Meet the Parents

This week concludes the first of eight parent teacher conferences for the 2008-2009 school year.  Having my students' parents come to school, see the classroom (many for the first time), and meet me to talk about their child's progress was, in one word, brutal.  Absolutely brutal.  I felt like a cross between Miss America, the popular girl from my high school, and New York's worst teacher.  Prior to the conferences starting I tried cleaning the room, organizing it, hanging up student work, and tried to catch up on the piles of student work still needing to be graded.  The pre-conference moment is much like having an important guest come over for dinner.  I showered that day, I tried to look as professional as possible, and had 2 bottles of water in my desk to keep me hydrated and to provide for those moments when I need to think. A snickers bar didn't seem appropriate.  

Looking back on the whole experience the entire event was pretty comical.  Parents rotated in and out of the classroom in 3 minute intervals.  When a parent entered the classroom, I would smile big, stand tall, stretch out my right arm, and then proceed to give them a somewhat scripted narrative about the class, their child, and then what I think will happen for the rest of the year.  There were also those moments when I wondered to myself if I should have copies of my resume, along with diagrams breaking down each child and their performance along with my curriculum map, and a crystal ball to see if their child will get into Harvard, or if they will pass the AP exam.  

I don't know people.  I'm only a teacher.  

School's not hard.  You show up, study, play the game, participate, and then you're successful.  I was a lazy kid in school.  It wasn't until my 10th grade year in high school when I finally had a teacher that challenged me intellectually (shout out to Ms. Pyle) that I started to engage more, I started to care more, and then that's when I finally got out of the C/B grade range and became an A student.  It ain't rocket science.  The kids in my classes who are failing are the students who literally don't do anything.  

My first round of parent teacher conferences opened my eyes to notice that there are 4 main types of parents.  There's the Delusional Parent who believes Little Johnny is a genius and will publish a Pulitzer Prize because he went to camp for writing over the summer and he won an award.  Then there's the Poker Player Parent who you have no idea if they're agreeing or disagreeing with what you're saying because they sit back, stare, have questions and then walk out.  Then there's the Hidden Agenda Parent who will ask you roundabout questions to test your intellect, and competency.  And then there's the Perfect Parent who seems to have a healthy balance of anxiety and nervousness about their child, but is also in no way delusional about their own child's ability level, and lastly, thinks you're a good teacher.  

Overall, I had a lot more Perfect Parents than I did any other kid of parent come to parent teacher conferences.  I loved hearing that they're child enjoyed my class, that they were loving the material and that their little girl wants to be an AP English teacher when she grows up. Unfortunately though it's the parent(s) (there were only 2 out of the 66 that visited this quarter) that pushes you, that interrogates you and that outwardly judges your intellect, competency, and place at the school that make you feel a little dejected about devoting your entire life to teaching the youth of the world.  [I've noticed that I've become a lot more dramatic since working at a high school...]

It's Saturday, and I'm back to my old self, but shortly after doing 2 nights of conferences I felt a little shaken and unsure of myself again.  School got out early Friday so I finally was able to get home before the sun went down, and even caught a little Oprah before heading to the Laundromat.  Later that night, I went out to my favourite margarita place and had a couple to pick me up after a long week last night, which really helped to recharge me.  I arrived at the restaurant early to have a margarita before my boyfriend arrived because I wanted to chill out, and not spew about school all night.  When he did finally arrived I almost forgot about this past week :)  Gotta love tequila.  

I feel like every Friday at the end of the school day there should be servers who come around to each classroom to drop off a frozen Gold margarita for the faculty and staff of the school.  I bet everyone would be a lot happier :)

x,

Ms. P

How Ms. P Got Her Groove Back

From around the time that I wrote my first post for "from the desk of" I've been struggling to balance my professional and personal life.  I've tried going to yoga on Friday's to relieve the stress of the week before the weekend, I've gone on long walks through the city in an attempt to remind myself that I'm 24 years old and living and working in one of the greatest cities in the world, and I've upgraded my cable to include HBO in order to help pass those days when I'm too tired to do anything but watch TV.  These strategies that I've tried to implement into my life were more like kid-sized band-aids trying to cover a bigger issue.  

Before I go any further I want to preface my next few comments with I love teaching and I love that I'm a teacher.  Love it.  

I've come to the realization that my perfectionism is blocking my ability to balance my life.  Towards the end of this week I've learned/learning to say, "This is the best that I can do."  Then I close my laptop, push away my students' essays, and turn off the classroom lights so that I can meet my boyfriend for dinner.  I didn't realize how much I stressed about how much work wasn't getting completed.  My focus has now shifted and I'm looking to recognize what I have completed and what I have done well in a particular week.

I'm not super woman and I'm starting to become really OK with that.  My students' education won't suffer because I didn't immediately grade their papers, or make a handout for this week's project, or if I didn't get around to emailing this parent about their child's progress, or that parent about their child's behaviour.

Somewhere along the way I've forgotten that I'm just a muggle... as I've mentioned earlier.  I like the new Ms. P that's starting to develop, sans red cape and spandex.

x,

Ms. P   

The Wondrous Life of Carol P

I have a terrible habit of always buying something for myself whenever I'm out shopping for someone else.  I was at Barnes and Noble recently to buy books for the classroom and of course I couldn't help but take a quick tour of the books so neatly and nicely put on displayed next to the registers.  I forget which table I picked up my most recent book, probably from the table titled something like, "The Best Damn Books in the World."  I'm currently reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz.  It's absolutely brilliant.  It was this line from the back of the book that gripped me, "Oscar is a sweet but disastrously overweight ghetto nerd, a New Jersey romantic who dreams of becoming the Dominican J.R.R. Tolkien and most of all, of finding love."

Reading Oscar Wao has opened up parts of me that I thought were dead, long buried by the success of a 3 year battle to straighten my teeth, by my discovery of contact lens, and by my decade long war to conquer my weight.  People who are just meeting me now probably will never believe that I was Columbia's biggest nerd.  I was the ultimate stereotype.  I was socially awkward, very shy, very overweight, had glasses, and owned more books than the public library, ate lunch in the bathroom, would take my recess in the library.  My best friends were Laura Ingalls Wilder, Judy Bloom, and Rachel (my equally geeky friend who lived in the house on the top of the hill... she also had an awesome Barbie collection).  

It was this passage from Oscar Wao that inspired me to blog, and forced me to reminisce about my own adolescence:  

His adolescent nerdliness vaporizing any iota of chance he had for young love.  Everybody else going through the terror and joy of their first crushes, their first dates, their first kisses while Oscar sat in the back of the class... and watched his adolescence stream by (pg. 23.) 

Though I wasn't the cheerleader, prom queen, or student body president; though I ate lunch in the girl's bathroom instead of in the cafeteria, though I was always scribbling in my composition book ideas for stories instead of passing notes to my friends, and though my first love were books and not James Danko (my high school's resident heart throb)... I don't really regret how my life ultimately turned out.  While I was going through adolescence I often wished for death... but what moody and kinda lonely teenager doesn't?  

Moving to New York has allowed me to have a second childhood in many ways.  I'm less insecure about myself, I know who I am, and living a life outside of the popular cliche and with 30 extra pounds of padding has given me one heck of sense of humor :)  I catch myself looking out at my young students and thinking to myself that not much has changed since I've graduated from high school.  I see myself in the geeky English girls and boys.  I wanna tell them that they're the ones that are going to win in life.  That the cheerleader gets fat, that the prom queen will be a grandmother before she's 30, and that at the end of the day, at the end of life, what really matters is that you're true to yourself no matter how cliche that sounds.  

There's one girl in my class who I feel is my exact mirror in many ways. She's half Asian, half black, same hair as me, prettier than me, smarter than me, shy like me... On the first day of school she came up to me to ask if I was half Asian and black... She couldn't contain her joy when I answered yes.  She'd never met anyone like me before... I told her that we're an endangered species and with that we must represent our people well.  It made her smile.  

Who would have thought... little geeky Carol is a role model.  So maybe that's why I went through hell in back growing up geeky biracial kid in a mostly all white community in South Carolina.  My manicurist always remarks about how soft my skin is, but what she doesn't know is that below it all... I've got some tough skin... conditioned over time and for which I feel is my best feature (next to my sense of humor.)  

If I can give one word of advice to the Wondrous Oscar Wao and to those similar to him.  It would be... you've already won.

x,

Ms. P

diversity day

I can't imagine why my little blog about my life as a NYC school teacher has caused the people at google/blogspot to bring my blog under review.  I don't remember writing about anything subversive, but perhaps mentioning my monthly flow in my very first post, in the very first few lines has caused some eyebrows to be raised... whatever the reason may be, I'm gonna keep blogging... lock (on my account) or no lock.  

Oh, and before I go any further... Happy Day of Atonement!  

Living in South Carolina for most of my life I grew up knowing very little about the Jewish faith.  One of the coolest kids in my middle school was David, a little Jewish kid, who from all reports, had the best bar mitzvah in all of Columbia, but then again, he was the only Jewish kid in the entire middle school, so there really wasn't any competition there.  Anyway, my first steps off of the small commuter plane in LaGuardia Airport (that brought me from my home in SC to my new home in NY) were taken with a near dozen other Hasidic Jews also waiting for their luggage at the airport's baggage claim.  I was fascinated by these men, and by their faith, which has asked them stand a part from the mainstream society through their faith, diet, and wardrobe.

As a teacher in New York, I have students from all walks of life.  I have one student from Egypt, one from some place in the Middle East, some from France, one from the Midwest, most from countries scattered throughout the South Pacific, and all mixed in with the native New Yorkers... I could go on and on and on if I really wanted to continue down my class roster, but I'll spare you that.

I'm so envious of these kids and the racial utopia that they live in here in New York City.  South Carolina, has/had very little diversity, which for a biracial girl growing up in the south, was pretty soul crushing at times.  But don't get me wrong, New York isn't perfect.  I still get stopped and asked almost every day about my ethnicity, which is really annoying and which I have yet to get used to... It's a personal question that I feel is never really as simple as its asker may be truly aware of... The "what are you" question is loaded and can be answered and taken in multiple of different ways. 

So what am I trying to say?  I don't know.  Today's Day of Atonement has made me stop and reflect on why I have this day off.  It's because of the diversity and respect for one's diversity that has created this state holiday in which I am now enjoying.  

Ok, enough rambling and back to grading... ugh... 5 hrs and counting.

x,

Ms. P

A Beautiful Profession

Yesterday was an emotional day.  I kept waiting for my period all day to help explain why I turned into a sulky 16 year old emo kid, but there was no period to be had.

Yesterday marked my 1 month anniversary as a high school English teacher.  No fanfare, no flowers, no Hallmark card, just a long day of bemoaning teenagers struck with early cases of Senioritis and bitchiness.  My overall experience as a first year teacher has been pretty amazing.  I eagerly look forward to each new day where I can to see my kids and work with them on deconstructing feminist fairy tales, or essays written by marginalized minority groups who are searching for voice and identity (I love my job).  My students challenge me on a daily basis and I love it, but yesterday was not one of those days.

Actually, all of last week was pretty horrible.  I spent my two days off (Rosh Hashanah) in my yoga pants/pjs watching an Entourage marathon (the obvious upside) on HBO and grading mountains of papers (the obvious downside).  In hindsight I should have spent my two days off at the park, at the museum, at a concert, at a happy hour somewhere in the city... I should have been far far away from my folders of exams and essays. 

On Friday, the universe felt off.  Was there a full moon that night?  I walked into... no... rather I ran into school that day late.  I was exhausted and just could not get out of bed to save my life.   No time for breakfast, and my lunch (Chinese food leftovers) was still sitting pretty in my fridge.  All day I thought about that Sesame chicken.  

My first class of the day had an exam.  All went well.  The kids were sweaty and looked nervous. Mission accomplished.

My second class was out for blood.  They had recently received their fairytale projects back and many were upset about their grade (mind you, these were the projects I spent 2 days grading) and it carried over into that day's class.  They fought having to write a 2 page double space personal response essay about their childhood monster, and they also fought me on having to create a correlating visual.  I was pissed.  I was tired, emotional, hungry, and extremely sensitive that day.  

I get to school on most days at 7.30 and usually leave school at around 6.30.  Why?  Because I want my kids to have the absolute best learning experience every single day, and because this is my very first year teaching them I have absolutely no resources to pull from... I have to create everything for the first time.  My job has consumed me.  A month in and I've turned into a crazy workaholic.    

When I heard my lazy (but lovable) 12th graders complaining about an easy 2 page weekend homework assignment I went off and I wasn't going to take prisoners.  I glared at them and called out those that were rudely talking to their friends when I was talking, shot down hands that tried to interject (whine) about the assignment, and saw red the whole time.  I couldn't wait until class was over.  I wanted to run out.  I felt horrible for losing my temper like that.  I wish I hadn't.  I wish I had handled the whole thing differently, but everything had to be said.  I can't be the sweet, new teacher.  I needed to gain their respect and be the hard-ass.

I've let this job take over me that I'm having difficulty separating myself (Carol Lynn) from Miss Pickens from the assignments that I give.  Right now everything and everyone is lumped together and if you insult one, you insult them all. I later apologized to the students that I felt I had snapped at too much (and they didn't even know what I was talking about).  I love how easily kids move on.  I need to be that easygoing.  

I got home last night close to 7.3o, curled into bed, and just started to create a major wish list that consisted of things that I would do/ should do with my free time.  This week has taught me that I need to establish major boundaries between my professional life and my personal life.  Jaydip (my special friend) has really been wonderful through all this.  I can barely stand myself, and he's been such a little Dr. Phil.  

When I was in grad school many of the veteran teachers often commented on  the lack of social life they had, and how many relationships died due to the hectic and demanding 1st year teacher schedule.  Mine has thrived.  I feel like Jay and I are in a better place because of the tension.  I'm realizing and am able to see the wonderful guy in my life, in a new light, in a new role.

Thank you to everyone who has made it this far in my very first "from the desk of..." blog entry. Hopefully I will be committed and faithful to post on a somewhat regular basis.

x,

Ms. P