There's a little bird on my porch, just outside my window. It's sniffing around my jack-o-latern, old cigarette buts, and rotting floorboards. It hops to the edged and looks down, and it hops back. It hops around and enjoys where it is.
We both are enjoying the view. But we both want to know: Does it get better than this?
2011 is going to be the year of the Great Migration Part I. I have lots of planning and work to do until then. More details to follow.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
This Could Explain It
I wrote pages in my journal tonight about how I feel like I am missing something. I really don't know what it is. I can't put my finger on it. Whatever it is, it is intangible and mysterious. But it is essential enough to feel that it is out of place.
But now all I can say, 'Maybe this, maybe this.'
But now all I can say, 'Maybe this, maybe this.'
Monday, October 19, 2009
Gold.
Working with GED students isn’t always as easy or as fun as I imagine that it is. Sometimes I try to glamorize it to others, so that I remind myself that it is an adventure. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. The people that I work continually find ways to humble and amaze me. But the job is not without its hang-ups.
I’ve become irate when I’ve been stood up for study sessions and irritated for assigning homework that doesn’t get touched, or even thought of, until the next class. That is, if my students make it to class. There are days that the seats are not even half full, and on the days when it rains, the only people there are the ones with cars, who live in the area, or were on the bus before it started raining. Weekly there is a death, someone in the hospital, someone else near losing housing. When I get hungry and I eat my lunch, sometimes I eat a piece of humble pie while I wonder who didn’t get to eat at all that day. There are people who get up at six or six-thirty in the morning, while I drive two miles because I overslept that morning. And the only way the to explain positive and negative numbers is to use a checking account as an example.
All of this makes orientation week exhausting. After testing and a whole week of preparation for the next session comes the day I look forward to with excitement and dread. It almost feels like a reunion of sorts because there are students that I haven’t seen for a six weeks or longer coming in and out of the building, and the new students are getting their new schedules timid, but excited about the next session. But it also means having to explain to someone who made it to the 11th grade, who has fed a family, been a manager, or is twice my age that they have been operating on the 5th to 7th grade level. It’s dancing with reality and optimism and hoping that this session will be the one that gets this students into the world with the education the world says they need. There’s a lot of unhappy faces when the test scores come back. It’s easier to deliver bad test scores to a newer student. It’s the students who have been here for a year or more and still haven’t made any changes that kill me.
But today was a very good day.
Because one of my students got his GED.
I have been with Delgado for a year now, only two months as staff. I know a lot of the people in the program, but there are very few students that I felt were “mine.” Mine in the sense that I taught them from when they came into the program and watched them work through. This particular student started his first session with Delgado in June in the first class I co-taught. We were rookies together. Let me tell you, this man has seen me
flounder. He has seen me grasping for explanations and examples the same when you do when you’re about to drop something special and fragile, and then you watch it shatter wondering why you bothered to begin with. I’ve watched him come to class tired, on his way to or from work in his work clothes. I have watched him put his pen to his paper and heard stories about his life in essays that I’ve corrected and made him rewrite. I’ve worried that he was going to drop out and been annoyed that he left early. But I guess we’ve been a support system for each other without actually really knowing each other. I encouraged him to come to class, and helped with what he needed to study (not much really), and he’s thanked me for working with him and encouraged me, despite my bumbling teaching attempts.
He took his GED about two weeks ago. He was worried about orientation day and getting his schedule. He couldn’t come to get his schedule on the day returning students were supposed to come, so he sent a friend. We were closed when she got there. So he came in today, and he sat down at my desk.
“I’m here for my schedule.”
In my zombie like state from telling people their schedules all morning, I started to pull his name up in the system. Halfway through typing his name, I stopped. “You took the test last week, didn’t you?!”
“Yeah, I just figured I didn’t pass.”
I couldn’t recall seeing his name on the test results list that I checked earlier in the morning. But I couldn’t believe that he would fail.
I pulled up his scores and bursting, I turned to him. “You don’t need that schedule after all.
A slow smile spread over his face, his four gold teeth shining in the happiest smile. “What?! You serious?!” He shot backwards in his rolling desk chair almost taking down another teacher.
He gave me a big hug and thanked me. “I did it! I have a step-daughter and nephew in the 12th grade. And I told them that I would finish before they did. And I did!”
His face glowed when I told him that we would be having a GED graduation in the spring time. I knew that there was no need to ask if he was interested in it, but I did anyway. His smile got bigger, and he said that he’d be there.
“You know, I told you to read my teacher evaluation about you, and you said you couldn’t. Well, I just want you to know that I said and I tell everyone else that you have know choice to fail when they have you for a teacher.”
The best part of the day lasted only for a couple of minutes. But it made for the best orientation day ever.
I’ve become irate when I’ve been stood up for study sessions and irritated for assigning homework that doesn’t get touched, or even thought of, until the next class. That is, if my students make it to class. There are days that the seats are not even half full, and on the days when it rains, the only people there are the ones with cars, who live in the area, or were on the bus before it started raining. Weekly there is a death, someone in the hospital, someone else near losing housing. When I get hungry and I eat my lunch, sometimes I eat a piece of humble pie while I wonder who didn’t get to eat at all that day. There are people who get up at six or six-thirty in the morning, while I drive two miles because I overslept that morning. And the only way the to explain positive and negative numbers is to use a checking account as an example.
All of this makes orientation week exhausting. After testing and a whole week of preparation for the next session comes the day I look forward to with excitement and dread. It almost feels like a reunion of sorts because there are students that I haven’t seen for a six weeks or longer coming in and out of the building, and the new students are getting their new schedules timid, but excited about the next session. But it also means having to explain to someone who made it to the 11th grade, who has fed a family, been a manager, or is twice my age that they have been operating on the 5th to 7th grade level. It’s dancing with reality and optimism and hoping that this session will be the one that gets this students into the world with the education the world says they need. There’s a lot of unhappy faces when the test scores come back. It’s easier to deliver bad test scores to a newer student. It’s the students who have been here for a year or more and still haven’t made any changes that kill me.
But today was a very good day.
Because one of my students got his GED.
I have been with Delgado for a year now, only two months as staff. I know a lot of the people in the program, but there are very few students that I felt were “mine.” Mine in the sense that I taught them from when they came into the program and watched them work through. This particular student started his first session with Delgado in June in the first class I co-taught. We were rookies together. Let me tell you, this man has seen me
flounder. He has seen me grasping for explanations and examples the same when you do when you’re about to drop something special and fragile, and then you watch it shatter wondering why you bothered to begin with. I’ve watched him come to class tired, on his way to or from work in his work clothes. I have watched him put his pen to his paper and heard stories about his life in essays that I’ve corrected and made him rewrite. I’ve worried that he was going to drop out and been annoyed that he left early. But I guess we’ve been a support system for each other without actually really knowing each other. I encouraged him to come to class, and helped with what he needed to study (not much really), and he’s thanked me for working with him and encouraged me, despite my bumbling teaching attempts.
He took his GED about two weeks ago. He was worried about orientation day and getting his schedule. He couldn’t come to get his schedule on the day returning students were supposed to come, so he sent a friend. We were closed when she got there. So he came in today, and he sat down at my desk.
“I’m here for my schedule.”
In my zombie like state from telling people their schedules all morning, I started to pull his name up in the system. Halfway through typing his name, I stopped. “You took the test last week, didn’t you?!”
“Yeah, I just figured I didn’t pass.”
I couldn’t recall seeing his name on the test results list that I checked earlier in the morning. But I couldn’t believe that he would fail.
I pulled up his scores and bursting, I turned to him. “You don’t need that schedule after all.
A slow smile spread over his face, his four gold teeth shining in the happiest smile. “What?! You serious?!” He shot backwards in his rolling desk chair almost taking down another teacher.
He gave me a big hug and thanked me. “I did it! I have a step-daughter and nephew in the 12th grade. And I told them that I would finish before they did. And I did!”
His face glowed when I told him that we would be having a GED graduation in the spring time. I knew that there was no need to ask if he was interested in it, but I did anyway. His smile got bigger, and he said that he’d be there.
“You know, I told you to read my teacher evaluation about you, and you said you couldn’t. Well, I just want you to know that I said and I tell everyone else that you have know choice to fail when they have you for a teacher.”
The best part of the day lasted only for a couple of minutes. But it made for the best orientation day ever.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Closet
My last high school choir concert. The Ice Cream Social. It was just like I had planned my senior year concert to be.
I cried my eyes out when it was over. I sobbed more that day than I did on graduation day. In fact, I didn't cry on graduation day, even though I felt like maybe I should. I suppose that there were a lot of reasons I cried after that final concert. Stress, relief, giving up something that I loved. I don't know what the real reason was, but I think that right then, is when I said goodbye to my high school self. That person that I was, who I always have with me, ceased to be me and has just been with me since then. Mrs. Pearson hugged me that day, and told me that those were not the best years of my life. There were better ones to come. It doesn't always seem that way.
I remember that day with one of my favorite dresses. It's a strapless gray plaid dress that my mom and I bought for Homecoming that fall. I didn't end up wearing it until that concert, and have kept it because I love it so much. Every time I see it or wear it (yes, I still have it, it still fits, and I have worn it in the last year) I think of the ice cream social, and who I was at that time.
I suppose that who you are is kind of like the clothes that you keep in your closet. You know, those ones that you can't get rid of or will never forget because they were so wonderful or you wore all the time. I guess it's like a growing moment. You shed your old self and become your new self and just carry that old one with you. You take it off, fold it up, and put it in your suitcase. You'll pull it out every now and then, and think about maybe wearing it; you'll shake it out and maybe try it on. You'll even take it for a spin around the living room or just around the block. And then you'll remember why you grew out of it in the first place. It will be too small and pinch in all the wrong places. It might make alluring curves in one spot, and then the light will hit just right, and you'll kick it off in a beat.
So a list of things hanging in my closet, that I refuse to throw out for sentimental value:
-May 1995. Third grade, end of the school year. Bad bangs, head bands, and funky jeans. My mom and I were waiting in the car to pick my sister up from school. I sobbed and sobbed that it was the last day of school. "You'll go back to school next year and your friends will all still be there." "But it won't be the same," I said. "We'll all be different." I think I remember this, simply because my mom didn't try to soften the blow of reality. "You're right," she said.
I still pull this out of the closet frequently. I don't try to squeeze into it any more, but sometimes I wish I could.
-Fall 2004. Knitted scarves were so in. So was Old Navy, Clark's on Belmont, Neffertiti's, and the Chicago stop on the Redline.
Thank God I grew out of that.
-Italy, Fall 2005. Nothing ever looked better on me than travel, scarves, and boots. They complimented my newly found charm. That brown hat ruined the ensemble completely, but it was a necessity.
Of all the outfits I'd like to wear again, it would be this. But I would leave the hat behind. We all make fashion mistakes.
-Summer and Fall 2k6. All I needed to wear was a tan. There was no need to comb out my hair.
I'm never letting this look go out. <3
-October 2006. I remember a cold goodbye on a windy and sunshiney day. The colors that season were dark. I retired that green cordoroy jacket after that day. Maybe if the green hadn't clashed with the grass, I would have kept it around.
Bright colors, blues and reds and patterns with hearts were in that summer, but went out more quickly than they ever came in. And who knows if they'll ever be back in?
-May 2008. College graduation, the last day, standing on the bridge over the Chicago River. I have a picture that captures my last moments as a college co-ed with my two best friends. We walked off the bridge, and seconds later, we were gone.
I pull this out a lot. I don't look as good in it any more; fashions change and varies from city to city. Besides, it just doesn't look as good without the rest of the line.
-Fall 2008. I don't need my helmet any more.... I hope.
-Summer 2009. My old brown slippers bought for the fall line of 2006. They were raggedy from walking the floor and through the snow. They couldn't keep up with the heat.
-Fall 2009. Fashion yet to be determined. But so far it has a lot to do with hats, sweat pants (in the air condition), and no shoes for when it's raining.
The best accessories are best friends, old and new.
I cried my eyes out when it was over. I sobbed more that day than I did on graduation day. In fact, I didn't cry on graduation day, even though I felt like maybe I should. I suppose that there were a lot of reasons I cried after that final concert. Stress, relief, giving up something that I loved. I don't know what the real reason was, but I think that right then, is when I said goodbye to my high school self. That person that I was, who I always have with me, ceased to be me and has just been with me since then. Mrs. Pearson hugged me that day, and told me that those were not the best years of my life. There were better ones to come. It doesn't always seem that way.
I remember that day with one of my favorite dresses. It's a strapless gray plaid dress that my mom and I bought for Homecoming that fall. I didn't end up wearing it until that concert, and have kept it because I love it so much. Every time I see it or wear it (yes, I still have it, it still fits, and I have worn it in the last year) I think of the ice cream social, and who I was at that time.
I suppose that who you are is kind of like the clothes that you keep in your closet. You know, those ones that you can't get rid of or will never forget because they were so wonderful or you wore all the time. I guess it's like a growing moment. You shed your old self and become your new self and just carry that old one with you. You take it off, fold it up, and put it in your suitcase. You'll pull it out every now and then, and think about maybe wearing it; you'll shake it out and maybe try it on. You'll even take it for a spin around the living room or just around the block. And then you'll remember why you grew out of it in the first place. It will be too small and pinch in all the wrong places. It might make alluring curves in one spot, and then the light will hit just right, and you'll kick it off in a beat.
So a list of things hanging in my closet, that I refuse to throw out for sentimental value:
-May 1995. Third grade, end of the school year. Bad bangs, head bands, and funky jeans. My mom and I were waiting in the car to pick my sister up from school. I sobbed and sobbed that it was the last day of school. "You'll go back to school next year and your friends will all still be there." "But it won't be the same," I said. "We'll all be different." I think I remember this, simply because my mom didn't try to soften the blow of reality. "You're right," she said.
I still pull this out of the closet frequently. I don't try to squeeze into it any more, but sometimes I wish I could.
-Fall 2004. Knitted scarves were so in. So was Old Navy, Clark's on Belmont, Neffertiti's, and the Chicago stop on the Redline.
Thank God I grew out of that.
-Italy, Fall 2005. Nothing ever looked better on me than travel, scarves, and boots. They complimented my newly found charm. That brown hat ruined the ensemble completely, but it was a necessity.
Of all the outfits I'd like to wear again, it would be this. But I would leave the hat behind. We all make fashion mistakes.
-Summer and Fall 2k6. All I needed to wear was a tan. There was no need to comb out my hair.
I'm never letting this look go out. <3
-October 2006. I remember a cold goodbye on a windy and sunshiney day. The colors that season were dark. I retired that green cordoroy jacket after that day. Maybe if the green hadn't clashed with the grass, I would have kept it around.
Bright colors, blues and reds and patterns with hearts were in that summer, but went out more quickly than they ever came in. And who knows if they'll ever be back in?
-May 2008. College graduation, the last day, standing on the bridge over the Chicago River. I have a picture that captures my last moments as a college co-ed with my two best friends. We walked off the bridge, and seconds later, we were gone.
I pull this out a lot. I don't look as good in it any more; fashions change and varies from city to city. Besides, it just doesn't look as good without the rest of the line.
-Fall 2008. I don't need my helmet any more.... I hope.
-Summer 2009. My old brown slippers bought for the fall line of 2006. They were raggedy from walking the floor and through the snow. They couldn't keep up with the heat.
-Fall 2009. Fashion yet to be determined. But so far it has a lot to do with hats, sweat pants (in the air condition), and no shoes for when it's raining.
The best accessories are best friends, old and new.
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