Being a Big Girl

When I was little, one of my family's favorite movies to watch was "The Gods Must be Crazy." One of the main characters is an African bushman, and the beginning of the movie shows the relatively simple life that the bushmen lead. They find food; they find water. And they live. And that's kind of it-- they play games here and there, and make babies and all the rest, but there's not much else to their lives except survival.


The movie juxtaposes that then, with the "western world"-- you see images of fax machines, and sky rise buildings, and later on, you see a couple of crazy westerners trying to figure life out in the Saharan desert, and they just seem preposterous.


As a little girl, I always wanted to be like the bushmen. "Why can't we just worry about food and water? And like-- TRADE for things we need? What's the point of money?" I always wondered. "Why do we have to worry about all the other messy stuff?" I've always felt that I would have fit better in an earlier century-- I like the idea of working with your immediate neighbors for help and survival. I like the idea of doing things with my hands-- of sewing, and growing food, and chopping wood, and of sending a letter off with a postman on horseback. Those things are so immediately COMPREHENSIBLE to me.

Things like stocks, and 401Ks, and CDs, and online banking, and bill paying, and even the mystical invisible exchanges that occur via a debit card payment or a credit card purchase are so intangible. And, in my case, often incomprehensible. I also have a technology phobia: probably for this same reason. Maybe that's why I have trouble using a planner as well-- future dates, future assignments, future deadlines-- they're all so non-existent when I first hear about them. I think-- my PRESENT self, in the moment-- thinks, "I'll remember that!" Because my present self can HOLD that thought. But then, duh, time moves forward, present-self becomes past-self, and present-self FORGETS and then, when present-self catches up with the deadline... I've literally DROPPED the ball.

I wish for things I could hold.

I'm freaking out a little bit right now, and when I freak out, I tend to get vulnerable, and/or confessive. (Not a word.) One of my problems (what's your problem?? I'll tell you my problem!) is with money. I'm not a spend-thrift, but I so often feel like an IDIOT in managing my money. I lose track of how much I have in my checking account and overdraw. I make payments a day late and bruise my head hitting it against the wall because of the IDIOCY of a late fine. There are few things in this world that make me feel as stupid as mistakes with money.

What's frustrating too, is that there are many things that I'm really GOOD at. I think I'm really good at teaching. And I'm good with PEOPLE, and I'm good with art, and I write well, and I'm good with children, and at living LIFE. This is an arrogant thing to say, but I'm used to being talented.

Still: in this intangible area of life-- the adult area of life that involves budgeting, and rent, and loan payment, and calendars, and hideous paperwork-- I falter. I won't say I'm inept, because I CAN get it together when I make a conscious effort, but it is so difficult for me.

And it's TERRIFYING.

I've been looking into moving out this week. I have an amazing friend that I want to live with, and she's looking to move in late July. And besides-- as much as I love living with Grandpa, isn't it time for me to be a big girl? Isn't it time for me to cook my own meals, and buy my own groceries, and pay rent like every other 20-something in the world? I've been thinking I can handle moving out-- after all, I'll probably be working in September (where? where??), so I could pay a month's rent out of savings, and then pay out of what I'm earning. But in preparing myself to do this, I'm sitting down and figuring out my budget. I'm looking at my loans, and looking at my bills, and figuring it out.

And it really is terrifying.

I had my students do a theatre exercise once that was like a trust game-- they had to close their eyes and walk across a circle, trusting that people on the other side would "catch" them and make sure they didn't hit anything. Some kids walked confidently across, but other kids inched forward, eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched, flinching at every cast shadow. That's how I feel, addressing all this. I feel like I'm a blind person trying to cross the street.

One might reply, "THAT'S why you keep track of your crap, Greta. So that you're not blind."

Right. I know. I know this is something I need to do. I know that I am not a bushman in Africa. I know that this is part of being a "big girl."

Still.

I wish that life only consisted of doing things that I'm good at.

Today, I:

- Greeted tearful ninth and tenth graders on their way into the classroom on the last day of school

- Bore witness to the results of kids tagging the walls-- both with chalk ("Thank you staff") and with spray paint ("Our school will never die!!!")

- Heard about a huge stand-off and apparent law-suit between the steel drum teacher and the principal, over who should get the steel drums; heard also that the steel drum teacher's wife had barricaded herself in the steel drum room, over the protest.

- Saw the police and media show up in response to aforementioned scuffle.

- Heard another teacher admit deviously that she had sneaked thousands of dollars worth of equipment out the back door while the aforementioned poobah ensued.

- Gave Mark his final back and watched him shout out loud, jump up and down, and hug several people, including me.

- Played songs on guitar for my kids while two girls sang along, knowing every word.

- Stopped mid-song to evacuate the building when a kid pulled the fire alarm.

- Watched a documentary crew, who has been following and documenting our school throughout the closure process, interview/film the evacuated students out on the field.

- Waved goodbye to all the buses as they slowly pulled away; realized our school's last day had finally ran out.

- Saw Joshua wearing his new fedora.

- Hugged students, said goodbye to students, and tried to hold back tears as I said MY last so-long to the students I've come to care so much about.

- Went home

- Packed

- Got dinner with my friend Kelsey; went to the airport.

- Got on a red-eye to New York.

- Listened to "Man Down Under" about 60 times on repeat at a cafe (WHY only the one song? WHY?) in JFK during a 2.5 hour layover.

- Got on another plane to Nashville

- Surprised ANNIE: happy Bluebird performance weekend!!! Did you ACTUALLY think I'd miss it??

- Hung out with best friend and her parents all day.

- Shopped at Anthropologie to pick Annie out a Bluebird outfit.

- Saw other fantastic Nashville friends

- Came back to Annie's house

- Blogged

- Went to bed

Letting Go

Written in my journal last night.

We have two days of school left. After that, our school gets shut down for good, and the kids will be farmed out to schools all over the city. I haven't been thinking about it-- haven't been letting myself dwell on the thought of never seeing these very special kids again. But on my way to school today, I started thinking about Mark and Joshua Larin-- two boys whose mother is terminally ill and has only been given until December to live. I've never heard any mention of the father; as far as I know, their mom is all they've got. Mark is one of our 10th graders, and is SO bright and perceptive, even though he never turns anything in. Anytime I DO get a bit of his writing, I'm always floored-- especially by the philosophy he brings up, he's such a DEEP thinker. And Joshua, his little brother, is an eighth grader that I got to know in swing class earlier this year. He's young but was already a great dance lead. He's grown at least four inches since then. I worry about him especially-- he has such a hungry, desperate look in his eyes and is prone to fighting people, or acting up in class-- he's just angry. He's such a sweetheart though too, and can be very clever and funny-- he reminds me of my little brother in that way, especially because of his dishwater-blond hair. I look at him, and I see him aching. I just can't imagine these boys trying to deal with their mother dying.

Earlier this year, for a swing performance, Joshua borrowed this black fedora of mine. I never wear it-- it's too big for my head-- but it's a really nice hat, and it looked great on him. He wore it even after the performance, as long as I let him. I think I want to just give it to him-- it's not good to hug the kids, even though I sometimes wish I could-- so this is my best substitute to let him know I CARE.

Anyway, thinking about Mark and Joshua on my way to school got me crying, and then I thought with such despair, "I'm not going to know how ANY of them are. I won't know how Ashley's doing with her crazy mom, I won't know if Eduardo or Miguel or George ever graduate, I wont' get to see how Natalie's poetry keeps improving or know if she decides to go to college after all... I won't be able to check up on them!"

I asked Viola (mentor) and Jane (the theatre teacher)-- if they thought it would be all right to allow the kids to be my "Myspace" friends after school ended.

"NO," Jane said adamantly. "Never. You don't what could happen there, someone could post something inappropriate on your wall and then that goes out to the world-- that could really get you into trouble, through no fault of your own. You CAN'T be the kids' friend. It's part of the gig."

I started to weakly say that the Myspace was just a music Myspace, that it wasn't personal at all-- and Viola interrupted me.

"You just have to let them go, Greta. You have to let them go."

I guess, in a way, it's a comfort to believe in a bigger God to surrender them to. But... this is terrible to write, because it's pretty blasphemous-- so many of the kids seem looked over by Him. SO many of them have TERRIBLE lives. Like Mark read from his poem that he read for the poetry slam, "WTF, God? Where ARE you?"

... But then God says, "I got them to you, didn't I? I asked YOU to show them love, and hope, and kindness all year, didn't I? I've got more people ahead for these kids."

I have to let them go. I MUST surrender them, and let them go.

Viola said, "The ones that are really determined to find you will find you. They will. And that's really the way it should be."

I just haven't gotten practiced at this part yet. I've had lots of practice with lesson plans, and classroom management, and establishing good teacher/student rapport, but this is my first End of The Year goodbye... And because the school's closing, I won't be able to come back and visit these kids. And these are SPECIAL kids to me! These are the students that taught me how to teach!

It's so hard. Hard to GIVE them up. Hard to say goodbye.

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Today, Joshua came by our classroom after school, and I gave him the fedora. He was with three girl friends, so I couldn't say anything about his mom, or about HOPING for him, but I said, "I just remember you looking so nice in this, and I thought you should have it!"

He thanked me, and put the hat right on, and then paused. "I'm really not looking forward to not being at this school next year. I don't want to think about it."

I thought of the massive instability in Joshua and Mark's life, and considered that their SCHOOL-- this small community of students and teachers who all knew them, who all knew about them-- was perhaps one of the only stable things in their lives. Yet now this was ending too.

"I know," I said. "It makes me really sad too."

I wish I could have given him a hug.

On Mark's final-- which he TURNED IN, one of the only pieces of writing I've seen from him all year, and I watched him toil over it for three hours, coming back to our class during his elective period to finish it up-- I wrote:

"Mark, this is the only 100% I've given. This is well written, well argued, and shows tremendous skill. Once again, I am reminded of how capable you are.

"Know that you will always have someone believing in you. I know this hasn't been an easy year, and I'm so sorry for that. I'll continue to pray for you and your fam. Know though that there are many people who are PROUD of you.

"Best of luck Mark; it's been a privilege. --Greta."

We have one more day of school.

It's hard to let them go.

Extra Curricular Involvement

Had to write this up for a grad school assignment; thought it may amuse the "La Vie d'une Fille" readers too. Check out the "Oliver" videos at the end!!

1.) Chaperoned the Halloween Dance (Oct.)

My main recollection of this experience was how uncomfortable it was seeing middle-school girls "get down," and try to be sexy by dancing provocatively in their skimpy costumes. I kept thinking, "Ack! You're little girls!" Was spared the sight of mutual pelvic gyrations however, which was a relief-- most of the kids were actually pretty good about refraining from PDH's-- "public displays of hormones." I elected to dress up because I'd been encouraged to do so by the other teachers-- I threw on a hideous neon-purple track suit that I'd found at a thrift store the year before. Unfortunately, since none of the other teachers dressed up, and since the kids hadn't gotten to know me especially well at that point, I think most of the kids just assumed that the suit was what I put on for "casual clothes." Teaching, be not proud.


2.) Attended the boys' varsity basketball game (Feb.)

This was so exciting! Our boys were on a streak this year, and ended up going all the way to state! Our school is a funky little place, and we had just received the news that the district would be closing down our school. The boys' incredible basketball success immediately after the gavel came down almost seemed to be an act of defiance against that decision. I watched them play a small private school-- watched them go up against clean-cut Caucasian boys in new uniforms, watched the opposing school's large cheer squad perform flips and lifts and throws in their immaculate uniforms, their hairsprayed pony-tails... And then cheered myself hoarse, watching our boys make basket after basket, watch two of our girls run out in front of our crowd and shake their long hippie hair, and holler out make-shift cheers. What an incredible morale booster! It made me love my odd little school so ferociously, and gave me such a sense of pride in who these kids are and in their fighting spirit.

3.) Theatre Field Trip to Bellingham

This experience was described at length in an earlier trio of blogs.

4.) Youth Speaks Poetry Slam at the Seattle Town Hall (May)

Our poetry teacher, Karen, had invited all of our students to attend the Youth Poetry Slam at the Town Hall, which she was co-hosting-- Viola and I promised to give extra credit to anyone who attended. I ended up chaperoning five of our students, and had an unbelievable time. Not only were the young performer poets outstanding, but to see my kids' reactions was indescribably moving. One boy didn't say much, but clapped adamantly after each performer, and discussed them all at length after the performance. Another boy cried during several of the poets' performances, he was so moved; he said afterwards, "I want to go home and write in my journal all weekend!" I wrote afterwards in my journal, "The kids were absolutely enthralled. What a gift to watch them watching, and to see them SEEING!" To have my students witness firsthand the power of writing through these cool young poets who looked like them-- for my students to recognize writing's ability to communicate ideas and to reconcile one to oneself-- was a priceless testimony. This was perhaps one of my favorite nights of the year.

5.) Host/Emcee for "One Last Glimpse," a performing-arts talent show/showcase for current students and alumni (May)

I co-hosted this event with another young teacher, Derek, and we had a blast. Our "shtick" of the evening was that we felt insulted to have been asked to HOST, rather than be part of the actual featured "talent"; we therefore tried to "prove" our various talents throughout the showcase during our intermittent hosting segments. It started off with a goofy folk-song from me, then Derek continued the pretense by attempting yoga-- in a tight blue tank top and women's yoga pants no less. We came on together during the second act, doing interpretative dance to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and ended with an over the top rap, performed by me (in the afore-pictured track suit, with Ray Ban sunglasses, and curly blond hair under a black cap), backed up by Derek's arrhythmic beat-boxing. The occasional was a sentimental one, as it will be our school's last performance showcase; there was a slide show commemorating many of our school's moments over the years, which was accompanied by touching quotes. Many people cried. People said afterwards that the silliness of what Derek and I did provided much needed comic-relief, and helped everyone continue on with the show. It was an honor to be asked to host such an emotionally significant occasion for my school, and I felt extremely privileged to be asked, as a student teacher, to take on the responsibility. It made me realize how invested I've become in this community, and how invested they've become in me.

6.) "Oliver!"-- our school's musical! (June)

This was a massive undertaking! I worked as the assistant director and choreographer for the musical to help fulfil my theatre endorsement, which eventually culminated in rehearsals until l0:00 pm, an entire weekend devoted to being at school for the play (during grad school finals week, OUCH), and the performance of endless random tasks, such as...
- Coming up with theatre exercises and games on the spot, to occupy kids that were unoccupied
- Choreographing at a moment's notice and with no prior warning: "Greta, you can choreograph 'Be Back Soon' today, right? Like-- now? OKAY, MIDDLE-SCHOOLERS, GO WITH GRETA!"
- Blocking/directing scenes on the spot
- Re-blocking scenes after getting onto our raked stage
- Choreographing fight scenes
- Working with kids one-on-one and in groups, on character development and their acting
- Helping the kids with stage make-up
- Helping the kids with their costumes
- Helping the kids with their hair
- Improvising new pocket handkerchiefs every night after the middle-schoolers continued to lose them-- EVERY NIGHT
- Running around during the show, resolving sound issues, prop problems, costume malfunctions-- running down to the orchestra pit, in one instance, with a sign for Fagin (the lead) to "TURN YOUR MIC ON!!" before his last big number.
- Endless clean-up after the show and wrangling of middle-schooler-cleaner-uppers

To name only a few...

For the reader's enjoyment, here are the two main numbers I choreographed, though there's plenty more where these came from!




Although being involved with the musical was at times an overwhelming undertaking, especially since it came when I was doing my full-time student teaching and trying to keep myself afloat in grad school classes as well, I hugely enjoyed it. I loved being able to incorporate my love for theatre and my dance background with my teaching, and I got know my students in a different venue and in a different light. I felt immensely proud of them for pulling off such a great show!

*We were only required to have six extra-curricular events, but chaperoning prom deserves a mention as well... Was sardonically addressed in this blog!

June 16th-ish, over the years

Got this idea from Ginger. Dug up my old journals, found the entries as close to June 16th as I could find... and voila. The amusing result:

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June ?, 2000 (age 16)

Now, the "afterglow" of the break-up has worn off HARDCORE. I wanted him to figure things out, but did he have to figure them out so FAST? And I'm so lonely all over again. And now they're happy together. I miss him. And he's so over me. But there's nothing I can do except get over him now. Because I know that he won't be coming back to me. But there's nothing I can do about it. A chapter has ended.

Melodramatic sob. This is in reference, by the way, to a relationship that lasted 2.5 weeks.

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June-ish, 2001 (age 17)

I'm not sure which is worse: witnessing the failures of those you love, or having those you love witness YOURS. If only everything were as easy as hoping it. They say, "Where there's a will, there's a way." But whose will are they talking about? And why is it that the WAY is up rocky mountains and through aching valleys?

If only things were as simple as we imagined they'd be in childhood. How can I be so old? I know 17 is young in the eyes of the world, but it seems eons away from the soul I had ten years ago. I hate the things that forced me to grow up; yet what would I be without them?

What do I have of real value? What about me is real, and what only pretense? Why do I have what others do not? Why am I who I am? Why this face, this family, this line of circumstances? What is there? What could have been if I had? What might have been if I hadn't? Is this the best I could have done?

The 25-year-old English teacher in me is thrilled to discover that, not only was I asking deep and probing questions in my high-school journal entries, I was also correctly using semi-colons.

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June-ish, 2002 (age 18)

Yikes... this one's ugly. Another break-up chronicled, and this time, the she-devil came out! We'll keep that one locked away...

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June 15th, 2002 (age 19)

I have my t-shirt on backwards.

Life at college clearly advancing my intellect.

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The 2003 journal is lost to the world. Tragedy!!

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June 22, 2004 (age 21)
"Rattling"
It's when your smile gets wider, not bigger
And your eyes stretch wide but don't brighten.
It's when your laugh rattles and ricochets off the walls
When normally it just settles.

You make sure they're impressed,
Which they are.
You make sure that they see it,
Which they do.
You make sure everyone feels just fine, exactly fine,
Which I don't. I'm sorry I don't.

It's so sad.
We've been saying I Love You just over a month.
Why is it souring?

This one does actually make me really sad. That was a brutal time.

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June 15th, 2005
Ahhhh! This is when I was in Rome, traveling around after my study abroad trip, and had met the hilarious charming Scotsmen!
WHEN IN ROME:
- Drink 85 cent wine
- Steal milkshake spoon from ristorante
- Say any Italian word you know as often as possible and with gusto swinging arms and hips. To Italians.
- Sing Irish drinking songs REALLY loud with Scottish boys and lots of other campers around a camping table.
- Use the plastic half of a kinder-egg as a shot glass.
- Brush your teeth with rain-water.
- Make friends with tour guides and get them to do special favors for you.
- Develop insane crushes on nearby neighbors in camp site that hail from Scotland and wear kilts and play wonderful music and kiss you.
- Do as the Romans do.

This is another funny excerpt from that entry:
An Italian guard at the Vatican asked me what I was doing later, and told me, "You have beautiful feet." I think he meant face. I laughed and said, "Grazie!" He wouldn't have had a chance to look at my blistered feet, and he kept staring at my face.
"You like compliment?" he asked, smiling hopefully.
"Si, grazie!"

Rome was such a blast!

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June 24, 2006 (age 22)
Just had arrived in Malawi for a two-month long mission trip!

This is ridiculous now, because I am SO behind on this journal and I'm going to be describing banal past happenings, instead of in-the-moment impressions. We've been in Malawi going on three days now, I've met PEOPLE, I've been to a MARKET, I've cooked food with FIREWOOD... and in the journal, I'm still barely out of Johannesburg. I finally graduate from school and I'm stressed out now from my OWN homework. Maybe that's confirmation I'm supposed to be a teacher.

Homework is the best part of being a teacher, no question. Might have to post a real Africa entry on here sometime-- a shame to post something this vacuous as the representative for that whole incredible experience.

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June 18th, 2007 (23)

... Break ups are the weirdest thing. You know one person better than ANYONE and they know you the same way, and you spend every waking minute together and they are on the forefront of every thought, and they inhabit your future as WELL as your present, and they create so many inside jokes that only the two of you now, and they're the biggest part of your life

Until they are shunned, shut out of it. Until they are forcibly removed and a best friend becomes

An absolute stranger.

I don't even remember how we were together. I don't remember any tender emotions. I remember places, events, and words, but all the sweetness in my heart that was for him was expunged, it was too painful. And now I don't remember the way we were with each other.

It was so odd to be reminded of all that.

Remembering the 2004 one. Still finding sadness there.

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June 24th, 2008 (24)

This one, you can see for yourself.

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June 16, 2009

Today? We were looking for something remarkable for today...?

I have three more days of student teaching left. I am simultaneously broken-hearted and overjoyed at the thought. It kills me that our school is closing down-- I won't ever be able to come back and visit these kids. Trying to soak it up while also pushing the sad reality out of my head and feigning total normalcy is a difficult task.

More 2009 later.

Just a Bike Ride

Every once in a while I'm in the mood to-- what do they call it?-- work OUT. My muscles start getting an itchy feeling, and the only response is a big walk or a bike ride or-- if I'm feeling TRULY ambitious-- a run.

Today it was a bike ride.

Ironic twist of fate: I have TONS of hard core work-out clothes from when I worked at my running shoe company, but I never wear them when I actually work out. Why? Because people look at me and think that I'm going to be completely hard core. Once an old man stopped his bike next to me at an intersection. I was wearing my "Canada" technical tee, Brooks running shoes, and Brooks pants. "Did you come down from Canada just to ride this trail?" he asked.
I laughed. "No! I'm from here."
"Oh," he said, disappointed. "Are you riding all the way to the end?"
"No!" I said again. "Just-- home. Which is like, three miles away."
"Oh," he said, disappointed again. Then the light turned green, and he blitzed by me.

I've learned to wear cotton on my bike rides.

All this meant, however, that I had no fancy hidden pocket to stick my i-pod in. I tried first jerry-rigging it by putting it in a sock that I wrapped around the handle-bars, but that didn't work, and then I just held it, and that didn't work, and then I stuck it in my sports bra.

Anyway. The great part of the ride started when I was actually stopped, at Gasworks park-- one of my favorite spots in Seattle.


I saw a man flying his kite, and it fell. He tried to loft it himself, but it wasn't working, so I hopped over and helped him and that made me happy. Then it fell again, and I helped him again, and I felt happier.

As I was leaving, I spotted JOUSTING. I found men wearing silver armor, with shields and swords, and they were jousting with a jousting referee!!


That was hilarious, obviously, and also made me happy.

I began riding home, and saw blooms on the blackberry bushes, which means there will be blackberries soon. I saw a girl walking along and thought of my kids' Positive Propaganda Projects and hollered, "Have a GREAT day!"

I passed UW and decided to ride up to the fountain and smell the roses. They were ALL in bloom-- it was incredible!


I smelled about ten of them, and one fushia colored rose had the most incredible scent. I saw an old man sitting by himself and plucked one of the roses, hopped over the little hedge rose-garden-protector and gave it to him. "Here!" I said happily. "This is for you. It smells amazing!"

And then I got on my bike and rode off and felt sort of giddy.

I saw another girl walking and yelled, "You are lovely!" and I saw a little boy riding his bike on two wheels and called, "Good JOB!" I smiled at everyone, and loved the trees, and loved the flowers, and loved the overcast sky. I waved at people on their "Ride the Ducks" tours and they all waved back.


It was a very happy bike ride.

And now I am showered, and in a new sweatshirt that's just a little too big, and I'm just a little bit sleepy, and thinking that I ought to-- perhaps-- rev up the endorphins a little more often.

Making people happy is the happiest thing to do. I bet my students would be proud of me. :)

Let Us Now Examine the Graduation Robe

Without question the most universally unflattering get-up in all the earth.


First, let us address the innumerable distresses of the mortar board.


A dreadful chapeau. The long cap over the forehead, the flat square of polyester-covered cardboard on the top... Grievous features!! And how is one supposed to wear one's hair? If one pulls it out to achieve a look of fullness, it looks ridiculous.


If one tucks her hair behind her ears, she has accomplished the optical illusion of a remarkably shrunken cranium, taken down in size by 200%! Perhaps 300%!


This effect is perhaps more accurately known as "guinea-fowl head."


And then there is the tassel, which never fails to repeatedly hit the face.


Does this truly convey an appearance of higher intelligence?


I think not.


But graduation robes for a MASTERS degree candidate come with their own set of special idiosyncrasies. Will the audience please direct their attention to the baffling sleeve apparatuses?


What are these long bits at the end? Are these pockets for storage? Are they intended as oven mitts? Am I supposed to decorate the ends and use them as hand-puppets? Were the robe designers concerned that their Masters candidates would need polyester mittens in June?



Maybe they're trying to encourage us to try to fly with our advanced knowledge.


Also there is the "hood"-- the focal point of a Masters robe. Unfortunately the hood is such a bizarrely shaped piece of fabric that it is almost impossible to ascertain its proper wear. Good thing they provide instructions.

"Make sure to tie the hood to some part of your outfit underneath your robe so that it doesn't choke you all the time."


One wonders how they conjectured it. What inspired tailor decreed that THIS-- a shapeless robe! A preposterous hat! A swath of colorful and confounding fabric! A dangling TASSEL!-- would be the attire best befitting a graduated scholar? What feverish minds, stumbling out the library after finals, first voluntarily slumped into these hideous trappings and thereby established the robes as "traditional garb"? Who decreed that the best way to honor long hours of study, sleepless nights of paper-writing, exhausting and exhaustive projects, and synapses frayed by ceaseless stress-- was with THIS?

And why does the combination yet provoke some excitement-- some feeling of very real accomplishment-- from its bemused wearer?

Today is graduation day, friends. It is graduation day, even though I still have to take class all summer, and even though I still have to find a job, and even though the black polyester sleeve flaps don't-- woe-- work as wings.

It is graduation day: a day for celebrating--a day for pomp. A day for circumstance. A day for pompish circumstantial flying. :)


What gorgeous feathers, have I!

The Positive Propaganda Project

Hey look, I'm blogging again! For real! See?

Our last book of the year has been Animal Farm, which we've read aloud in class. Animal Farm is an allegorical representation of the Russian Revolution, and propaganda is a huge theme, both in the book and in what actually happened when Stalin was in charge. I did a huge lesson last Wednesday and Thursday on different techniques of propaganda, and we thought of tons of examples from the book, from our prior knowledge of history, and from contemporary culture.

Anyway: at the end of the class, I said, "This is the point. You all run into a LOT of negative messages every day-- from advertisers, from graffiti on the bathroom walls, maybe even from yourself... And so for our final project, we're going to do something to counter that. Your mission-- and you must accept it, because it's required-- is to spread a little sunshine and butterflies. You need to figure out a way to spread a POSITIVE message."

I gave them some examples-- a mural on the wall--


A flier on the street--


I told them about a bad day I'd once had and how I had been scowling on a street corner, when suddenly I heard, "Good luck!" and noticed a stranger raise his eyebrows at me and continue on his trek. It totally turned my mood around.

"This doesn't have to be big-- and it CAN'T BE ILLEGAL," I said. "NO GRAFFITI, even if you think it's positive! (Unless you get a letter from the building owner, proving that you got permission.) But figure out a way to spread a positive message. Think of someone you know that needs to hear a good message. Maybe it's your friends. Maybe it's yourself. You could write positive notes to yourself and put them all around your room. Maybe you want to go give notes to strangers. Okay?"

Some kids were resistant. "I'm not a positive person! I can't think of anything!"
"Well, think of it as propaganda then. You don't HAVE to necessarily think it's true. But this is an exercise to stretch your thinking and behavior, just like any other exercise or assignment."
"What if my message is 'Being negative is the new positive'?"
"Sorry. Look at the definition of positive. That is not it. This should be something that would be seen almost universally as positive."

Clark-- one of our school's strangest young lads-- ran in circles outside, where I had moved the class because of the heat. "I have an idea!" he said, frolicking around the pine tree.
"What?"
"My message is going to be, 'Everyone POOPS!'"
I sighed. "Clark, can't you think of something just a LITTLE more PC?"

However: most of the kids loved the idea.

Today I heard the different stories of what the kids did. And you guys? My students are so awesome.

Fernanda and Kelsey went to Greenlake, and wrote huge chalk messages on the circle loop: "Have a great day!" "Smile!" "You're beautiful!" They handed out flowers and notes to people. Fernanda told one story of spotting a harried mom, wrangling four kids. She said that she'd gone up to the mother and handed her a note that said, "You're appreciated." The mom almost started crying and said, "Wow... THANK you!"

Audrina, Shana, and Tanelle went down-town with a huge block of post-it notes and put them EVERYWHERE. At one point they sat on the top floor of the mall, and handed notes out to each new person getting off the escalator. They put the post-its on bulletin boards, they fought over interesting looking people to give them to. Audrina gave a note to a police-man who had just finished arresting a tweaked-out homeless man. The note that she gave him said, "You're needed." He apparently looked down at her and said in a deep voice, "Wooow. You know, that's pretty cool. You girls come back down here anytime you want, okay?"

Rakeesh, one of the sweetest young men I have, approached the project by infusing his daily life with these intentional moments of positivity. When he got home last Friday he noticed that his mother was in a horrible mood and didn't want to talk to anyone. He told her, "You know, you're my hero." She looked at him with an odd expression and said, "What are you doing?" Later that weekend, he tried to think of a way that he could help his dad, so he did all of his homework, and showed his pop-- who was happy. He went to the community center and saw an old lady that looked tired, and said something kind to her. My favorite story from Rakeesh though was when he was playing basketball at Greenlake. He saw another guy bullying other people on the courts-- saying rude things, and trying to run them off his court. Rakeesh-- who is an African immigrant who speaks broken English, and has a stutter on top of it-- approached this guy, completely intimidated, but intent on spreading his "Positive Propaganda" all the same. He told this guy, "Whatever you're going through, I just want to say, it's going to be okay." The guy looked at him, walked away, and didn't bother anyone else on the courts.

To hear that Rakeesh had had the courage to not only approach this guy, but then to say something that wasn't confrontational, but rather KIND, forgiving, understanding, and humble, blew me away. It just floored me-- I felt incredibly moved.

Clark ended up spreading the message, "Wash your hands!" And after several consulting sessions with the girl who had been so determined to be negative, she ended up giving notes to her friends that most needed to hear how incredible they are-- a message that this girl needs to hear herself, in my opinion. Malia wrote long poems to her friends that she knew were going through really difficult times-- several of them cried when they got them, and Malia herself almost started crying when she talked about her project. Kelly made little scrolls with positive quotes and gave them out to people-- she saw one girl on the bus who looked angry and upset, and handed her a scroll just before she got off the bus. The girl's face completely changed and she got up and hugged Kelly.

All around the school have been fliers-- "There is no smiling face that is not beautiful"-- and little notes found in the bathroom, on the desks, passed out: "You're awesome." "You're the bees knees." "Every breath you take counts, every word you say is worthy, every smile your lips give is heaven, every moment in your life is worth the watch, every single time your heart beats is a miracle.” Kids are passing out flowers and chocolate-- I've gotten several cards from kids who decided to target teachers especially.

It's everywhere!

Moments like this make me feel so inspired by my students-- in my efforts to help them be better people, I feel inspired to be a better person. What a wonderfully, infectiously HAPPY task it is to help people. It's contagious-- it makes the helper happy! It makes you want to help more.

And I think my kids are realizing the same thing. :)

Sorry for the No Blogging

I've been stressed and wiped and tuckered and knackered and exhausted and all kinds of tired.

If you want more teacher stories though-- or just a teacher reflection-- you can go to my official "Teacher Blog" and read my recap of lessons learned over the year.

I'm coming back y'all. I'll get there. Just have to graduate first.

Maisie's Fairy Tale

This was too good to keep to myself. As mentioned in a previous post, Maisie began to tell a fairy tale of her life in allegorical terms on Friday. This is the full story-- and Maisie's FIRST blog post since we started! Guess that Friday session did some good after all!


The Maiden and The Jerk-Face (Allegory of my life)

Once upon a time there was a young maiden bore from two gypsy’s. She lived a simple, peasent life that still was very wonderful. For years it lasted this way, and since she lived close to the castle, she would come a majority of the week, untill the few months the weather was nice. Well since she was young she went to the old castle and nothing ever happened. One year she walked up the wrong stairs into the royal den’s. There she met a young prince. The young prince was very arrogant, cocky and had many lovers.

The young prince thought the maiden was quite pretty and so she would never see his evilness, he went to a witch. The first witch he met was very old (infact she said a hundred and three years) but she was very busy and did not work on such potions, only number potions. The second witch was nearly the same age and hated the prince so much herself, that he fled her home for she tried taking his soul. However the third witch was younger and wasn’t as bitter (Though she still was evil for she was a witch) and with a nice amount of money he got a potion to blind the maiden from see through him.

For many months he treated her kindly and since she was under the spell of the potion, she only saw a warm and kind heart. One day he wanted her to prove her love to him by jumping off, into a waterfall and in return he would love her forvever and make her queen. The maiden refused, for she did not fully trust his words, or know if she truely loved him. Quickly after he told her she was not worthy enough for his love and never tried seeing her again. It wasn’t long after did she hear word of him falling inlove with a princess.

Her heart soon started getting cracks in it, for it did hurt her because the potion had never worn off. Now she knew truely that she loved him, but he would never give her a second chance now. She still saw the prince around the castle, but never did they make eye contact. After many months, after the princess had been exiled from the kingdom and the prince went into a few battles, they met again. Quickly her love returned. Then one day after when the prince went hunting with a few dukes he talked of her in a way he shouldn’t of.

A goblin heard this, and since he hated the prince so much he told the young maiden. She was so devasted that the cracks in her heart collapsed and she now lay heartbroken in her bed. A fairy who knew all that was going on felt sorry for the maiden and undid the potions powers. Now instead of missery she felt anger and saw him for who she really was. The prince tried to convince her he truely did like her but she would never believe it. In all sadness of the story, she still loved the rotten prince and decided to wait for him in a tall tower where no man could get in, excpet for that prince.

The end.