How Purina Tried to Destroy Me Today

I saw this commercial for the first time this afternoon.

Its power over me was almost worse than the Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercials.  I had to really talk myself down from the urge to drive to the pound and adopt the first little three-legged dog I saw.  Or a surfing bulldog. 

Well-played, Purina marketing department.  Well-played, indeed.

The Death of a Teacher; The Life of a Lesson

Yesterday wasn't such a great day in my classroom.  I've been teaching for a long time now, so I know some days will always be better than others; some lessons will fall by the wayside and others will be carried with students and teacher forever.

But the first meltdown always stings and brings questions about whether I've made the right choice.  Especially this year, more than ever, I find myself looking for signs that I'm where I should be.

So today, I sat in a tremendously long line at Chik Fil-A, praying for a better day or for a better outlook.  I checked my Twitter timeline and found this series of tweets about the death of Seamus Heaney.  The tweets are from one of my favorite Grantland writers, Brian Phillips, who was also a student of Heaney's.

(For you non-Twitter people, start from the bottom and read upward.  I could probably arrange it better, but I'm too tired to mess with it.  You'll adjust.)

I cannot admit to knowing a great deal about Heaney's work other than to know that he was very, very skilled at a medium (poetry) at which I am dreadful and that he was beloved and celebrated for that skill.

But what struck me in that exasperatingly slow line this morning was that Seamus Heaney was just as beloved for his time as a teacher.  It's a cool story, undoubtedly -- one that I would tell in bars and bookstores as many times as I possibly could -- but there is a reverence in these small 140 character spaces that cannot be denied.  I won't imagine that it was Heaney's fame that so impressed Brian Phillips but rather the singling out, the personal connection, the acknowledgment, that mattered most.  Did Heaney's fame intensify those things and make them more special?  Maybe. Maybe not.

My prayer is that it didn't -- that Phillips would be as devastated whether his teacher was a Nobel prize winner or not because, Nobel prize or not, Seamus Heaney did something to inspire a young man at a time when he seemed most lost.  He took the moment to hold his student to a standard, to put him in his place, to give encouragement, to provide acknowledgment, and then to bolster worth; he didn't have to, but he did it anyway.

That's what a great teacher does. He loves you and works with you both when you are wonderful and when you are dreadful.  He molds you through bad decisions or inflated ego or nervous hesitation.  He teaches the lesson in such a way that his words and actions will live on even when he cannot.  This, I believe, is the dream of all teachers, and it is the sting when the lesson falls upon deaf, or ungrateful, ears.

I have a student whose anger and defiance have derailed me every single day this week.  It has derailed us both, in truth, but he gave up his dream of staying on track long ago.  He is 13, and this devastates me.  But today, I thought of Brian's story about this man who didn't let him get away, and it changed my morning.  Consequently, it changed the interactions between this young man and me.  We may be back on track for only a short while, but at least there were no head-on collisions this morning.  Small progress is still progress.

So, Brian... when you say "it's not like I think what I do is all that important", I'd have to respectfully disagree with you today.  It was a pretty damn important story to share this morning because some lessons deserve to live on.

Thanks for honoring your teacher and for inspiring another one while sitting in an exceedingly (but timely) chicken biscuit line.  Neither you nor Seamus would've suspected as much, I'm sure.  I hope you'll have a pint for him tonight; every great teacher deserves one, especially on a Friday.

Be sure to follow Brian Phillips on Twitter at @runofplay or find his work on www.grantland.com. You won't regret it.

How To Teach 7th Grade Boys

Tips to Teaching 7th Grade Boys:

1.  There is nothing that cannot be twisted into an awkward, unfunny (sometimes lewd) joke. 

2.  That joke will be repeated ad nauseum because...

3.  Junior high boys don't understand comic timing or the laws of supply and demand.

4.  They must be taught that "telling the truth" can still = rude.  Your "facts" don't cancel out your rudeness.

5.  Big body does =/= grown up.  In fact, the big dudes are usually the most immature by far. 

6.  Learn to ignore the giggling.  It's 14 years now, and I'm still working on this.  And, no... it's not laughing.  It's not snickering.  It's giggling. 

7.  Stock up on Glade Plug-Ins.  My classroom already smells like sweat socks and insecurity.

8.  Their attention span is similar to this:

9.  Because of #8, every day (and sometimes every moment) starts pretty new.

10. On days like today, I sincerely thank God for #8 and #9.

Footwear and First World Guilt

My feet hurt.

They hurt real bad (read in best Napoleon Dynamite voice).

This year, there's a no sneaker policy except for Fridays and for classrooms that involve actual running.  This is rough for me because if there's anything that rivals my love for flip flops, it's new tennis shoes.  So it's "nice" shoes and sandals 4 days a week, and while I have some, they're not especially comfortable for walking all day.  And they don't give me the same thrill as this.

One of my fellow teachers swears by TOMS and wears them practically every day.  But I can't do it.  I get that they're eco-friendly and charitable and all that, but my big ol' feet look like some kind of pirate-clown in them.  I've tried on various colors and styles and such but to no avail.  Plain, sparkly, bright red, basic black... it doesn't matter.  I can't pull it off.

My overly guilty conscience and world-worry is completely disgusted with my vanity too.  I mean, the whole One for One campaign (which I think of as "buy a pair, and we give a pair to a kid who's a million times worse off than you, jerkface" promotion) really weighs on me.  Like, I'm the person who can't resist the little kid fundraisers or Girl Scout cookie time or the UNICEF trick-or-treaters.  I still feed the stray cat on my front porch, for cryin' out loud (it's been 2 years).  I'm not a terrible person who turns a blind eye to those who are suffering.  So I typically feel pretty good about putting enough positive karma back out into the world.

But then I see a picture like this.  It's like she's looking directly at me, saying, "That's okay, Capitalist Pig.  Enjoy your Thin Mints and overpriced wrapping paper while I avoid losing my toes to gangrene and venomous snake bites every day of my life."

I mean, seriously.  COME ON with your genius marketing guilt.  Then there's Blake, the hometown boy, looking all ruggedly handsome doing good in his red pirate-clown shoes, and I feel even worse about my inability/refusal to lend to the cause.

And don't even get me started on my Nike guilt.

Now footwear gives me not only physical but emotional pain; this must be another price of getting old.  Maybe I should just buy a pair for one of my younger, trendier friends, and call it even.  Can I request that my giveaway go to that little girl specifically?  I'll even throw in a box of Thin Mints.

Man.  All of this would be solved if I could just wear my flops.  *sigh*  Is it Friday yet?

A Back-to-School Timeline

5:30 PM -- Arrived home.

6:00 PM -- Ate dinner.

6:30 PM -- Began wondering how early was "too early" to go to bed.

7:30 PM -- Fell asleep on couch.

9:30 PM -- Woke up to go to bathroom.

9:45 PM -- Going back to sleep.

Back-to-School ages me at least 50 years for about 2 weeks.

See y'all tomorrow.

First Day Report

Today was the first day of school.  Nothing went terribly wrong; it's just the few days of the year where I stand up and talk the whole time.  Seventh graders are typically pretty overwhelmed, so they tend to be awkwardly quiet.  I also have painfully small classes to end the day (not for long, I'm sure), and that can be even more difficult than having 35 in there at once.

I'm exhausted, and I have no voice left.  Also, I walked into a house that was 91 degrees this evening, so I'm already dying from the heat being released from the laptop.  I'll keep it short and sweet.

• I love my team teachers.  Love.
• I got to work way early.  I left way late.  It's hard to quit the coaching hours.
• I already had to break out the "I don't play that" face on one class.  It worked.  Quickly.
• My team is overrun with boys.  And they're pretty darn smart.  And hyper.  
• My classroom got a visit from our superintendent and several school board members and district employees.  They LOVED my classroom lighting and decor (thanks, Laurie and Heather).
• I had to grocery shop after school.  I went to a store near my school, so I tried to carefully slip a six-pack of adult beverages in the cart just in case I ran into students or parents.  I managed to get all the way to the check-out aisle without notice.  Score!
• I looked up at the cashier to notice he was a former student.  He just smiled and checked my ID.  I'd be upset, but he's gainfully employed, going to college, and couldn't believe my age.  Score.  Score.  Score (I think).

So, all in all... a pretty good first day.

Make It Work

You  remember the struggle I endured yesterday and Friday, no?

Here's the Before: Day 2 pictures from Saturday.  I didn't take any on Friday because it was too depressing and overwhelming.

This is Day #2. By this point, I'd already done about 3 hours of "cleaning".

This is just some of the trash and recycling.
Much of it was totally unused.
I battled mightily the capitalist, wasteful American guilt.

The aforementioned V-8.  I mean, for real.

Bookshelves, moved courtesy of my work brothers.

Built-ins: about 2.5 hours in. Previously engulfed in furniture and binders.

Reading shelves in background were finally filled.
But I was dumbfounded as to what I could accomplish on Sunday.

I went to dinner with my best life friends last night.  Although I was exhausted, they just kept telling me how different my outlook and attitude about the start of school was (for the better).  In years past, I've been excited to meet my students, close our door, and spend time getting to know each other -- but not necessarily for all of the other "stuff" that would become an emotional sinkhole.  They offered to come help me in my room in the morning, but being who I am, I told them "thanks, but I'll be okay."

And being who they are, they didn't believe me, and they showed up anyway.

It was kind of a full-circle moment.  Heather and I began at Nichols JH together 14 years ago, and Laurie helped us both move in to our classrooms that year.  Now, it's a new year in so many different ways, and although we are all in very different places now, it was comforting to have the familiar with me today.

My goal today was to have a "functional" classroom.  I hoped for a little flair, but, as usual, those girls totally surpassed all expectations.  The pictures just don't even do it justice. Not by a mile.

My desk.  This is the cleanest it will be all year. Enjoy it.
Special shout-out to Al and Taylor Fratina who know how fresh flowers cheer me up.

The area behind my desk.  Still a few personal touches to add,
but I'm pretty impressed.

The sheetrock monstrosity became an accent wall witha little wrapping paper and stapling.
The stage is still there, but now it's the home of the "Group of the Week".
The stage also has a hole in it.  I placed a crate over it as a hazard prevention.
You're welcome, AISD.

Shelves and built-in. 

Classroom library.  I still have about 250 books to mark, cover, and inventory.
Anyone have an extra bookshelf?

This will be our reading goal board, but for now, it's enough just to be decorated.

Lights off.  Lanterns and lamps on.
I detest fluorescent lighting.

The hanging of the Chinese lanterns was enough to make me shed tears of joy.
They're pretty, but they're a pain.

Another bulletin board.  Again, decorated.  Again, relieved.

Built-in organized. Supplies hidden away.

My door needs some more work.
Creating for that tonight.
I'm reading "Fire and Ash" btw, and, no, I'm not getting rid of Coach Naz.

My door signs.  

And a new change in the attitude chart.

Yep.  They blew in and started posting and hanging and straightening and cleaning, and we didn't stop for 5 hours.  It was like every organizational, home makeover, reality tv show all rolled into one.  We even had a "make it work" Tim Gunn moment.  

Even Heather's 6 year-old son, Marcus, pitched in.  He sharpened pencils for every student tomorrow "in case they forget theirs" and put one on each desk.  Little does he know how correct he could be.

Those 3 took such a load off my shoulders today.  They made other people jealous and totally impressed one of my new team teachers who gave them all the credit. "You couldn't have done anything with that chaos yesterday!"  Thanks, Justin.  And people should be jealous.  I've said before that I've been blessed with the world's most amazing friends.  Everyone should have them, but they can't.  I need them too much.

***

The past week has been a struggle.  It has.  But when I put it in perspective against the last year, the two aren't even in the same league.  On the way home this evening, I started to think about all of it together.  In a way, I'm okay with changing rooms.  It's a ton of work, but maybe I needed that fresh start.  When I wasn't sure if I was going or staying last year, I took the opportunity to purge all of the things and material cluttering up my classroom and my life.  It was nice to unpack only the good things in this room.

There have been times this summer that people have asked me if I'm happy that I was asked to stay at Nichols.  My most honest answer at those times was, "I think so".  It was hard to be sure about something so unsure.  I still struggle with it, and I know I'm not the only one.  Last year was, by far, my most challenging year as a teacher, and it wasn't for any reason I'd ever encountered before.  I felt so distressed and guilty that I couldn't see past this summer.  I couldn't imagine what would occur to make the changes necessary.  I truly believe that those of us who stayed could use a little counseling; you can often read the worry on our faces as we try to make sense of everything that's happened since last January.  In fact, that's one of the ways I wound up typing at you people every day.

And while I feel really good about the changes that are happening -- better than I have in a long time -- I still see my doubt sneaking into my mind in even the smallest ways.  This afternoon, I introduced Laurie to my new principal.  In the conversation I said, "Even if this doesn't work, we went down swinging".  I didn't mean to sound negative, but rather to say that we are going to give it our best fight.  At that, she turned my words and said, "This is going to work.  It has to.  We have nothing else to do but build."  And she's right.  I have to stop worrying about what could happen at the end of the year before this one has begun.  I have to put my faith in both strangers and my friends, and I have to let go of the "ifs" and embrace the "wills".

For 13 years, I always wore a horseshoe pendant during my volleyball and basketball games I coached. I'm a firmly superstitious person, and I also appreciate the heck out of tradition so there were few times I was ever without it.  When I was most nervous -- before a big game or important freethrows or during an injury -- I would touch it and whisper a little positive energy into the Universe.  It didn't always work in the game, but it always calmed me down.  It became my touchstone.  Last year,  I wore it every day and, during the moment of silence, I would touch it and say a prayer for our school.  I took it off on the last day of school, and I didn't wear it all summer until Tuesday.  That morning, I reached up to touch it in my nervous, slightly obsessive way, before the training with our rival school began.  And, I kid you not, it was gone.  My chain was still around my neck, but the pendant was gone.  I looked all over the floor, in my car, and in my bathroom when I got home.  I couldn't find it anywhere.  It took everything I had not to fall apart about such a silly little thing I'd bought for less than $5.00 at Sam Moon, but for an English teacher who can find symbolism in any old thing, it was pretty devastating.

So tonight, as I drove home and thought about how to change my words to match my attitude, I stopped to buy some replacement glass for a picture frame in my fancy new classroom.  As I browsed the aisles, something caught my eye.  There, in the midst of a row of charms was my new horseshoe.  And just above it?  This. I kid you not.

You don't need an English degree to see this one, folks.