Here are some vignettes from my life over the last two weeks since I have not had the time to keep everyone updated as I wish. Or really reflect online like I want to.
Ms. Timon, the principal, stood in front of me with an assignment I gave that afternoon to write a persuasive letter. If her frown was any bigger it would have connected again below her chin and she would have swallowed her own face. I had assigned the letter 2 minutes after I had explained freedom of speech and the power of word choice- my kids must have heard- swear a lot. It read. "I am sorry I couldn't fucking do the damn assignment. My fucking dad died, and he was freaking shot in the fucking head. I wanted to kill the bastard that did that fucking shit..." Sometimes I am not a good teacher. Almost always, my principal is there when this happens on the macro scale. Good thing I am so smart and good looking otherwise i would think I was cursed with bad luck :)
With 4 minutes left in our meeting during lunch on Tuesday, Ms. Timon said, "oh yeah, and next week Mr. Brossart and Mr. Maddox will be no longer switching students, they are to be self contained." I had to feign shock and slight disapproval as my insides screamed "Hell Yeah Aunt Katy!!!" as loudly and happily as a blond boy in a cut off t-shirt and jort overalls seeing a gator weighing.
The door was slid open by a bearded man in a red visored helmet. He smiled at us, leaned out, leaned back in and then fell out of the plane at 14,000 feet. The wind was cold and the man strapped to my back said it was our turn. At that point I was wondering if I peed myself while I fell if my terminal velocity was faster than my urine's. Then after leaning out, leaning in, leaning out and falling away from the airplane I realized what I wanted to do this summer. We rotated and I saw the horizon rushing closer and closer and felt more peaceful than I ever could have imagined while strapped to a dude named "Boston" and having very recently having fallen out of an airplane.
My ACP advisor leaned back in her chair. This signaled for me to get comfortable, she was going to lecture me again. During class, while I should have been monitoring to make sure my kids were focused on learning. And if they were focused, I wanted to make sure they were doing it at least close to correctly. I settled in and she said, "Mr. Brossart, when we first met I had you pegged as just another clown. Now, well I can see you are one of the best interns- you have the makings of an intern of the year." Not bad. If I am going to be missing valuable instructional time I might as well be flattered.
John Glenn, who is now over magic and officially obsessing over ninjas, told a kid not to fight him because I told him that they weren't allowed to. This marks the first and only time he to date he had ever obeyed a teachers instructions that didn't immediately pertain to his grade. Bells rang, trumpets sang, and it felt like I had just high fived God.
They only had bald wig-caps for black people, and because of that I was kneeling on the floor of the kitchen at a friends house with a pillow in my mouth and a double shot of vodka in my stomach. The floor was cold. It was 11:30 at night. I had to be at school for conferences in 7 hours. I still had a lot of work to do. The pillow in my mouth didn't allow me to remind those I was with of this. I also didn't have that long to think about it. Because seconds later I had a safety pin shoved through my ear into a potato. Sure it was conference time. Sure I was way behind and sleep deprived. That doesn't take away the sweetness of the idea of googling how to pierce my own ear, doing it with two soon to be even closer friends and nearly completing my plan b costume of being a pirate. Now all I had to do was find some mascara for my beard.
The sunset on the roof of my building was breathtaking, heart breaking, and beautiful. I was smiling. My boys had just finally done it! SJU rugby was going to the final 4 for the Midwest, after 3 years of losing in the sweet 16. SJU rugby had broken the hump and was a powerhouse. Nationally ranked in Goff on rugby and peaking they sounded incredible. And as I watch the sunset I had to fight feelings as ugly as the sunset was beautiful. That was my fucking title, and Baits' and my hard work that got them the chance to reach that goal. He and I never got to reach that height, and now I have to smile and cheer from 3000 miles away while knowing I can't be a part of it, and wishing with too much of my soul that I could have done that. And somehow, even knowing I am loved, I can't shake the feelings of envy and wish I didn't want so bad for someone to call and thank me for the chance they have...
The sun disappears and a friend appears to remind me in the dusk that I am a teacher now. Helping things grow and then having them succeed without me is my job. Get used to it. Nay, thrive on it.
Conferences drain the energy of almost any teacher, and mine became an impromptu HA meeting for recovering Heroine Addicts. Twice. Both ended in hugs, with hope for a better future eating gently away at the edges of the dispare that heroine and conferences can give a person. That is until I remember I still have a girl that was kidnapped by her own mother and we still don't know where she is.
I have 3 kids that want to be fifth grade teachers now. Sometimes being Mr. B rocks.
Wednesday 31 October 2007
Sunday 21 October 2007
A Difficult Discovery
Today I am trying to grade my students, am failing, and have walked smack into my own arrogance and am now drowning in frustration. For the last month they have been filling in reading/writing notebooks and on Friday I collected them. They are so messy and haphazard that I don't even know how to apply the rubric to them. And so I am having a melt-down since grades are due. I am nine weeks in and I am not the teacher I yet want to be.
I think the hardest discovery one can ever make is that we are flawed.
And the higher one holds them self in their own esteem, the harder this discovery is. As someone who uses his confidence to prop himself up like crutches when the world has cut his feet out from under him I am now tottering.
And I am not talking about flaws like being a little overweight, or blushing too easily.
I am talking about the flaw of failure. The flaw of realizing that the worst part about trying is failing. And even with a keen understanding that failure is only permanent when one quits- this still sucks. And now as I feel that I am failing as a teacher in so many ways- I can suddenly understand why so many of my kids will not try harder. I am pouring myself into this teaching job like trying to fill a swimming pool with a gallon of milk. And even if it is just a kiddy pool, my efforts still seem massively unproductive. I am standing at the ocean's edge and waving my arms frantically trying to blow the hurricane off track and away from everything I believe in. If life seems this daunting to me, someone who has been blessed mostly with success and inordinate amounts of support, well I can only imagine what my kids feel like when they fail, and most of them haven't even been taught how to fail.
This is where my parents tell me to trust in God. This is where I get upset at God for not making me invincible. This is where I stand and face myself and tell myself that each time I fail I must get stronger, and I must not focus on the failure, but looking away doesn't seem to help either. This is where I realize that God needs to be my crutch, not my pride. And then I counter that, maybe just to be argumentative: Don't I need to do the work anyways? So trusting in God... obviously important, but practically seems very similar to fighting tooth and nail not to fail using my own stubbornness and focusing on one step at a time.
This is the part of life that needs to be a montage. And this is the part of life that needs to be learned from. And this is the part of myself that I need to stop picking at like a scab and rather than focusing on the bleeding I need to face myself and find perfection in my flaws. And I need to slowly improve on those flaws, but not too slowly, because these kids, these parents, and my principal are all trusting their lives and a bit of their future to me.
I think the hardest discovery one can ever make is that we are flawed.
And the higher one holds them self in their own esteem, the harder this discovery is. As someone who uses his confidence to prop himself up like crutches when the world has cut his feet out from under him I am now tottering.
And I am not talking about flaws like being a little overweight, or blushing too easily.
I am talking about the flaw of failure. The flaw of realizing that the worst part about trying is failing. And even with a keen understanding that failure is only permanent when one quits- this still sucks. And now as I feel that I am failing as a teacher in so many ways- I can suddenly understand why so many of my kids will not try harder. I am pouring myself into this teaching job like trying to fill a swimming pool with a gallon of milk. And even if it is just a kiddy pool, my efforts still seem massively unproductive. I am standing at the ocean's edge and waving my arms frantically trying to blow the hurricane off track and away from everything I believe in. If life seems this daunting to me, someone who has been blessed mostly with success and inordinate amounts of support, well I can only imagine what my kids feel like when they fail, and most of them haven't even been taught how to fail.
This is where my parents tell me to trust in God. This is where I get upset at God for not making me invincible. This is where I stand and face myself and tell myself that each time I fail I must get stronger, and I must not focus on the failure, but looking away doesn't seem to help either. This is where I realize that God needs to be my crutch, not my pride. And then I counter that, maybe just to be argumentative: Don't I need to do the work anyways? So trusting in God... obviously important, but practically seems very similar to fighting tooth and nail not to fail using my own stubbornness and focusing on one step at a time.
This is the part of life that needs to be a montage. And this is the part of life that needs to be learned from. And this is the part of myself that I need to stop picking at like a scab and rather than focusing on the bleeding I need to face myself and find perfection in my flaws. And I need to slowly improve on those flaws, but not too slowly, because these kids, these parents, and my principal are all trusting their lives and a bit of their future to me.
Monday 15 October 2007
120 minutes well spent!
I just read 2 hours of poetry.
Time I desperatley needed to lesson plan. I spent the weekend being reminded how blessed my life has been. I have been loved beyond measure. Tessa came and visited and it was nice to be reminded of where I have come from. She was a glimpse of sunlight that reminded me of old friends and family. And in the presence of those thoughts I was able to re-appreciate the crazy and wonderful presence of this city and the struggle, beauty, and tension that is humanity trying to live together in such close proximity. And despite my continued lack of direction in day to day lives as well as long term- I now have in my head where I have come from, where I am, and frankly- that is good enough for me.
I did not do nearly enough school work this week and I am back to the grindstone soon. My kids deserve it. Today, though under-planned and unready went well. I Love my kids. I Love my subject. And someday- they too will find a place where despite being tired and fighting lingering loneliness, a book of poetry arriving in the mail can rip them from the axis of time, and throw them into themselves so deeply that they crawl out the other side of their consciousness with nothing except wonder and a fierce desire to grip every moment of life and relish it- even the dark, sorrowful moments of life that frustrate like a heart attack that occurs in a broken elevator with no recollection of those CPR classes you took in 8th grade, and a phone with a broken "9" key.
But I am not in one of those moments. Now the future seems bright, daunting, and irrelevant to the now. Now I am paying bills because the money isn't mine. Now I am finding ways to teach my kids of Native Americans. Now I am digging through books and books of poetry praying to find that one poem that might change the life of even one of my kids. And if I don't- well then I just got to read 2 hours of poetry!
Time I desperatley needed to lesson plan. I spent the weekend being reminded how blessed my life has been. I have been loved beyond measure. Tessa came and visited and it was nice to be reminded of where I have come from. She was a glimpse of sunlight that reminded me of old friends and family. And in the presence of those thoughts I was able to re-appreciate the crazy and wonderful presence of this city and the struggle, beauty, and tension that is humanity trying to live together in such close proximity. And despite my continued lack of direction in day to day lives as well as long term- I now have in my head where I have come from, where I am, and frankly- that is good enough for me.
I did not do nearly enough school work this week and I am back to the grindstone soon. My kids deserve it. Today, though under-planned and unready went well. I Love my kids. I Love my subject. And someday- they too will find a place where despite being tired and fighting lingering loneliness, a book of poetry arriving in the mail can rip them from the axis of time, and throw them into themselves so deeply that they crawl out the other side of their consciousness with nothing except wonder and a fierce desire to grip every moment of life and relish it- even the dark, sorrowful moments of life that frustrate like a heart attack that occurs in a broken elevator with no recollection of those CPR classes you took in 8th grade, and a phone with a broken "9" key.
But I am not in one of those moments. Now the future seems bright, daunting, and irrelevant to the now. Now I am paying bills because the money isn't mine. Now I am finding ways to teach my kids of Native Americans. Now I am digging through books and books of poetry praying to find that one poem that might change the life of even one of my kids. And if I don't- well then I just got to read 2 hours of poetry!
Tuesday 9 October 2007
White People
My kids think I look like Ben Bryer, the talented drummer for the band My Chemical Romance.
They even asked if I was a drummer before teaching (because despite what I say they all think I look 34). Some of them don't believe I wasn't.
White people continue to look the same to me. If you need proof- just look at my family. Eerie.
Quick Story
Today, my good friend and carpool buddy, Ms. Stacy was having trouble with one of her 4 year olds. Ms. Stacy has one little girl who has discovered the middle finger, understands it is mean, and is using it very inappropriately. (for those of you wondering, no- I am not sure if there is an appropriate way to flip people the bird)
Ms. Stacy tried to reprimand this girl, but the problem was getting worse and the student was laughing in her face and kept giving her the ol' "California hello". Ms. Stacy decided to bring her to the principal and told her, if she wasn't going to stop, then she was going to show Ms. Amos.
Well, the 4 year old tried to call her bluff and went with Ms. Stacy to the office. Then she wised up and wouldn't flip off Ms. Amos. So, Ms. Amos asked Ms. Stacy what had happened. Ms. Stacy explained the repeated behavior.
Ms. Amos immediately shrieked in terror and nearly yelled that if she ever heard of this child doing this again she was going to call the police. Needless to say, the finger happy four year old panicked and kept that finger tucked carefully in the rest of the day.
Ms. Amos won herself a big fan today.
Sometimes the best part of our job is being the worlds craziest least qualified most trial and error based child psychologists.
The crazy moments like that make the smiles come much easier even in the face of exhaustion.
Ms. Stacy tried to reprimand this girl, but the problem was getting worse and the student was laughing in her face and kept giving her the ol' "California hello". Ms. Stacy decided to bring her to the principal and told her, if she wasn't going to stop, then she was going to show Ms. Amos.
Well, the 4 year old tried to call her bluff and went with Ms. Stacy to the office. Then she wised up and wouldn't flip off Ms. Amos. So, Ms. Amos asked Ms. Stacy what had happened. Ms. Stacy explained the repeated behavior.
Ms. Amos immediately shrieked in terror and nearly yelled that if she ever heard of this child doing this again she was going to call the police. Needless to say, the finger happy four year old panicked and kept that finger tucked carefully in the rest of the day.
Ms. Amos won herself a big fan today.
Sometimes the best part of our job is being the worlds craziest least qualified most trial and error based child psychologists.
The crazy moments like that make the smiles come much easier even in the face of exhaustion.
Sunday 7 October 2007
That kind of night where coherence escapes.
This was the kind of weekend that ends with me needing to write poetry.
But the words come slowly as my thoughts keep failing to unwrap from around my lesson plans and the kids that make me want so badly for them to be perfect. The corners of my mind are gently filled with the sunset that God gave Houston several hours ago.
This is the kind of night that ends with me thinking about Grandma D a bit too often. Wondering where the balance between hard work and chasing my selfish dreams lies, and wondering where my dreams should end and where my need to make the world brighter should begin. I push thoughts of traveling the world to the edge of my mind, partly to hope that they will get bumped off the edge accidentally and leave me staring perfectly into a future full of certainty.
This is the kind of night where I go online and order 14 poetry books for my class and hope that in them even one poem plants it self in the heart of even one of my kids.
This is the kind of night that I want to drive to the coast and stare into the surf and ponder how small I am. To stare at the waves as they wander into beach and crawl as far as they can up the sand to achieve their own personal dreams, and yet fit beautifully into the rythmic whole of the surf.
This is the kind of night where I do not have lesson plans that I am happy with tomorrow. And yet I need to go to bed and trust that they will work out.
This weekend I worked on lesson plans, watched a sunset, celebrated a birthday, bought 100 boxes of pudding and had a pudding fight, went to a greekfest- drank bottles of wine in the street while howling at the moon and yelling "opa!" to the crowds of dancers, revelers, and others who were finding solace somewhere in the hedonism, in the clinking bottles, in the illusion that all is right with the world. This weekend I had crazy dreams. This weekend I smiled at a stranger accidentally- and meant it. This weekend I talked to my family, and a friend from the past who means more to me than she knows. I tried to recharge my batteries, only to discover I am not powered by batteries, and I discovered that they are always charged- I just need to let myself take each moment as perfect and celebrate each moment seeking beauty everywhere. Then, and only then, will I be able to move mountains. Then and only then will I choose not to move the mountain, but rather climb to the top, lie down, and read the clouds for secrets and search for dragons in the sky. Then and only then might I find the honor in a simple day's work. And that is my goal for this week. I want to find the beauty in each moment of teaching and exaustion, and wait happily for the future to bring what it will.
But the words come slowly as my thoughts keep failing to unwrap from around my lesson plans and the kids that make me want so badly for them to be perfect. The corners of my mind are gently filled with the sunset that God gave Houston several hours ago.
This is the kind of night that ends with me thinking about Grandma D a bit too often. Wondering where the balance between hard work and chasing my selfish dreams lies, and wondering where my dreams should end and where my need to make the world brighter should begin. I push thoughts of traveling the world to the edge of my mind, partly to hope that they will get bumped off the edge accidentally and leave me staring perfectly into a future full of certainty.
This is the kind of night where I go online and order 14 poetry books for my class and hope that in them even one poem plants it self in the heart of even one of my kids.
This is the kind of night that I want to drive to the coast and stare into the surf and ponder how small I am. To stare at the waves as they wander into beach and crawl as far as they can up the sand to achieve their own personal dreams, and yet fit beautifully into the rythmic whole of the surf.
This is the kind of night where I do not have lesson plans that I am happy with tomorrow. And yet I need to go to bed and trust that they will work out.
This weekend I worked on lesson plans, watched a sunset, celebrated a birthday, bought 100 boxes of pudding and had a pudding fight, went to a greekfest- drank bottles of wine in the street while howling at the moon and yelling "opa!" to the crowds of dancers, revelers, and others who were finding solace somewhere in the hedonism, in the clinking bottles, in the illusion that all is right with the world. This weekend I had crazy dreams. This weekend I smiled at a stranger accidentally- and meant it. This weekend I talked to my family, and a friend from the past who means more to me than she knows. I tried to recharge my batteries, only to discover I am not powered by batteries, and I discovered that they are always charged- I just need to let myself take each moment as perfect and celebrate each moment seeking beauty everywhere. Then, and only then, will I be able to move mountains. Then and only then will I choose not to move the mountain, but rather climb to the top, lie down, and read the clouds for secrets and search for dragons in the sky. Then and only then might I find the honor in a simple day's work. And that is my goal for this week. I want to find the beauty in each moment of teaching and exaustion, and wait happily for the future to bring what it will.
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