Wednesday, February 21, 2007
I'd like to thank all the little people...
...that I ate for dinner, which is why I'm enrolled in The Biggest Loser at my place of work. I'm pretty excited about winning 400 dollars and have pretty much decided that the money is mine. You can go ahead and congratulate me now, b/c I'm going to win. I don't usually report fitness info on this blog anymore, as I've become supersticious about it (it started as a weight loss blog, but I've actually gained 15 (or 20?) lbs since starting it)....Now, I didn't control for all variables, I will admit....such as increased calories and carbs and decreased exercise, dating Ben & Jerry, not to meantion that I'm not getting any younger, folks.
?
What's rolling around in my head today...
I'm not a Christian in the traditional sense, but I hope to follow Jesus (and Gandhi, and MLK, and Dorothy Day...). Can Jesus help us figure out why Americans are the richest and yet most depressed nation in the world? He said, "...it is easier for a camel to go through the
eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the
kingdom of God." These words just keep rolling around in my head.
Since I've taken my spiritual studies outside
of a traditional church, I've
come to believe that what was taken literally from the
Bible and what was taken figuratively has always been
chosen for us...For a long time, I cast the entire book aside...but, then I picked up bits and pieces and found them refreshing when viewed outside of the exlusive and oppressive context of fundamentalism. For example, in Luke it reads, "the kingdom of God is within
you." Why is this what we take figuratively? It seems to me that it is saying what might be the most true: God is in each of us... IS each of us...and then, taken with the above Biblical passage, that every overindulgence is another step away from God.
As we Americans
rationalize all that we have, one
child dies from a starvation-related cause for every
breath we take and the MAJORITY of the world does not have running water or electricity....maybe that cuts us off from our
spiritual connection with God in some way...the
"kingdom of God that is within us."
Could this be part of our collective cultural depression?
It's a finger that I point at myself, as my indulgences are plenty. I've heard it said, "we must live simply so that others may simply live." The question is, how far do we take that? Where is the line between being overly-generous and rationalizing? Where is the line between indifference and doing more than is healthy? Is there one?
I'm not a Christian in the traditional sense, but I hope to follow Jesus (and Gandhi, and MLK, and Dorothy Day...). Can Jesus help us figure out why Americans are the richest and yet most depressed nation in the world? He said, "...it is easier for a camel to go through the
eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the
kingdom of God." These words just keep rolling around in my head.
Since I've taken my spiritual studies outside
of a traditional church, I've
come to believe that what was taken literally from the
Bible and what was taken figuratively has always been
chosen for us...For a long time, I cast the entire book aside...but, then I picked up bits and pieces and found them refreshing when viewed outside of the exlusive and oppressive context of fundamentalism. For example, in Luke it reads, "the kingdom of God is within
you." Why is this what we take figuratively? It seems to me that it is saying what might be the most true: God is in each of us... IS each of us...and then, taken with the above Biblical passage, that every overindulgence is another step away from God.
As we Americans
rationalize all that we have, one
child dies from a starvation-related cause for every
breath we take and the MAJORITY of the world does not have running water or electricity....maybe that cuts us off from our
spiritual connection with God in some way...the
"kingdom of God that is within us."
Could this be part of our collective cultural depression?
It's a finger that I point at myself, as my indulgences are plenty. I've heard it said, "we must live simply so that others may simply live." The question is, how far do we take that? Where is the line between being overly-generous and rationalizing? Where is the line between indifference and doing more than is healthy? Is there one?
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Season of NonViolence
First of all, Happy Season of NonViolence!! Almost. It's coming up, time to get prepared...How are you going to celebrate the time between the deaths of MLK and Gandhi, two non-violent heroes who died as a result of violence? A Season for Nonviolence, January 30 - April 4, is a national 64-day educational, media, and grassroots campaign dedicated to demonstrating that nonviolence is a powerful way to heal, transform, and empower our lives and our communities. Inspired by the 50th and 30th memorial anniversaries of Mahatma Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., this international event honors their vision for an empowered, nonviolent world. Get ready, people. We are not those who govern us....more than ever, we need to celebrate the missions of visionaries like Gandhi and MLK. Heroes. (http://www.agnt.org/snv02.htm)
Teaching and the army...
No, this is not about the fact that No Child Left Behind legislates that our children will be actively recruited by the army when they get to high school...(that is just one more reason to vote...in my opinion, for Barack Obama, who if he's reading this, I desperately hope will run in '08). It's about the challenge teaching is and how you can't NOT grow from it. I've heard people say that they went to the army to learn discipline, etc., but I say...be an educator. It is boot camp for the strong of heart, and I believe that you'll never be the same again after you've been a teacher. I think the first 6 weeks of teaching, one is almost certainly borderline mentally ill, and I see the necessity in it being a contracted position. It takes awhile to get hooked. I remember early on thinking, "my blood pressure must be dangerously high; I bet that's grounds for release from my contract."-- so many seemingly unsolveable problems that you are honestly considered a failure if you do not solve...it's the most stressful event I've been through, and although I'm no cancer survivor (unlike Lori at missmelanoma.blogspot.com) , I've been through at least SOME stuff...
Puberty and Humility...
I'm teaching 6th, 7th, and 8th...6th graders and I, we connect. I've always connected with kids, and sixth graders are still totally kids. It's an almost effortless connection, and it's secretly gratifying to be instantly liked by them and strict at the same time. Obviously, I'm not there to be liked; but the days when I can do my job AND have a positive experience with my kids is much better than the days of personality clashes and attitude problems....
Ah, the eighth grade. I've learned the most from the 8th graders. I do not connect with them naturally...and I hear that we grow the most when we are challenged, so I must be growing. To me, they seem crazy... 50% grown, 50% kid, 75% illogical, 95% emotional. That doesn't add up, but it doesn't matter. We've not reached logic yet; our little frontal lobes are still waiting to finish growing....I tend to find myself on the same emotional roller coaster that they ride, in the theme park of change. For every time that I'm on the "high hill" of the roller coaster, secretly blaming my kids for their own age and home-life induced confusion/behavioral outbursts, I find myself plummeted down the tracks at speeds that steal my breath...all the way down to humility, which is very...well, humbling. They are the tea cup ride, too. One minute going a million miles an hour, and then at once barely turning...my auto thought is to judge them as adults b/c they seem more like adults...but, they are not. Instead, I try to see them like God would see them, or how their parents may have seen them when when they were first born...Like an anthropologist, I've also studied the secret language of adolescence...I've composed the following handy guide for those of you who might run into adolescents at home, work or more likely, in the mall...
Easy Reference Adolescent Language Guide: Conviently printable for theater visits and mall encounters!
#1: " I don't care" = "I'm confused." "Do you care about me?" "I'm having a bad day." or "I do care, but my friend doesn't, so I'm going to say I don't. We'll talke later."
#2: "That is so gay" = "I don't feel like doing that." or "I don't know how to do that" or "Does my hair look okay?" or "I started my period."
#3: "Those shoes are tight" = "Your shoes are ugly, and I'm making fun of you" or "I like your pumas"
#4: "I hate you" = "Do you hate me?" "Do you like me?" "I'm having a bad moment." or "My mom is drinking again." or "I like your pumas."
#5: "Miss, we broke up. Now, we're 'friends with benefits'" = "I'm totally doing IT, and why is the blood running out of your face?"
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
16 more days to Christmas Vacation
I know, teachers aren't supposed to think like that. If you think that's bad, you should hear the thoughts in my head when one of my students told me I need to dye my hair today; this color doesn't work for me. Homonal little angel.
You know what, though. I haven't quit. I'm miserable
in a lot of ways, and this is stressing me to the max,
but I'm sticking with it even when it's far from
perfect.
You know what, though. I haven't quit. I'm miserable
in a lot of ways, and this is stressing me to the max,
but I'm sticking with it even when it's far from
perfect.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
when ure hero falls
Posted in dedication to two boys who I teach (middle school English/Reading). Names changed & details altered...you know, just in case.
Juan has a sibling who was shot and killed several years ago in a gang related incident. He works a night job to help his mother with the bills. Half-awake, he sits in my class scribbling precocious lines of poetry onto my assignments (which he sometimes finishes). Clearly an old soul, murky from the hazy confusion of adolesence along with the oppression of poverty and it's angry mirror of violence. He wants nothing to do with gangs or violence, he tells me on one of the mornings that he has wondered into my classroom before school. It has hurt his family enough. He just got off of work. He says he's tired, he will try to pay attention.
The other boy, Miguel (a gang member; a kid who has been in a lot of trouble), tells me with heavy eyes that his father has begun drinking again after two years of sobriety. It is my planning period. I don't know where he is supposed to be, but he is not there. His mind is at home anyways. His eye is on the bottle that has stolen his dad away. His body is in my classroom, looking for an answer that I've been looking for for years. I share an anecdote about my own trip down this road, and I think back to my grade school counselor, Mrs. Johnson. When I was young, she shared with me a version a piece of her life story that was similar to mine; in a breath she handed to me my discarded, crumpled potential -wrapped carefully in a tiny box, tied with strings of hope. She was my proof that it was possible to make it through something through which I didn't feel I had the strength to withstand. By virtue of existence, she was the hope that remained in my Pandora's box. "God must be preparing you to help another child through this," she said.
I grasped the box of my fragile potential with knuckles whiter than winter; I tucked it deep in my soul. Sometimes I forgot it was there. And, sometimes I forget it is there. And sometimes it sings the songs it knew all along. The songs that all of our souls have always known. I believe life is about clearing a way to our souls, which have always known "the answers"...Clearing the distractions of life...the crippling oppression of poverty, the paralyzing oppression of wealth.
I do not know if I will make a difference as a teacher, but I know that the difference is already in me. At times, I am blinded by the endless distraction of beauracracy and expectations I do not know how to meet. Overall, it gives me clarity...Not clarity in my own life, but a clearer picture of the world as it really is. At night, I drive home to my comfortable, if not fancy neighborhood where most people pretend that poverty does not exist. It would be comforting to believe that, but in the morning I go back to the school that is 95% poor and minority, tucked away between used car lots and gang signs painted on overpasses. This is reality.
As for middle school...I never thought I would teach middle school; it was the worst time of my life. Adolesence in itself is pandora's box. By definition, it is a time of trauma. Add poverty. Add violence. May my kids recognize the elusive hope that hides in the corner; some never find it. Pandora found it. Mrs. Johnson found it, and she showed it to me.
I believe that Tupac found it, be it with slippery fingers. He wrote about it time and again.
Tupac wrote this poem after his seemingly untouchable mother became addicted to cocaine. She was/is an activist for social justice, a vigilante. A liver of life who gave up on living for a while.
When Ure Hero Falls
4 My Hero (My Mother)
by Tupac Shakur
When your hero falls from grace
all fairy tales R uncovered
myths exposed and pain magnified
the greatest pain discovered
u taught me 2 be strong
but I'm confused 2 c u so weak
u said never 2 give up
and it hurts 2 c u welcome defeat
when ure Hero falls so do the stars
and so does the perception of tomorrow
without my Hero there is only
me alone 2 deal with my sorrow.
your Heart ceases 2 work
and your soul is not happy at all
what R u expected 2 do
when ure only Hero falls
Juan has a sibling who was shot and killed several years ago in a gang related incident. He works a night job to help his mother with the bills. Half-awake, he sits in my class scribbling precocious lines of poetry onto my assignments (which he sometimes finishes). Clearly an old soul, murky from the hazy confusion of adolesence along with the oppression of poverty and it's angry mirror of violence. He wants nothing to do with gangs or violence, he tells me on one of the mornings that he has wondered into my classroom before school. It has hurt his family enough. He just got off of work. He says he's tired, he will try to pay attention.
The other boy, Miguel (a gang member; a kid who has been in a lot of trouble), tells me with heavy eyes that his father has begun drinking again after two years of sobriety. It is my planning period. I don't know where he is supposed to be, but he is not there. His mind is at home anyways. His eye is on the bottle that has stolen his dad away. His body is in my classroom, looking for an answer that I've been looking for for years. I share an anecdote about my own trip down this road, and I think back to my grade school counselor, Mrs. Johnson. When I was young, she shared with me a version a piece of her life story that was similar to mine; in a breath she handed to me my discarded, crumpled potential -wrapped carefully in a tiny box, tied with strings of hope. She was my proof that it was possible to make it through something through which I didn't feel I had the strength to withstand. By virtue of existence, she was the hope that remained in my Pandora's box. "God must be preparing you to help another child through this," she said.
I grasped the box of my fragile potential with knuckles whiter than winter; I tucked it deep in my soul. Sometimes I forgot it was there. And, sometimes I forget it is there. And sometimes it sings the songs it knew all along. The songs that all of our souls have always known. I believe life is about clearing a way to our souls, which have always known "the answers"...Clearing the distractions of life...the crippling oppression of poverty, the paralyzing oppression of wealth.
I do not know if I will make a difference as a teacher, but I know that the difference is already in me. At times, I am blinded by the endless distraction of beauracracy and expectations I do not know how to meet. Overall, it gives me clarity...Not clarity in my own life, but a clearer picture of the world as it really is. At night, I drive home to my comfortable, if not fancy neighborhood where most people pretend that poverty does not exist. It would be comforting to believe that, but in the morning I go back to the school that is 95% poor and minority, tucked away between used car lots and gang signs painted on overpasses. This is reality.
As for middle school...I never thought I would teach middle school; it was the worst time of my life. Adolesence in itself is pandora's box. By definition, it is a time of trauma. Add poverty. Add violence. May my kids recognize the elusive hope that hides in the corner; some never find it. Pandora found it. Mrs. Johnson found it, and she showed it to me.
I believe that Tupac found it, be it with slippery fingers. He wrote about it time and again.
Tupac wrote this poem after his seemingly untouchable mother became addicted to cocaine. She was/is an activist for social justice, a vigilante. A liver of life who gave up on living for a while.
When Ure Hero Falls
4 My Hero (My Mother)
by Tupac Shakur
When your hero falls from grace
all fairy tales R uncovered
myths exposed and pain magnified
the greatest pain discovered
u taught me 2 be strong
but I'm confused 2 c u so weak
u said never 2 give up
and it hurts 2 c u welcome defeat
when ure Hero falls so do the stars
and so does the perception of tomorrow
without my Hero there is only
me alone 2 deal with my sorrow.
your Heart ceases 2 work
and your soul is not happy at all
what R u expected 2 do
when ure only Hero falls
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