here is the original poem, and the original spin-off poems from each class.

Federico's Ghost

The pilot understood.

He circled the plane and sprayed again,

watching a fine gauze of poison

drift over the brown bodies

that cowered and scurried on the ground,

and aiming for Federico,

leaving the skin beneath his shirt

wet and blistered,

but still pumping his finger at the sky.

After Federico died,

rumors at the labor camp

told of tomatoes picked and smashed at night,

growers muttering of vandal children

or communists in camp,

first threatening to call Immigration,

then promising every Sunday off

if only the smashing of tomatoes would stop.

The story is

that whole families of fruitpickers

still crept between the furrows

of the field at dusk,

when for reasons of whiskey or whatever

the cropduster plane sprayed anyway,

floating a pesticide drizzle

over the pickers

who thrashed like dark birds

in a glistening white net,

except for Federico,

a skinny boy who stood apart

in his own green row,

and, knowing the pilot

would not understand in Spanish

that he was the son of a whore,

instead jerked his arm

and thrust an obscene finger.

Still tomatoes were picked and squashed

in the dark,

and the old women in camp

said it was Federico,

laboring after sundown

to cool the burns on his arms,

flinging tomatoes

at the cropduster

that hummed like a mosquito

lost in his ear,

and kept his soul awake.

From this poem, my students wrote their own, and then contributed the following lines to our class poem. These are not yet arranged into any kind of order or structure... just lines that they chose to contribute. The lines from the original poem are in bold face type.

Third Period

He wasn't ever along, but he always felt cold

Working in 100 degree weather makes you glisten in sweat

In the dark behind the alley, shooting continued across the dark

I hate the memories and the thoughts

The hours pass, the high wears off, and it's time to go back

This is the story

You can have an overdose and it could be the end of your road

Who stayed out all night for reasons of whiskey or whatever

The soul lays here still alive

They tried to ignore the misty fog over their bodies to make ends meet, but they suddenly turned cold and the skies darkened

Just to fit in, so he could run with the pack

The boy got his cap popped, the DE hit him once, made him fold like a laptop

Memories lost in her ears, troubled thoughts of all fear kept her soul awake

The thoughts circled in my head again and again

His smile, his touch, his scent, lovely

Corn removal is a brand, 'til then no wedding band

When whiskey wild thoughts and whatever wild actions

But the man of her dreams became the monster of her nightmares

And kept his soul awake

People killed on the street, dying for help while people pretend it's a dream

He never spoke until one day he got choked

Sitting here, thinking about what just happened. That's it.

In the dark, I lay in a glistening white net

Just watching a fine gauze of poison penetrate the spirit within

Breaking down in shame instead of learning to maintain

Fourth Period

A skinny boy who sat in the back of the class, thinking deep thoughts of how he was the son of a whore

His mother comes come at the crack of dawn, sloppy drunk

Knowledge is lost in his ear- he can't understand it

In the dark there is no light, so how can we see?

They say crack kills, all it takes is a seal

Even though our minds are still under construction

Toxic to my learning

My focus jittering around

Said it was Federico, flinging tomatoes

A little boy is dead for reasons of whiskey... whatever

And many nights he was in the dark; he played many roles, but they all came from the heart

Only for God's sake, he kept his soul awake

The story is money, the danger is greed

What leads to the pursuit of happiness?

Everybody's masked up so nobody knows what's real

Slave to the streets he's laboring after sundown

His body bloody, falling to the dirt

Red blood, yellow tape

They're killed in broad daylight

When these are complete, I'll be sure to share them through this forum. Until then, I think I'm going to compose my own spin-off poem. I don't have the groove like some of my students do, but I do have the... desire? And we all know I'm the coolest person I know, so how could this go wrong? (I say this on a daily basis... "yeah, Ms. S... you cool all right. You could TOTALLY make it on the street.")

Creative Writing

I am at school for four classes a day, typically. Two of my hours are taken up with more Senior Portfolio stuff... prepping students, reading portfolios, revising and editing until my brain is frazzed and my hair is frizzed. The other two hours this quarter are where I live and breathe... creative writing.

I love composition. I think that I could teach a basic composition course for the rest of my life and be happy. Or literature... literary analysis and composition could certainly keep me entertained forever. I love the structure of writing and the hard and fast rules of grammar. I love playing with sentences to denote what I'm saying and connote what I want it to feel like. I love tweaking words and finding syllables and creating pieces that move and flow and breathe to make a point and completely develop an argument simultaneously. I love the LOOK of writing, that fresh sheet of paper filled with words that are mine, that are new, that I'm sharing. I love the thought that the words I use, the language common to millions of people throughout the world today and throughout history, these words... perhaps they have never been arranged in such a way as today, as in my mind, as on my paper. It's exhilarating.

As the astute among you may have found in my previous paragraph, I also love writing creatively. I've not written fiction in a very long time, and poetry is something that fell to the wayside after high school. Without short stories or novels or poems, what then do I infuse creativity into? Yep, you got it... all of those academic papers that are supposed to be dry and factual, those essays that are supposed to be argumentative and purposeful, and those analyses that should contain evidence and objective research findings. I can write like that... I just don't like it very much. I miss the flair, the color, the feeling that my typical writing has. I write like a speechwriter, oftentimes reading my own words aloud. I temper my rhythm and strive for a beat in the words, utilizing techniques like alliteration and the rule of three and repetition. I think about how the words blend together into each sentence, and the sentences into paragraphs, and the paragraphs into a piece that fills your mind like a three course meal fills your body. Can't all of this be considered creative writing as well?

Unfortunately, most of my students don't really appreciate my particular brand of nerd. And they certainly don't deserve a "fine arts" high school credit for writing some particularly moving compositions or essays about books we've read. Speechwriting, I CAN get away with... maybe. For now, we'll start with something most of these students understand better than I do... poetry.

It's amazing to watch my kids compose a poem. Some of them just HAVE it, flowing like you wouldn't believe, a combination of natural talent and years spent listening to rap tracks- both studio produced and freestyle. That fairly new and horrendously annoying (if only for being so catchy) Maroon 5 song "Moves Like Jagger" describes my students perfectly, only that they have the "Words like L. Hughes" and the "Flow like Tupac." It's incredible to watch and beautiful to witness... I'm so glad I stumbled upon this deep well of experience they have.

Grad School Dreams

A few days ago I put together a document I've called "Grad School Dreams." In the spring of 2013 I'll graduate with a Masters of Education (M.Ed) in Urban Education. Many people would just be content with that, I realize. Most would think they were done, had accomplished enough, and move right on to family and life and stuff. I just don't know that I'll be content when I'm not in a formal learning community. I nearly withered away in the past two years, and think daily about how I cannot wait to be back in the classroom as a student. I recently sent the following paragraph to a friend via an email:

I'd love to get a MA in just liberal arts or something broadly applicable like that. I love sociology and psychology and anthropology but don't necessarily want a career in that, you know? Maybe a MFA in English and Writing? I need to start actually putting together that book idea I have. Anyway- I want one of those degrees that people don't know you have, and then when they find out, they are like "wow, she's pretty educated, huh?" Not for them though, silly. For me. So after this M.Ed and my MA or MFA, I'd love to just shoot for the moon and get a PhD or EdD. The University of Illinois at Chicago has a PhD in "Policy Studies in Urban Education" and an EdD in "Urban Education Leadership." Sounds good, right? Gah, but what about the MA in "Curriculum Studies" or the M.Ed in "Reading Specialty" at DePaul? Or the JD/MA in "Comparative Law and Education," or the PhD in "Cultural and Educational Policy Studies" at Loyola? Or or or. Now that I've written you an entire paragraph filled with letters... I'll knock it off.

Just so everyone knows, I fully understand that much of this may not happen. As I detailed in my last post, life gets in the way. I might decide that after the next year, I'm finished. I could be completely done with my higher education, and I realize that this would not be a bad thing. A BA and an M.Ed is nothing to be ashamed of, certainly.

But for now... I dream.