Prozac Nation . . . Well, sort of . . .

Maybe in the past being on anti-depressants may have been an embaressing piece of information, but not anymore. After hearing numerous friends tout the effectiveness of their anti-depressant favor of the month, I decided toas k my doctor for something to help me feel more like myself. When I asked, I still did so with a wince. I squinted y eyes and lifted my shoulders because I still felt a tinge of apprehension and weakness because I needed something to make me feel human again. I can still remember my dad and mom discussing the fact that my Aunt MAry Alice needed "something" to get through the day. They talked about in whispered tones I still remember - even though it was almost 30 years ago. Never mind that my uncle Frank, Mary Alice's husband, had died and left her to raise four children -all of them teenager's- by herself. I guess my family considered her weak for needed a pill to feel better. I guess carry that shame - and feeling of weakness - for needing something for myself.

However, after two weeks on Lexapro, I could care less if I am weak. I feel really good again. I am optimistic and I feel like the old me. I can't wait to get up everyday and I have more energy than ever. It's too bad that Aunt Mary Alice did not feel she could shout from the rafters that she needed a little help to get through life. After her kids graduated from high school, my aunt took a gun and shot herself one morning. It's too bad that she did not feel accepted for asking for a little bit of help.

Ah, Christmas . . .

To say that it is wonderful to be out of school for two weeks would be an understatement. I am ecstatic! I am so far behind on Christmas shopping that I have plenty to keep me busy for the next week - along with getting ready for the second semester of school. I am starting over with a new syllabus and new rules and new ideas of how to handle things. I am also on Lexapro so maybe I wil be a little more mellow and be able to sleep at night. I am also starting the obligatory diet on January 1st (a Monday, imagine that!), so I will feel healthier and well rested - hopefully.

The last day of school made me happy to be a teacher. I got several cards and secret santa-grams from my students. I also received hugs and "I love you's" from even the most troublesome of my students. Along with a party at the end of the day with some of the other teachers - where several shots of tequilia were involved, I felt I was a part of a growing community. A community brought together by both a love for kids and a sense of astonishment at how some of the kids make it in life. It is always good to know that you are not out there alone.

On a lighter note, I have a new and unwanted nickname at school. Instead of Ms. Taylor, the kids call me "Ms. Tater-Tot." I told them I was offended because I pictured a small round brown object, but they insist it is a term of endearment: "I call my favorite uncle Tater instead of Todd," they say. I will hate it when the kids I despise say it to me.

I am also putting together some ideas for a book about "What they don't tell you in your education classes." So many first year teachers have no idea what to expect their first year and since I kept a journal, I may like to put it together with some funny stories. Nothing like Logan's self-published book Kirsten.

I Love The Onion

Child In Corner To Exact Revenge As Soon As He Gets Out

SEATTLE—Six-year-old Daniel Barriault says he has learned his lesson, but what those who wronged him don't realize is that their lesson has only just begun.

Happy Thanksgiving from Us to You!

REALLY waving the white flag

As a first year teacher, I have no idea how my school compares with other schools. Because I went to, what Kirsten likes to call, "a weird God school," I tgought all public schools are like Mcintosh's. Well, I have been informed that it is not. Today I found out that my mentor teacher, an 8 year veteran from Bradwell Institute, is turning in her resignation tomorrow. She is the fifth teacher leaving because they claim the school is an "impossible teaching environment." Really, I understand. These kids are the most unmotivated, unfocused kids I could have ever dreamed up. After spending three days last week talkng about figuartive language, the kids told me today, "We don't know what that is." It is maddening, but I can deal with that. The problem is the administration. I have written one kid up five, yes 5, times, and he has not served one day in ISS. But, one of my best students says a curse word in class and spends three days in ISS. I see why they are leaving. That is madness.

Waving the White Flag

I used to be happy to see Thanksgiving coming because of stuffing, oh, and family, but now, all I can see is a three day break from school. Because we finished our unit on word building a few days before the beginning of an extended break, I did not want to start the novel because I knew they would forget whatever we did before the time off. Instead, I returned to poetry after one of my "advanced" students told me he did not know what figuative language was. I am embarrassed to say that I told him, in frustration, that, if that is true, "you do not need to be in an advanced class." I did not use all sonnets, but instead I gave the kids fun ballads to analyze. I asked them to find sensory words, sound devices, figuartive language and identify theme and then give me evidence from the poem to support their conclusion.

The last two quesions on the organizer was to identify theme and support their conclusion. After my ENTIRE second period class turned in the organizer without answering the last two questions, I decided to go over the steps that will help you identify theme (something we have done in the past). Still, after doing that, every class turned in their organizers with the last two questions blank. Are they lazy or just incompetent? They want the answers in black and white and preferably given to them. One of the science teachers told me that she had kids who were lost if they had to turn the page to find an answer. It is very frustrating to pour your heart and soul into lesson plans and have kids who just do not care.

I have been going over propaganda techniques with my 11th graders, who, by the way, I have grown to really like, and I had them write a news article using propaganda. The results were hilarious. They were nowhere close to using propaganda, but the reponses brought me lots and lots of giggles. Here is an example of one:

"Charmin always be complaining about other toilet papers saying how they better than everybody else. The commercials always be having Charmin going up against some other brand and saying which one absorbs more water. Most of the time it be Charmin."

Never mind that it had no use of propaganda - or the fact that it was not a news article - the last line is priceless.

Rickey did create a news article, but it had no propaganda, just hilarity:

"There was a crash at the Brunswick airport this afternoon and two hundred passengers died in a fiery crash. It was not a national disaster though because all of the passengers were from McIntosh County. The rescue squad thought it was better to let the passengers die than to risk the lives of any of the decent citizens of Glynn county trying to save those passengers."

Ms. Milsapps, the Spanish teacher, tried to make me feel better after today - a day that consisted of two fights in my class. she said tht she had the kids write, in Spanish, about their favorite teacher. She said, "A lot of kids wrote about you." That was really nice to hear after such a tough day.

In other news, I am completely in love with the social studies teacher across the hall. He is somewhat chubby, but he plays the guitar and throws desk around when kids misbehave, and comes in the door to rescue me when I have problems. More on this later.

The Fair

After a nice day out of school yesterday, I took the kids to the fair last night. I am always amazed to find that when I walk into the fairgrounds, I feel 12 again. I told the kids how much I use to love to walk through the entrance of the fair and look at the little exhibits they have set up at the entance. Things have changed a lot since I was little. Brunswick is growing at an astounding rate and you can tell by the number of booths when you walk in the fair (probably not a scientific indicator of growth, but a nice comparison for me). When I was little, the Kiwannas had a booth and the bank always gave out pencils; there was always the "Smokey the Bear" booth and a booth for the tractor dealer. Now, there were booths that sold vacuum cleaners and at least five bank booths - I got a pencil from them all - and another booth that sold puppies. The kids were excited to go through the fair opening, just like me when I was a kid.

As soon as we got into the actual fair, there was very little change. The smell from the animals was overwhelming, but familiar. I use to spend quite a bit of time in the animal exhibits because there was a lways a pony there. It is amazing that a field of grass can turn into such a delightful place. I saw people there last night that I use to go to the fair with. Girls that I would walk around with and follow the boys that looked like they would go and smoke cigarettes behind the rides. I remember my mom saying "There are some bad people at the fair," and thinking how crazy she was. Last night, while me and some of my friends sat on benches waiting for our kids to ride the rides, one of them said, "My God! There are some trashy people at the fair!"
I could not believe how old I felt. I am so depressed today because of that stupid fair. I realize how quickly time passes. How soon my kids will be out on their own and I will be alone. This post makes little sense, but I wanted to get it out.

Things are ok, but not great. I am still diving.

Stand Up and Cheer!

Trey recently won a spelling competition at school so he is going on to face the other kids in Glynn County for a county wide spelling bee. He was so proud and we have already been working on his list of words. I suggested we watch Akeelah and the Bee. I heard it was good and I thought it may inspire Trey. However, I was the one who was inspired. I loved this story and the ideas behind it. Akeelah's coach made her read a quote and tell him what it meant to her. I liked the quote so much that I wanted to share it with you. I am going to find a way to post it on my wall at school. I recommend you put this one on your Netflix list.


Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous.
Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other
people won't feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of
God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us -- it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others

-Marianne Williamson

Some of the Reason's School Sucks

After a relatively calm week, school ended on a sour note Friday. Next week is Homecoming and we are preparing for a big week. Here is a sampling of the fun scheduled for Mcintosh County Academy:
Monday: Pajama Day (There is no way I am wearing pajamas to school. I may don slippers, but that is it)
Tuesday: Halloween: I am going to be Bob Marley, or Barbara Marley
Wednesday: Dress to impress (I guess you dress up)
Thursday: I can't remember
Friday: Spirit Day

Well, our apathetic kids were rarin' to go and decorate so the school was in chaos. My day began with the assistant principal handing me a stack full of write-up's from the previous day. I had been out at training and my sub tried to take over my class. Well, my kids revolted and told her that she "was not their teacher," and "Ms. Taylor told them what to do so they did not need her help."
This sub is notoriously pushy. The assistant principal handed me the write-up's and said "take care of them."
I had just finished "The Monkey's Paw" and so I had the kids rewrite the ending of the story and describe how the son who comes back from the dead looked. They loved it! and approached it enthusiastically, so I let two boys who had done an exceptional job, go to the gym when there was ten minutes left in class. A few minutes after the boys left, the asst. principal came into my room and said, from the door, "Ms. Taylor, do not let your kids out of the room again." She turned and left and I felt scolded and embarrassed in front of my kids.

At lunch, the other English teacher came into my room furious. he said that Ms. Hunter, the asst. principal had come into the media center and asked him what he was doing in the library? She then told him too many kids were in the lab and he had to leave. Once again, she did this in front of his kids and embarrassed him.

Later in the day, with my prisoners-in-training seventh period class, we were working in collaborative pairs, which they want us to do, rewriting the ending of the story. These kids are always loud, but Friday they were loud but doing the work, when Ms. Hunter walks in and tells me, "Ms. Taylor, this class is too loud. Be quiet!" Once again, I was furious, but just said "OK."
Shortly after this, she comes back in and says, "All the other classes are quiet, but this class and I don't like it!" I apologized and told my kids to be quiet, but inside I was ready to cry. each time she came in, I was mediating the class and helping them do their work, but I feel it is totally inappropriate of them to reprimand the teachers in front of their students. I believe they have lost control of the school and may be trying to regain it, but at the expense of alienating the teachers. Many of the other teachers who have taught elsewhere say they have never seen a school so poorly run. Three veteran teachers have already left and more are threatening to go. I guess I do not know enough to know how bad it is there.

I do know, however, that I have written up one boy four times, me and others, and he has not spent one day in ISS. I am very discouraged today, but I am going to start the History of the English Language on Tuesday and I am going to have them try and read a little Chaucer aloud. Should be fun. I may have to bring Kirsten in as a guest reader, or maybe I could ring her up on Google chat and have her give an over the phone reading.

I am sad and lonely for all of you and can't wait for Thanksgiving break so I can come see you!

Nice, Simple Fun

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 31 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

Getting There

I have to say that I am beginning to enjoy teaching. I have tried to let the class be a little more organic and let the conversation flow naturally. This has worked out pretty well for me. It all strarted with Jack London's story "To Build a Fire." The story is about a man who makes a trip in Alaska when it is 75 below zero. He travels down the Yukon trail alone, well, he has a dog with him, and meets a terrible fate. The story is told from the 3rd person omniscient point of view and we know what is going on in the mind of the man and the dog. It is clear that London does not think much of the man because he writes, "The man lacked imagination. He knew about the things of life, but not their signifigance." In my teachers edition it asked the question, "Why might the man's lack of imagination be a flaw?" My kids said, "yeah, why is that a flaw?" Well, I had to think about it, and I came to the conclusion that a lack of imagination about what was to come in life, and what was significant in life could be disasterous. I told my kids story after story about people who had failed because they could not imagine the horror of their choices. How people lioved miserable lives because they did not realize what was really significant in life. I tried to convince them that although this story was written in 1908, it still spoke to us today. That is the neauty of lieterature - that no matter how many years we have been on this earth, we are still the basically the same. As I taught them this lesson, I remembered that in the middle of all the headaches of teaching, I can make an impact somewhere by teaching my beloved literature. And I do love it - maybe now more than ever. I read Flannery O'Connor and her story "Revelation" and realize how important it is to expose these kids to a world outside of Darien, Ga. I have grown to absolutely love some of them, and want to help those that have not grown to love yet.

I went to the football game Friday and met the mom of one of my very quiet kids. She said, "Jonathon talks about your class all the time. He said he just loves you and the stuff you teach."
I was shocked. He never says anything in class, and I often wonder what he is thinking about while he sits in the back so quietly. Now I know, and it feels wonderful.
Maybe I can make it back next year.

Entitlement

After reading Kirsten's post about entitlement, I thought I would address it on my blog. I have so much to say about the subject - in fact, I talk about it everyday with my fellow discouraged teachers. The kids I teach are so low performing, that, I believe, teachers in the past have found it easier just to tell them answers rather than try and teach them how to do an assignment on their own. After reading "Everyday use" by Alice Walker, I told my students that we were going to create a character quilt. This quilt would involve reading half of the story and then drawing either symbols of the mom, Maggie and Dee or a picture of how we feel they are described in the story. They were excited because it involved color crayons and glitter, but when I asked them to think outside of the box and imagine these characters as symbols, they acted like I was crazy. I explained the directions several times, over and over they asked me to tell them what to do, and over and over I refused. "Use your imagination," I said. Apparently they have none - not one ounce of it - except for my one special ed kid Leroy. Leroy drew the mother as a brick wall and had nails laying at the bottom of the wall because he said she was "hard as nails." "Perfect," I screamed, "Leroy gets it!" All the while I tool in poster after poster of stick figures who had silly smiles on their faces. "Where do you get this idea from?" I asked, "The family is not happy." Oh well - at least Leroy gets it.
I often have kids who want clarification and then when I give it to them, they shrug their shoulders and turn away. It is not their fault. They have not been asked to do anything hard. I work constantly to find something to give them hope that they can do the work, but they have no intrinsic motivation. That is something I cannot teach, but i share my thoughts and enthusiasm with them, and I tell them how much it matters to me that they succeed, but lately, I find myself not giving a rat's ass if they learn anything. At the first sign of a sniffle, I call in sick. Me, the girl who missed one class in five years of school. To say I hate what I do right now is an understatement. I hate myself for giving up and for expecting myself to be a seasoned veteran after 12 - is it only 12? - weeks of teaching.
Today, during my planning period, the other 11Th grade teacher burst into my room and said, "Please, go to my class! I can't stand them anymore!" Of course I went in to find a class of angry students shouting, "She doesn't teach us anything! Who are you? We want you to teach us!"
"No," I said, "Really you don't. Ms. Abby is a great teacher."
They gave me the assignment and as I looked it over, I said, "Even if you don't know how to do it, you should show Ms. Abby some empathy and respect and be kind to her."
Dull eyes.
Then, Ms. Abby burst into the room and yelled, "Ms. Taylor, do not be nice to them! They are horrible, mean, vicious children!"
Stunned at her loss of control, I took her outside and tried to calm her down. She had taken the criticism personally. I fear being that person that makes a spectacle of herself to get the attention of my class. I believe that class is lost to her now. They will continue to pull her chain now that they know she views them as "horrible and vicious."
Oh well! Another week in McIntrash.

Whew! Another Week Over

I am so glad it is Friday! I am in a groove now, and although I am still working hard, it is not as hard as it was the first few weeks. I began a series of grammar lessons when I tried to do a mad lib and my eleventh graders asked me what an "ad-g-tive" was, only to be followed by what is a "preposition?" They hated it but I think they needed to be reminded of the little things.
I also read "Barn Burning" by William Faulkner. It was surprising, but a few of my less advanced students really liked it, while my "advanced" students thought it was lame. I am beginning to break down some walls and have the kids trust me. I have a few that I just simply do not like, and I don't know what to do about it. One boy just is plain old dirty, and he always wants to touch you. When his hands are on my back, I can feel the heat from them even after he removes them. He wore flip-flops one day and his toes were covered in dirt. Gross!
And then there are the kids who break my heart. I find myself mothering them, and they just melt under any type of compassion. Some days I have to walk up to them as they drop their heads on the desk and say, "you can do this. Just give me a little effort." I do not push and by the end of class, they sheepishly hand me the assignment I gave them. They may never be scholars, but I hope that I can, for just a moment, make them feel loved and cared for. They need it so much. Today, a girl in my class was called to the office. She came back a few minutes later sobbing and put her head on the desk. I took her outside to see what was wrong, and she told me that DFACS came by to question her because someone reported that she was having sex with her father. I did not know what to say. I gave her a hug and asked her if she wanted to go to the office. She walked back in class and just sat her head back down. What can I do for her?
I did a timed essay that asked what can our education system do to keep kids from dropping out of school. Here is one kids answer:
"Teachers should let kids go to the bathroom whenever they want because the reason kids drop out of school is because teachers will not let kids go pee when they want to." Nice.

It's Nice of You to Notice

To those of you so kind as to make me feel missed, I promise I will post on Friday. I could do it everyday, but time does not permit. Trey is playing football and so I come from school and pick him up and go to sit on a hard bench for two hours. I need it though. Trey has all of a sudden decided that school is torture and he does not want to go. I feel that it is a reaction against school because of my teaching experience. I think he feels my tension and so he is focusing anger on school. He will be fine - both of us will. The Crucible is going badly. However, the class perked up when they heard that one of the girls was naked in the woods. I need lots of advice. Here is a fun assignment for my clever friends - We have to create "Activators" before we begin a new lesson. Something that will get the kids excited about what we are going to study. Before we began a character writing assignment, my activator was to put a bunch of classic and modern well-known characters on the board and asked them to pick a character and give me three reasons why they know, remember and like that character. It was OK, but if you can think of something for the other elements of the short story, anything is welcome. More later!

Fun With Words

From a "Do Now" in my class:
"You never know if you are setting someone up with a child mullester or something . . "

What o Do?

I spend all weekend trying to find a way to teach my 11th graders skills they should already have. To quote Napoleon Dynamite, "They don't have any skills." In response to my writing prompt, "What type of career do you want to have when you finish high school? Give me three reasons you want that career," one girl wrote: "I want to be a nurse cause I like to help people. After I get finished with nursing I want to go to cosmotology school because I like to do hair."
Another girl wants to be a plastic surgeon because, "some people are misshapen and deformed and I would like to give them a boost of confidence."
Another boy said he wanted to be a "street pharmacist."
Princes wrote that she wanted to be "a surgeon." This makes sense because she told a boy in class one day, "If you touch me again, I will cut you mofo."
Others just wrote three reasons why they wanted to be something: "I lik baseball. I lik money. I lik playing baseball." Makes sense to me.

In my 10th grade class, I have a boy who is extraordinarily gay. He wears shirts that say, "Taste the Rainbow," and "I'm not gay but my wiener is." He is in the color guard and wears long earrings. He is in a class, a school really, full of rednecks and homophobes. Actually, he is in one of my better classes, but the kids in the back keep throwing things at him. They are too fast for me to catch them, but Cody complains everyday. On Friday, he made a sexual remark to a boy that called him a faggot and I thought there was going to be a fight. I tried to talk to them about kindness - you may not like what someone else does, but we must be kind to each other. They listened and sat down, but I fear this is situation will erupt into violence one day. What do I do? Should I ask the gay kid to tone it down? Ignore it and continue to teach kindness? I am at a loss.

I've Lost Track

Well the roller coaster continues. I could blog everyday about what happens in my strange classroom, but I spend all of my time working and planning for the next day. I finally started writing kids up. One told me to shut up and he spent 3 days in ISS. I was thrilled to see him go and hated it when he returned. He's a mouth-breather that thinks he is too cool for anyone. I have to say that I hate him - not something I like feeling, but honestly, he is a smart mouth. I found comfort in the fact that all the teachers hate him - loathe him in fact.

I am still struggling with my eleventh graders. They are a surly bunch and they sometimes ruin my entire day - I have them first period. It has been difficult to get through the Puritans, but I thought they may enjoy Patrick Henry's "Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death" speech. I talked about how we are persuaded, and I had them do an ad analysis, like we did in rhetoric Kirsten. I asked them to bring in an ad and only two did - out of 30. Luckily, I was prepared with some ad's from O magazine. They did not like it but they did it. It was like pulling teeth to get them to talk. I talked about persuasion - how are you persuaded? Who can persuade you? I enjoyed it, but they did not seem to really care. The next day I asked them this question, "What would persuade you to go to war?" Blank stares. I pushed. Many said "Nothing." I introduced Patrick Henry and his speech to the Virginia Convention. Before reading his speech, I showed them a clip from Braveheart - the one where he stirs them up to fight the English even though they were outnumbered. They liked it, but mainly because of the cursing and mooning. After watching that, I read Henry's speech. I got into it - not because of them, but because I was inspired. It really is quite a nice speech. As I am reading I hear, "You gettin into this Ms." Yeah - I really was. for a few minutes, all their eyes were on me and I could feel their interest. Alas today was another confrontational day: no books or talking; except for rude comments. Back on the rollercoaster.

The stories I hear from these kids are heartbreaking - and funny. Here is an example of an original simile written by one of my kids - "Neal is such a good player its like he's Isaac Newton." Cute.

I miss all of you very much. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of each of you. Love you!

Week 2

Friday's seem to end on a good note. Today, state superintendent Cathy Cox was in our school. The administration stressed that we should have our rooms ready and our students well behaved for her visit. Well, I knew at least I could have my room clean. Someone must be praying for me because Cathy Cox came down our hallway during my 6th period class - my AP class. I am blessed to have a room full of bright and energetic 10th graders. They are cute and loud - very loud. I was teaching them about irony in poetry and they just weren't getting it, so I broke out in song - literally. The Alaniss Morisette song "Isn't it Ironic" sprang from my lips before I could even think about what I was doing. The kids loved it, although a few called American Idol on an imaginary phone and said, "Hello, American Idol? I do not want to vote for Ms. Taylor." They were laughing and learning - something hard to do at their age - when the door opened and in walked our principal, Cathy Cox, our assistant principal and two school board members.
Ms. Cox said, "you are having too much fun in here, what are you learning about?" The class shouted "Poetry."
"Poetry's not suppopsed to be fun is it?"
Here's the part I really like - One of the girls up front said, "It never was before Ms. Taylor."
Oh, how nice and proud I felt. The principal whispered, "Nice job" in my ear and Ms. Cox stayed in our class for quite a while. When they told her she had to go, she turned to me and said, "very lovely job. You should be proud."
As the door closed, our principal said, "That is one of our first year teachers."
I strained my ears to hear Ms. Cox's response of "Impressive."
That was a really nice feeling, but if she had come just 30 minutes later she would have seen the same teacher (me), giving the same lesson and doing the same thing, but getting a very different response from another class. In my last class, I took up a deck of cards, two cell phones, and stopped some kids from playing a spirited game of "Quarters." Peaks and Valleys. Ups and Downs. I have to say though that the peaks were better than the valley's today.

Still Diving

Well, I survived my first long week as a teacher. Friday ended on a great note when my seventh period class of delinquents actually behaved and produced some work for me. In that class alone, out of 35 students, 23 of them have over 15 disciplinary referrals, and they are only in the 10th grade. However, one is 18 and one is 17 so I guess they have been around a while. They are amazingly low performers. They have no idea how to spot a simile or a metaphor and repeatedly misuse words - Where for Wear; hear for here. In the first week alone I have thought to myself, "Well, I can just give them busy work until I can figure out how to reach them." I have thought and said just about everything I told myself I would never do. I yelled "Be quiet" yesterday after repeatedly asking them to "listen up." They responded to a yell when a respectful request would not work. I am going to point this out to them later on, when I know them better.
Public school - at least at McIntosh - has the feel of a prison. Adults standing around ordering those in the hall to move along. I was not prepared for the barriers the kids put up between me and them. They view me as the enemy, not to be trusted, and hold me at arms length. There are a few who have already declared me the "nicest teacher in the school," and allow me to help them. I caught one boy spitting on the floor in my class and I said, "Tyler, do you know that there is a little old lady that comes through here and cleans up these classrooms. She is someone's mother. Would you want your mother to have to clean up someone's spit?"
"Yes maam" he responded, "because my mother is a piece of low life trash."
"No she is not," I said, and the girl sitting next to him said "Yes she is Ms. Taylor. You just don't know. His grandmother has him now and it is the best thing that ever happened to him."
What do you say to that? I told him that he can change his life and what his mother does is not his fault. Maybe he will believe me. He just got back from the alternative school and I really hope I can help him. But there are so many! It is truly overwhelming. I never dreamed it would be this hard, but the moments that you see some progress outweigh the bad. Things like, "Ms. Taylor, Ms. Boyd went over this last year and I never understood it, but you make it so easy." I can see why teachers return again and again to overcrowded classrooms and lousy pay. Next week we study the Puritan writers and begin introducing The Crucible. I will keep you updated.

I forgot to tell you where the "Word Work" sign came from - Tony Morrison's Nobel Prize acceptance speech - "Word work is sublime . . . "

The Puritans

I need a little help with the Puritans. Today's lesson went over like a flop. They liked the part where I talked about what it means to lose something and how Bradstreet thanked God for her loss, but after that it was all down hill. Plus, I spelled unconditional wrong and the girl who rolled her eyes at me pointed it out and laughed. Butt hole.

The Inferno

I was watching Grizzly Man today and found a perfect metaphor for my first day as a high school teacher. The man they were interviewing about the grizzly guy said, "I guess he thought he was going to get out there with those bears and it was going to be a feeling of mutual respect and love. I guess he thought they would see that he cared and it would be some type of beautiful relationship. What he did not know was that the bears just wanted to eat him." I feel like the grizzly man. I trapsed into the classroom believing that the kids would see how nice I am, and how much I want to help them. Instead, they saw dinner, or a snack really. They devoured me in short order. By the fourth period, I wanted to go home and never come back. Right now, I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of returning tomorrow. I waver between confidence and desolation. I have worked all weekend preparing for next week, but I do not know if I can get them to shut up and listen. I have to start my eleventh graders with the Puritans and the Pilgrims and I have to find a way to make them care. I am going to do Ann Bradstreet's poem about the burning of her house and the loss of her grandchild. I will introduce these poems by asking the kids to write about a traumatic event in their life and explain how they handles that tragedy. Maybe that will build up a sense of empathy with the little ones. We will see. I know that if I do not give up, it will be ok. Pray that I will have a better week.

Some Did Not Show Up

 
  

My Lame Room

Due to lack of resources and time (and creativity), I could not do my bulletin board the way I wanted too. Here it is though. I start with my students tomorrow and I really liked the kids and parents I met at Open House tonight. I am going to be such a marshmallow . . . Does anyone recognize where I got the phrase "Word Work" from? We have to have a word wall with a minimum of 5 new words a week. Everyone said "Word Wall" on their board, but I decided to have a nice literary illusion. Whoever recognizes it gets 5 quiz points . . .

 
 
 
  

Whaaaaaa!!!!

I sat at my desk and had a big cry today. I was preparing my syllabus with no idea of where I am going to go in the next two weeks, or how I am going to get there. We start off with short stories, so I am going to do Travels with Charley by Steinbeck, Boys and Girls by Alice Munro, and Everyday Use by Alice Walker. I don't know if it will work, but I will enjoy myself. One of the other new English teachers told me that he has no idea what a lesson plan even is, much less how to write a syllabus. I felt better. One other business teachers told me she has cried three times today. So, I guess life is not so bad for me. Who said to stay out of the Teacher's Lounge?

On another note, my AC is still not working in my room and Open House is tomorrow from 3-6. It will be tropical to say the least. By the end of the day, I look like a sweaty mess and smell like hot dogs. Not a good combination.

No Breathable Air

I am finding it difficult to make time to post, so I will give you the "quick and dirty" version of what it going on in my first full week as a teacher. I am finding that "quick and dirty" is a favorite phrase in the education world.

1. I have to write the syllabus for the entire English tenth grade. I found out today that the lady that "hates me" because I was teaching the 11th grade AP class she "hand-picked," went to the principal to get "her" class back. I don't care - I did not even know the kids - so I am doing 10th grade AP and one 11th grade class. No 9th graders!!! Too bad though - they would not know that I did not know what I was doing.

2. I have to turn in 5, yes 5, emergency lesson plans to the assistant principal - by 11am on Thursday.

3. I have to find some way to get them to make my non-working air conditioner a priority - It is way too hot in my room, and my makeup and hair are fading quickly.

4. Get the Jew-boy that teaches Social studies to give me some type of assistance. Just kidding.

5. Decorate my hot room before open house on Thursday evening.

All in all I feel overwhelmed. The feeling is familiar - like the first time I took Dr. Winterhalter and she went over her syllabus. You know, the feeling that you are in way over your head and have no idea what is going on. It is pretty distressing, but I think it will be OK.
More Updates coming soon.

Ideas

I know many of you have already responded to my questions about room decoration, and all of you have given me some great ideas. Now, I need some more help. Brandi had the idea of taking some great quotes and putting them on my board, or even around the room. Now I need you to send me one of your favorite quotes. If you have not given me any room decorating ideas, then send those too - I know I am needy. . .

Our Little Girl is Growing Up

Malinda sent me an email the other day that mentioned the fact that I was growing up. She is right in a lot of ways because I have never felt like a grown up before. I have never worked at a serious job, where I had serious responsibilities, or where I was considered a professional. Now that I am entering the grown up professional world of teaching, I have to admit it feels nice. I know McIntosh is a small school system, in a small crappy town, but they have treated me like they are thrilled to have me; like I am someone valuable to them. I get letters from the school board telling me what is going to happen in the next week, and how excited they are to have me as a member of their team, and it feels very nice. I got a letter from the principal yesterday detailing our first full week of school starting on the 7th. It involves a lot of training, but there is also a lot of time to spend "Working in Rooms," and I have to admit that I look forward to that part the most.

I could not help but notice that their are quite a few male teachers at MCA. I told my friend Tammi, maybe I'll meet a nice boy. She reminded me of Phil and I felt sort of bad, but I have to admit, the thought of meeting someone else is on my mind. All of the social studies teachers are male - one is named Rosenbaum - a nice Jew boy. Hmmmm . . .

In the next few days, I am going to try and put up some pictures of me modeling my new school clothes so you can tell me what to wear on the day of New Teacher Orientation (August 1), Open House (August 10) and the first day of school (August 11).

The "It" Girl

When I was in the book store yesterday I was looking for the new paperback Harry Potter book for Hope. As I looked around the new books for youth, I saw the book above and could not help but pick it up. It looked too provocative to be next to Out of the Dust, Kira-Kira and Island of the Blue Dolphins. So, I looked it over and here is what it said on the back:

"Every girl dreams about it. Some just have it. How far will one girl go to become...The It Girl
Popular GOSSIP GIRL character Jenny Humphrey is making a splash at Waverly Academy, an elite boarding school in New York horse country where glamorous rich kids don't let the rules get in the way of an excellent time. It's less than a week into school, but Jenny's already been caught with her roommate's boyfriend (in bed!), flashed the whole school at a field hockey game, and gone up against the Disciplinary Committee. She's become notorious, just like Tinsley Carmichael, Waverly's former-it girl, who was expelled last year and is rumored to be jet-setting around the world. So what happens when Tinsley arrives back on campus and moves in with Jenny? After all, there can only be one It Girl..."

I am not prudish, but having a daughter who will turn 13 in two weeks made me wonder about the type of books Hope, and the other girls around her are reading. Hope reads nothing if it does not involve Harry Potter, wizards or animals, but I know a lot of girls her age read things like this and it really influences their way of thinking. The girl on the cover of this book is so thin and blond. We have all seen the high-school girls, and 40 year old women for that matter, that do one reckless thing after the other to be the "It" girl. Who feel that they must be the center of attention. Books like this really encourage this type of competition between girls who will eventually be women. I guess teen books have always had the theme of "belonging", but in the past, they seemed to encourage difference. Being different was something to be proud of, at least by the end of the book. Not so anymore it seems. What do you think?

Another Crazy Movie

I fell asleep last night with the television on, and when I woke up at 4am, I was captivated by the movie on the screen. I pressed "Info" on my remote and saw that this film was called "Retro Puppet Master," and here is the film's description: "It's 1892 and Sutekh is hopping mad. It seems a 3,000 year old Egyptian sorcerer has stolen one of the God's secrets of life - that of instilling the souls of the dying into inanimate things. . . " I put a link to the trailer in, but I do not think the trailer does this creepy film justice.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0189047/trailers-screenplay-E12033-10-2

To me, puppets are the creepiest things in the world. When I was young, I spent the first 8 years of my life sleeping between my mom and dad. I was terrified of sleeping alone in my own room. Finally, my parents insisted (I wonder why) that I sleep in my room. I can clearly remember how scared I was that first night, but I was also determined. A lady in our church, Mrs. Kelleher, had made me a clown made out of yarn. Some of you may remember them - they had twisty, long yarn arms and a styrofoam head with shaky eyes and a big red mouth. The one in the picture above is pink, and mine was red and instead of hair, he had one of those pointy dunce caps on its head, but it is a fairly accurate representation of what my clown looked like. Mrs. Kelleher also made ducks out of Clorox bottles, but that is another story. My mother hung the clown in the corner of my room "to keep me company." Nice gesture, but clowns are about as freaky as puppets. As I lay in my bed, with my eyes closed, I swear I heard the sound of a knife whizzing by my head and when I jerked opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was that damn clown hanging in the corner, grinning at me; his red lips looking as if they were covered in my blood. I grabbed my throat and made sure that I had not been stabbed, and when I felt no injury, I got up and grabbed the clown and threw him outside of my room.

I made it through the night, and the next morning I could not stop talking about how proud I was of myself. My brother Robbie looked at me across the breakfast table, with his smelly and disgusting mixture of grits and eggs on his plate and said, "I wish you would shut up." I did shut up, and I remember the way it felt to have my proud moment ruined by my brother's harsh words.

Bitching and Moaning

The title to this post is not very accurate, but I could not say "Rants and Raves" because that would infringe on Kirsten's territory. I went on Friday and signed my contract with the McIntosh county school system. I am officially employed! I began to be a little nervous when I had not been asked by them to come in and sign my contract. I thought that they had decided not to hire me and hated me so much that they were not going to call and tell me. But they did call and I went. They are having new teacher orientation on August 1st so I get to go and meet the other new teachers and get all of my benefit information. I am so thrilled that I can get dental insurance that includes orthodontics. Trey can finally get his gap closed :) I worked my bum off to pay the 3,700 dollars for Reese's braces, but it was well worth it - nothing says "Neglect" like a messed up grill. That may be harsh, but I hate screwed up teeth, and one time, on Oprah, they had an expert that says people judge you first and foremost by your teeth. I am also happy that I can get some much needed work done to my own neglected grill. I also found out that the governor is giving all Georgia teachers a $100 gift card to use for materials for their classroom. The human resource lady did not make it clear that this was for the classroom, so I thought it was just a gift for the teachers. So I had my first gaffe when I said,
"Oh great, I have three little ones to get ready for school and that will come in handy."
"No. That card is only for your classroom."
I was embarrassed. Now she will think I am a dull creature. I thought the card was a nice gesture from governor Purdue, but the lady in human resources, Ms. Starr, said that it was only because it was an election year. Well, thanks anyway Sonny.

On another note, in last nights Brunswick news (you can read it online at www.thebrunswicknews.com) there was an article about the findings of an investigation into the discipline referrals in the Glynn county schools. The investigation revealed that minority students make up a disproportionate number of discipline referrals and that it seems to be the same teachers over and over again. This morning, I listened to Straight Talk on the local AM station and they were discussing the article. One of the principals in town makes her teachers read Understanding Poverty by Ruby Payne so they can understand how poverty affects a child's learning experience. Sounds like a great idea to me. One guy called in and said, "I think it is just crazy that that principal makes everyone read that book. I mean, you are asking teachers to dumb themselves down is ridiculous."
Yeah, reading a book is asking teachers to "dumb down." What on earth are people thinking? Do they really think that trying to understand the lives of their students is not a good thing? That knowing what it is like to be hungry and have a crack head for a mom or dad would not be useful for a teacher? I was infuriated and I tried to get through but the lines were jammed up with idiots who wanted to express the same opinion as that moron. OK. I feel better now.

A New Favorite

I have been a little to needy lately, so I thought I would share a website with you that I have fallen in love with. Most of you are probably familiar with it, but I am always a johnny-come-lately. It is www.theonion.com. It has headlines such as "Deadlocked Supreme Court: Someone's Voting Twice," "Comedian Confesses to Killing them Out There," "Giant Cockroach In Bathroom 'A Harrowing,Kafkaesque Experience,' Grad Student Says," and my favorite so far, "$18 Payment To Sponsored Child Withheld To Teach Child A Lesson."

Lately, every news story depresses me. It seems as if the world is in a state of turmoil and I fear for the future of my children, so a little humor is always appreciated.

This is How I Feel

I love sunflowers. They usually stand so tall and beautiful. They usually look as if they are smiling and enjoying the sun on their upturned faces. I was walking around yesterday, and it was so incredibly hot and humid, that when I saw this flower, I thought: "This is how I feel." The heat has just sapped me of my ability to enjoy being outside, which is something I always like to do, but it is just too hot to appreciate anything other than an air conditioned room.

I am also very disappointed in myself. I was going to take the time I had off from school to lose forty pounds before I began teaching. Once again I failed to meet my goal. I have not been going to the gym or eating healthy like I know I should. I just cannot seem to gain control over my eating habits. Self-control and discipline allude me in the areas of food and exercise. I am reading a book I borrowed from Audrey about personal finance called the Total Money Makeover by Dave Ramsey. Last night I read a line that struck me as absolutely true: "The only thing stopping me from being skinny and rich is the man in the mirror." He is right. For me, rich is a distant second to skinny. Given the choice, I would chose skinny any day. So why is it that I cannot attain something so seemingly important to me? In the real, I only have myself to blame.

Redeeming Myself

 
I could not stand to think of leaving all of you with the other image of myself. See, I was so cute! My mom said I loved boots and these are fantastic boots! I was four in the top pic and a prescious lamb of six months in the bottom. My mom was feeding me something (probably a sweet) and that is my brother Robbie just behind me. He was so cute then. This is the first time I noticed him in the background. 

As Requested

 
 
Please let me explain the reasoning behind posting these pictures. Kirsten wanted a picture of me in my teens wearing my goon suit. I really like to hear Kirsten guffaw so, even though I can't be there to hear it, I like to make her laugh otherwise I would not do this. I added pictures of other goobers wearing the same outfit so you will know that I had no choice in the matter and I was not alone in my humiliation. The girl on the bottom right is still one of my very good friends Tammi. She is Wannabe Rock Star's wife on my myspace page. The girl on the left kissed my boyfriend and turned into a whore, but later she settled down, moved to Atlanta and married a drummer in a band. They are very happy, and I am glad. I never did hold a grudge about that kiss. The girl in the middle is Shaun and she is a bitch now, and acts like she does not see me sometimes and then other times acts like she is my best friend. She has not changed much since middle school. Laugh all you want. I don't know how clear the image is, but I had on purple eyeshadow, blush and unplucked eyebrows. Ugh! The haircut! Shameful! I prefer to remember my teen years looking like I do in the pic on the bottom. I had a wig on by the way . . . Notice the Emmanuel Christian School Patriots jacket behind me? I think I was 13 or 14 in these pictures. I look younger now . . . O the eighty's! 

Library Thing

As the time approaches for me to enter the classroom, I am reading everything I can get my hands on to help me out. I am reading a book called In the Middle by Nancy Atwell, and Atwell advises teachers to let their students immerse themselves in books that they enjoy instead of imposing their own reading choices on the class. I really want to create an atmosphere where reading is not a chore, but a joy. Idealistic I know, but I prefer idealism to being jaded. The problem is that because of the school I went to, I have no real idea of good adolescent literature - books that are literary and relevant to the lives of students without being boring. So, I need your help. Make a list of some of the books you read in middle school and high school that meant something to you, or that you just enjoyed reading, and send it to me. I am going to get a library of your recommendations together and have it available in my classroom. I am curious which books will wind up repeatedly on the lists.
Thanks for your help!

Failure

For most of my life I have lived in fear of failure. No, as I think of this, that is not true. My teen years were spent doing things that no one else would do. I had no fear of rejection. While my friends waited by the phone for a guy to call them, I was the girl that picked up the phone and called the boy that I wanted to date. I went white water rafting, talked to influential people as if they could never reject me and organized protests against wrongs in my school. When my mom introduced me to her old boyfriend Brooks from high school, who was now a wealthy real estate developer, I told him my plans for life. I respected and admired Brooks because he was a kind man who made great decisions and was, and still is, the most charitable man I have ever met. I will always remember - with much regret - what he said:"I believe you will do that, but much more as well." I don't want you to think that I was superwoman or anything, but I was always, always different from those around me - maybe that is good, and maybe not, but that is how it was for me for as long as I can remember.
My need to live above the rules that everyone else followed lead me to make a lot of mistakes in my life. And after those mistakes, my fear of failure became a major issue in my life. If I could be so wrong about the man I chose to marry and have children with, then how could I trust myself to make good choices for my life? Self-doubt will lead to much hand-wringing, and not a lot of joy in life. Only recently have I been able to get back a touch of my reckless, teenage self - a little late - but maybe not. I am by no means old, but I cannot think of myself alone. Living above the rules has its consequences and I am no longer willing to pay those consequences. I would have three other people paying along with me and that is too high of a price for me. Maybe, with the rest of my life, I can do some of the things that Brooks saw me doing. I stand on the verge of failure - I am terrified at the thought of being a teacher, or at least a good teacher - but I hope that my fear of failure will dissipate in the face of the good I can do in the classroom.

Well Said Barack

The following is a speech given by Barack Obama. I think he says what I believe better than I could ever say it. It may be long, but I think it is wonderful and well-worth reading.

Remarks of Senator Barack Obama

Call to Renewal Keynote Address

Washington, DC

Wednesday, June 28th, 2006




Good morning. I appreciate the opportunity to speak here at the Call to Renewal’s Building a Covenant for a New America conference, and I’d like to congratulate you all on the thoughtful presentations you’ve given so far about poverty and justice in America. I think all of us would affirm that caring for the poor finds root in all of our religious traditions – certainly that’s true for my own.


But today I’d like to talk about the connection between religion and politics and perhaps offer some thoughts about how we can sort through some of the often bitter arguments over this issue over the last several years.


I do so because, as you all know, we can affirm the importance of poverty in the Bible and discuss the religious call to environmental stewardship all we want, but it won’t have an impact if we don’t tackle head-on the mutual suspicion that sometimes exists between religious America and secular America.


For me, this need was illustrated during my 2004 face for the U.S. Senate. My opponent, Alan Keyes, was well-versed in the Jerry Falwell-Pat Robertson style of rhetoric that often labels progressives as both immoral and godless.


Indeed, towards the end of the campaign, Mr. Keyes said that, “Jesus Christ would not vote for Barack Obama. Christ would not vote for Barack Obama because Barack Obama has behaved in a way that it is inconceivable for Christ to have behaved.”


Now, I was urged by some of my liberal supporters not to take this statement seriously. To them, Mr. Keyes was an extremist, his arguments not worth entertaining.


What they didn’t understand, however, was that I had to take him seriously. For he claimed to speak for my religion – he claimed knowledge of certain truths.


Mr. Obama says he’s a Christian, he would say, and yet he supports a lifestyle that the Bible calls an abomination.


Mr. Obama says he’s a Christian, but supports the destruction of innocent and sacred life.


What would my supporters have me say? That a literalist reading of the Bible was folly? That Mr. Keyes, a Roman Catholic, should ignore the teachings of the Pope?




Unwilling to go there, I answered with the typically liberal response in some debates – namely, that we live in a pluralistic society, that I can’t impose my religious views on another, that I was running to be the U.S. Senator of Illinois and not the Minister of Illinois.


But Mr. Keyes implicit accusation that I was not a true Christian nagged at me, and I was also aware that my answer didn’t adequately address the role my faith has in guiding my own values and beliefs.


My dilemma was by no means unique. In a way, it reflected the broader debate we’ve been having in this country for the last thirty years over the role of religion in politics.


For some time now, there has been plenty of talk among pundits and pollsters that the political divide in this country has fallen sharply along religious lines. Indeed, the single biggest “gap” in party affiliation among white Americans today is not between men and women, or those who reside in so-called Red States and those who reside in Blue, but between those who attend church regularly and those who don’t.


Conservative leaders, from Falwell and Robertson to Karl Rove and Ralph Reed, have been all too happy to exploit this gap, consistently reminding evangelical Christians that Democrats disrespect their values and dislike their Church, while suggesting to the rest of the country that religious Americans care only about issues like abortion and gay marriage; school prayer and intelligent design.


Democrats, for the most part, have taken the bait. At best, we may try to avoid the conversation about religious values altogether, fearful of offending anyone and claiming that – regardless of our personal beliefs – constitutional principles tie our hands. At worst, some liberals dismiss religion in the public square as inherently irrational or intolerant, insisting on a caricature of religious Americans that paints them as fanatical, or thinking that the very word “Christian” describes one’s political opponents, not people of faith.


Such strategies of avoidance may work for progressives when the opponent is Alan Keyes. But over the long haul, I think we make a mistake when we fail to acknowledge the power of faith in the lives of the American people, and join a serious debate about how to reconcile faith with our modern, pluralistic democracy.


We first need to understand that Americans are a religious people. 90 percent of us believe in God, 70 percent affiliate themselves with an organized religion, 38 percent call themselves committed Christians, and substantially more people believe in angels than do those who believe in evolution.


This religious tendency is not simply the result of successful marketing by skilled preachers or the draw of popular mega-churches. In fact, it speaks to a hunger that’s deeper than that – a hunger that goes beyond any particular issue or cause.


Each day, it seems, thousands of Americans are going about their daily round – dropping off the kids at school, driving to the office, flying to a business meeting, shopping at the mall, trying to stay on their diets – and coming to the realization that something is missing. They are deciding that their work, their possessions, their diversions, their sheer busyness, is not enough.


They want a sense of purpose, a narrative arc to their lives. They’re looking to relieve a chronic loneliness, a feeling supported by a recent study that shows Americans have fewer close friends and confidants than ever before. And so they need an assurance that somebody out there cares about them, is listening to them – that they are not just destined to travel down a long highway towards nothingness.


I speak from experience here. I was not raised in a particularly religious household. My father, who returned to Kenya when I was just two, was Muslim but as an adult became an atheist. My mother, whose parents were non-practicing Baptists and Methodists, grew up with a healthy skepticism of organized religion herself. As a consequence, I did too.


It wasn’t until after college, when I went to Chicago to work as a community organizer for a group of Christian churches, that I confronted my own spiritual dilemma.


The Christians who I worked with recognized themselves in me; they saw that I knew their Book and shared their values and sang their songs. But they sensed a part of me that remained removed, detached, an observer in their midst. In time, I too came to realize that something was missing – that without a vessel for my beliefs, without a commitment to a particular community of faith, at some level I would always remain apart and alone.


If not for the particular attributes of the historically black church, I may have accepted this fate. But as the months passed in Chicago, I found myself drawn to the church.


For one thing, I believed and still believe in the power of the African-American religious tradition to spur social change, a power made real by some of the leaders here today. Because of its past, the black church understands in an intimate way the Biblical call to feed the hungry and cloth the naked and challenge powers and principalities. And in its historical struggles for freedom and the rights of man, I was able to see faith as more than just a comfort to the weary or a hedge against death; it is an active, palpable agent in the world. It is a source of hope.


And perhaps it was out of this intimate knowledge of hardship, the grounding of faith in struggle, that the church offered me a second insight: that faith doesn’t mean that you don’t have doubts. You need to come to church precisely because you are of this world, not apart from it; you need to embrace Christ precisely because you have sins to wash away – because you are human and need an ally in your difficult journey.


It was because of these newfound understandings that I was finally able to walk down the aisle of Trinity United Church of Christ one day and affirm my Christian faith. It came about as a choice, and not an epiphany; the questions I had did not magically disappear. But kneeling beneath that cross on the South Side of Chicago, I felt I heard God’s spirit beckoning me. I submitted myself to His will, and dedicated myself to discovering His truth.


The path I traveled has been shared by millions upon millions of Americans – evangelicals, Catholics, Protestants, Jews and Muslims alike; some since birth, others at a turning point in their lives. It is not something they set apart from the rest of their beliefs and values. In fact, it is often what drives them.


This is why, if we truly hope to speak to people where they’re at – to communicate our hopes and values in a way that’s relevant to their own – we cannot abandon the field of religious discourse.


Because when we ignore the debate about what it means to be a good Christian or Muslim or Jew; when we discuss religion only in the negative sense of where or how it should not be practiced, rather than in the positive sense of what it tells us about our obligations towards one another; when we shy away from religious venues and religious broadcasts because we assume that we will be unwelcome – others will fill the vacuum, those with the most insular views of faith, or those who cynically use religion to justify partisan ends.


In other words, if we don’t reach out to evangelical Christians and other religious Americans and tell them what we stand for, Jerry Falwell’s and Pat Robertson’s will continue to hold sway.


More fundamentally, the discomfort of some progressives with any hint of religion has often prevented us from effectively addressing issues in moral terms. Some of the problem here is rhetorical – if we scrub language of all religious content, we forfeit the imagery and terminology through which millions of Americans understand both their personal morality and social justice. Imagine Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address without reference to “the judgments of the Lord,” or King’s I Have a Dream speech without reference to “all of God’s children.” Their summoning of a higher truth helped inspire what had seemed impossible and move the nation to embrace a common destiny.


Our failure as progressives to tap into the moral underpinnings of the nation is not just rhetorical. Our fear of getting “preachy” may also lead us to discount the role that values and culture play in some of our most urgent social problems.


After all, the problems of poverty and racism, the uninsured and the unemployed, are not simply technical problems in search of the perfect ten point plan. They are rooted in both societal indifference and individual callousness – in the imperfections of man.


Solving these problems will require changes in government policy; it will also require changes in hearts and minds. I believe in keeping guns out of our inner cities, and that our leaders must say so in the face of the gun manufacturer’s lobby – but I also believe that when a gang-banger shoots indiscriminately into a crowd because he feels somebody disrespected him, we have a problem of morality; there’s a hole in that young man’s heart – a hole that government programs alone cannot fix.


I believe in vigorous enforcement of our non-discrimination laws; but I also believe that a transformation of conscience and a genuine commitment to diversity on the part of the nation’s CEOs can bring quicker results than a battalion of lawyers.


I think we should put more of our tax dollars into educating poor girls and boys, and give them the information about contraception that can prevent unwanted pregnancies, lower abortion rates, and help assure that that every child is loved and cherished. But my bible tells me that if we train a child in the way he should go, when he is old he will not turn from it. I think faith and guidance can help fortify a young woman’s sense of self, a young man’s sense of responsibility, and a sense of reverence all young people for the act of sexual intimacy.


I am not suggesting that every progressive suddenly latch on to religious terminology. Nothing is more transparent than inauthentic expressions of faith – the politician who shows up at a black church around election time and claps – off rhythm – to the gospel choir.


But what I am suggesting is this – secularists are wrong when they ask believers to leave their religion at the door before entering into the public square. Frederick Douglas, Abraham Lincoln, Williams Jennings Bryant, Dorothy Day, Martin Luther King – indeed, the majority of great reformers in American history – were not only motivated by faith, but repeatedly used religious language to argue for their cause. To say that men and women should not inject their “personal morality” into public policy debates is a practical absurdity; our law is by definition a codification of morality, much of it grounded in the Judeo-Christian tradition.


Moreover, if we progressives shed some of these biases, we might recognize the overlapping values that both religious and secular people share when it comes to the moral and material direction of our country. We might recognize that the call to sacrifice on behalf of the next generation, the need to think in terms of “thou” and not just “I,” resonates in religious congregations across the country. And we might realize that we have the ability to reach out to the evangelical community and engage millions of religious Americans in the larger project of America’s renewal.


Some of this is already beginning to happen. Pastors like Rick Warren and T.D. Jakes are wielding their enormous influences to confront AIDS, Third World debt relief, and the genocide in Darfur. Religious thinkers and activists like my friend Jim Wallis and Tony Campolo are lifting up the Biblical injunction to help the poor as a means of mobilizing Christians against budget cuts to social programs and growing inequality. National denominations have shown themselves as a force on Capitol Hill, on issues such as immigration and the federal budget. And across the country, individual churches like my own are sponsoring day care programs, building senior centers, helping ex-offenders reclaim their lives, and rebuilding our gulf coast in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.


To build on these still-tentative partnerships between the religious and secular worlds will take work – a lot more work than we’ve done so far. The tensions and suspicions on each side of the religious divide will have to be squarely addressed, and each side will need to accept some ground rules for collaboration.


While I’ve already laid out some of the work that progressives need to do on this, I that the conservative leaders of the Religious Right will need to acknowledge a few things as well.


For one, they need to understand the critical role that the separation of church and state has played in preserving not only our democracy, but the robustness of our religious practice. That during our founding, it was not the atheists or the civil libertarians who were the most effective champions of this separation; it was the persecuted religious minorities, Baptists like John Leland, who were most concerned that any state-sponsored religion might hinder their ability to practice their faith.


Moreover, given the increasing diversity of America’s population, the dangers of sectarianism have never been greater. Whatever we once were, we are no longer just a Christian nation; we are also a Jewish nation, a Muslim nation, a Buddhist nation, a Hindu nation, and a nation of nonbelievers.


And even if we did have only Christians within our borders, who’s Christianity would we teach in the schools? James Dobson’s, or Al Sharpton’s? Which passages of Scripture should guide our public policy? Should we go with Levitacus, which suggests slavery is ok and that eating shellfish is abomination? How about Deuteronomy, which suggests stoning your child if he strays from the faith? Or should we just stick to the Sermon on the Mount – a passage so radical that it’s doubtful that our Defense Department would survive its application?


This brings me to my second point. Democracy demands that the religiously motivated translate their concerns into universal, rather than religion-specific, values. It requires that their proposals be subject to argument, and amenable to reason. I may be opposed to abortion for religious reasons, but if I seek to pass a law banning the practice, I cannot simply point to the teachings of my church or evoke God’s will. I have to explain why abortion violates some principle that is accessible to people of all faiths, including those with no faith at all.


This may be difficult for those who believe in the inerrancy of the Bible, as many evangelicals do. But in a pluralistic democracy, we have no choice. Politics depends on our ability to persuade each other of common aims based on a common reality. It involves the compromise, the art of the possible. At some fundamental level, religion does not allow for compromise. It insists on the impossible. If God has spoken, then followers are expected to live up to God’s edicts, regardless of the consequences. To base one’s life on such uncompromising commitments may be sublime; to base our policy making on such commitments would be a dangerous thing.


We all know the story of Abraham and Isaac. Abraham is ordered by God to offer up his only son, and without argument, he takes Isaac to the mountaintop, binds him to an altar, and raises his knife, prepared to act as God has commanded.


Of course, in the end God sends down an angel to intercede at the very last minute, and Abraham passes God’s test of devotion.


But it’s fair to say that if any of us saw a twenty-first century Abraham raising the knife on the roof of his apartment building, we would, at the very least, call the police and expect the Department of Children and Family Services to take Isaac away from Abraham. We would do so because we do not hear what Abraham hears, do not see what Abraham sees, true as those experiences may be. So the best we can do is act in accordance with those things that are possible for all of us to know, be it common laws or basic reason.


Finally, any reconciliation between faith and democratic pluralism requires some sense of proportion.


This goes for both sides.


Even those who claim the Bible’s inerrancy make distinctions between Scriptural edicts, a sense that some passages – the Ten Commandments, say, or a belief in Christ’s divinity – are central to Christian faith, while others are more culturally specific and may be modified to accommodate modern life.


The American people intuitively understand this, which is why the majority of Catholics practice birth control and some of those opposed to gay marriage nevertheless are opposed to a Constitutional amendment to ban it. Religious leadership need not accept such wisdom in counseling their flocks, but they should recognize this wisdom in their politics.


But a sense of proportion should also guide those who police the boundaries between church and state. Not every mention of God in public is a breach to the wall of separation – context matters. It is doubtful that children reciting the Pledge of Allegiance feel oppressed or brainwashed as a consequence of muttering the phrase “under God;” I certainly didn’t. Having voluntary student prayer groups using school property to meet should not be a threat, any more than its use by the High School Republicans should threaten Democrats. And one can envision certain faith-based programs – targeting ex-offenders or substance abusers – that offer a uniquely powerful way of solving problems.


So we all have some work to do here. But I am hopeful that we can bridge the gaps that exist and overcome the prejudices each of us bring to this debate. And I have faith that millions of believing Americans want that to happen. No matter how religious they may or may not be, people are tired of seeing faith used as a tool to attack and belittle and divide – they’re tired of hearing folks deliver more screed than sermon. Because in the end, that’s not how they think about faith in their own lives.

.

So let me end with another interaction I had during my campaign. A few days after I won the Democratic nomination in my U.S. Senate race, I received an email from a doctor at the University of Chicago Medical School that said the following:


“Congratulations on your overwhelming and inspiring primary win. I was happy to vote for you, and I will tell you that I am seriously considering voting for you in the general election. I write to express my concerns that may, in the end, prevent me from supporting you.”


The doctor described himself as a Christian who understood his commitments to be “totalizing.” His faith led him to a strong opposition to abortion and gay marriage, although he said that his faith also led him to question the idolatry of the free market and quick resort to militarism that seemed to characterize much of President Bush’s foreign policy.


But the reason the doctor was considering not voting for me was not simply my position on abortion. Rather, he had read an entry that my campaign had posted on my website, which suggested that I would fight “right wing ideologues who want to take away a woman’s right to choose.” He went on to write:


“I sense that you have a strong sense of justice…and I also sense that you are a fair minded person with a high regard for reason…Whatever your convictions, if you truly believe that those who oppose abortion are all ideologues driven by perverse desires to inflict suffering on women, then you, in my judgment, are not fair-minded….You know that we enter times that are fraught with possibilities for good and for harm, times when we are struggling to make sense of a common polity in the context of plurality, when we are unsure of what grounds we have for making any claims that involve others…I do not ask at this point that you oppose abortion, only that you speak about this issue in fair-minded words.”


I checked my web-site and found the offending words. My staff had written them to summarize my pro-choice position during the Democratic primary, at a time when some of my opponents were questioning my commitment to protect Roe v. Wade.


Re-reading the doctor’s letter, though, I felt a pang of shame. It is people like him who are looking for a deeper, fuller conversation about religion in this country. They may not change their positions, but they are willing to listen and learn from those who are willing to speak in reasonable terms – those who know of the central and awesome place that God holds in the lives of so many, and who refuse to treat faith as simply another political issue with which to score points.


I wrote back to the doctor and thanked him for his advice. The next day, I circulated the email to my staff and changed the language on my website to state in clear but simple terms my pro-choice position. And that night, before I went to bed, I said a prayer of my own – a prayer that I might extend the same presumption of good faith to others that the doctor had extended to me.


It is a prayer I still say for America today – a hope that we can live with one another in a way that reconciles the beliefs of each with the good of all. It’s a prayer worth praying, and a conversation worth having in this country in the months and years to come. Thank you.

Falling in Love

I absolutely love falling in love. A well known fact about me is that I fall in love several times a day. In fact, I fell in love in the hallway of Gamble Hall today. Dr. Winterhalter and I were talking outside of her office and a young man, who had to be a member of the tennis team, walked by and both of us fell in love.
He was beautiful, and not just my standard of beautiful, anyone would have fallen for him.
As much as I try to believe that I do not need a man in my life, I am terrified by the thought of never feeling truly, rapturously in love again. One of my favorite books is The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. It is tragic in some ways, but I want the kind of declaration love that Ralph gives Isabel on his death bed:

"And remember this . . . That if you've been hated you've also been loved. Ah but, Isabel - adored!"

It sounds so true, so real of Ralph; to balance the good with the bad. We are, in life, both loved and hated; adored and disdained. I have spent so much of my time reading great love stories that I worry my expectations may be too high. I hope not. What do you think of the love of the romantic movie or novel? Can anyone live up to that? Or even come close?

What I Am Doing . . .

Right now, I am sitting for 5 hours a day and listening to a grumpy old man routine with a little bit of classroom management mixed in. He is keeping us very busy, so my posts may be few and far between. Just to let you know what was going on!

Quiz Fun!

Which Classic Female Literary Character Are you?

You're Jane Eyre of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte!
Take this quiz!








Quizilla |
Join

| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

My Cubby

Since so many of you like stories about my weird school, I thought I would share a picture that I came across to day while looking for something at my mom's. This was a picture I took from the seat of my desk at school. The large "A" stands for A honor role, and the flags are the flags we have to raise when we needed help. The Christian flag for minor emergencies and the American flag when we needed the help of a man (seriously, I am not kidding). If you see anything that strikes you as curios, besides the entire set-up, ask me and I will explain how we did things at Emmanuel.

Coffee

I love coffee, and because I am exiled to a non-Starbuck town, I have gotten used to drinking McDonald's coffee. Not much of a downgrade as you would think. At 1.33 for a large coffee, it is more economical and it has a drive-thru. Quite a plus for a girl that like to drink her coffee still clad in their pajama pants and wife-beater. I go to the same McDonald's every morning and I have became well acquainted with the ladies that work at the window. One, however is an enigma. Some mornings, she smiles broadly and says, "Hey, I got your Splenda and cream. Here. Good morning." Other mornings she looks through me as if this is the first time she has ever laid eyes on me. I gauge my response by hers. I am always friendly, but never too familiar. I fear coming off as condescending - a feeling I hate - but I want to know what brings about those mornings of seeming despair, or maybe she's just sleepy. It is such a thankless, low-paying job; where people work with assholes and serve assholes. Although they infuriate me sometimes, I know that if I were them, I would be grumpy too.

Who Do you Love?

Kirsten is reading Pride and Prejudice in her Novel class this summer, and she sent me an email this morning asking me if I was in love with Mr. Darcy. She knows I have a tendency to fall head over heels for fictional characters. Ralph Touchett from Portrait of a Lady, Ethan Frome from Ethan Frome, Lawrence Selden from The House of Mirth, Florentino Ariza from Love in the Time of Cholera . . . I could go on and on. But, if I had to say who I truly and fictionally loved the most, it would have to be Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities. I watched the movie (1935) when I was a little girl, and could not wait to get my hands on the book. I still remember tears streaming down my face as I read Sydney's last lines,"It is a far,far better thing that I do than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." He did it all for the love of a woman who loved another man. Just heartbreaking. Who do you love . . . fictionally? Tell me why.

Trips

Me and my brother Robbie

When I was younger, every year my family went to Lake Weir, Florida on vacation. We used to all have matching t-shirts that said "Weir Crazy" that we would wear on our way down there. I was always the first one dressed in my t-shirt and I always bugged my brothers to put their shirts on hours ahead of time. They hated me because I was the only girl and the baby, and so, if I insisted, Daddy made them put their shirt on way before they wanted to get dressed. All because of me. I could not help it; I loved going to Lake Weir. We rented a cabin on top of a hill and to get to the lake, I had to walk through orange trees and down a long gravel road. I can distinctly remember learning how to blow my first bubble walking down that road to the lake. It was Super Bubble that I bought from the little country store that was located on the beach of the lake. The store was more like a recreation room than a store. It had a jukebox and a few pool tables and a place to rent tubes if you wanted to go tubing. I also bought an occasional Stewart sandwich from there also, but Mama always went to the grocery store and stocked up so we did not have to buy too much from the store.


My cousin Dusty
There was something about Lake Weir that made my family do things we did not do at home. We ate Hoagie sandwiches for dinner, but at home, we never had a cold dinner. My mom always cooked, so it was a real vacation for her. We went to the movies at Lake Weir - shows like The Apple Dumpling Gang and Jaws - and it was such a treat because we never did that at home. However, Jaws was not such a good choice when we were spending 90% of our vacation in the water. Along with blowing bubbles, I also learned to swim at Lake Weir. My dad would throw me off the dock and then walk away from me as I struggled and gasped my way towards him. At times, I could not believe he could be so cruel, but I did learn to swim. I could not wait for the day when I could follow my brothers to the big, high dock where the cool girls sunbathed while the guys smoked cigarettes and flirted with the girls in the string bikinis. You can see it in the background of the pics. It was the place to be. Obviously, I never made it in my bikini. The pics on here (yes, that is me doing a fabulous back flip) are the last known photographs of me in a two-piece. At least, I hope they are. If you look closely at this pic, you can see my father's hand just at the edge of the picture; waiting to grab me if I should hit my head or have trouble finding my way up from the bottom.






When I was 10, we went to Lake Weir for the last time. Two of my brothers were older and had full-time jobs, so they decided to stay home, but my older brother and his wife and son came with us. My dad was very upset that Robbie and Tim decided not to make the family trip. As we rode down the white gravel road that serpentined through orange groves, I remember my mom reaching over and grabbing my dad's hand and saying, "They are growing up Charles. They will come again next year." It was not the same without "the boys," as we always called them. A week after we got back from Lake Weir, my dad was killed in an accident at work. My brothers say they still have not gotten over the fact that they did not go that year, and we have planned trips back, but these plans have never quite worked out. I think we may all want to remember Lake Weir with our dad; the way it should be remembered.