Farmer Joe

An encourager of mine always refers to my work in the classroom as the work of a farmer: I am planting seeds each day, tilling the soil, praying for rain & a plentiful crop when the time is right. I may never see some of the fruits of my labor; if I am lucky enough to witness the budding of a harvest, it may not be anytime soon. It is hard work, and "in the farming world, some soil is especially tough to till and needs to be hammered repeatedly with a pickax before anything even has a chance at taking root" (thanks, JWN). I've been doing some hammering with my pickax these past couple weeks, and I am tired. I am weary from this work, from the heavy conversations I overhear between students, from the administrative tasks we have to complete, from students' attitudes, and from my ever-present desire to inspire and yet feeling like my attempts fall flat.

A little wisdom was sent my way today in the form of this Sunday's Epistle (James 5:7-10). I was specifically drawn to a portion of this upcoming reading: "The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient." I will! I will! Especially when the Lord gives me glimpses of the harvest, as He did today:

I have a student in my Freshmen English class who is actually a Senior. She has been held back in English alone because it is her weakest area and because she has failed the TAKS test the past three years in a row. In order to graduate, she needed to pass the TAKS test this fall. She took the test about a month ago and today received the news that she did, indeed, pass. She's going to graduate! And she stayed after class to thank me for working with her- that she was so grateful for my patience & so relieved to not feel burdened by that test anymore. You can just call me Farmer Joe: "In the highways, in the hedges, I'll be somewhere workin' for my Lord..." (O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack. Forgive me, I have a one track mind for all things Odyssey these days...)

WHACTE Scholarship

I recently applied for an "Empowering Young Leaders" scholarship offered through the West Houston Area Council of Teachers of English; "Co-sponsored with Glencoe/McGraw-Hill, a $1,500 award will be granted to a promising first through fifth year teacher who will teach English/Language Arts in a WHACTE membership school district this year." I decided to go ahead and post pieces of my application to give y'all a better picture of my hopes & goals as an educator.  

 “Why I Chose Education”

            Through my travels, studies, and personal experiences, I have seen a fair amount of pain in this world, which has created in me a heart for people, their stories, struggles, triumphs, and hopes. In discerning my career path, I knew that I would work closely with others. I wanted to work in an environment that allowed my voice to encourage and inspire, to counteract the pieces of life that aren’t so easy to bear.  William Faulkner refers to this same voice in his 1950 Nobel Prize acceptance speech:   

[Man] has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet’s voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail. 

I wanted the opportunity to lift others in this way, to help them not only endure but prevail in a bruised and broken world. Just as writers and poets use their voices as pillars to help their readers prevail, teachers use their voices as props to help their students triumph.  Because I was seeking to exercise my voice in this way, the classroom was a logical choice for me. I was naturally drawn to youth for several reasons, though: I am abounding in patience, compassion, and am somewhat of a fireball; I knew my personality would lend itself well to the teaching world. I primarily chose education because it was the most direct way for me to lift the hearts of the people which will someday carry society on its shoulders. It is my privilege to provide a little constancy and peace for my students and a place in which they feel comfortable taking risks, asking questions, exploring their world, and simply being human.

What is your educational philosophy?

Education of the mind is important, but education of the heart must also occur. I enter my classroom each day with this in mind. If my students leave my class with a greater understanding of themselves and with a greater concern for others, it matters little to me whether they can identify the secondary characters in Shakespeare's tragedies. What matters most is that as educators, we shape a future people able to contribute to society and courageous enough to be selfless, determined, and globally oriented. 

What inspired you to become an English/Language Arts teacher?

English was always my favorite subject, not because I was a particularly gifted writer or speed reader, but because it allowed me the opportunity to discuss life, the self, and the human condition. I constantly refer to Bishop Desmond Tutu’s quote, “My humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together.” The English classroom can be a place in which students discover what it means to “be human together.” We read of others’ tales of humanity, and we write about what makes up our own humanity, making connections between both. What a privilege to see students making these discoveries.

Why should you be the recipient of this scholarship?

I am surrounded by wonderful teachers in Texas, in Houston, and more specifically, at Northbrook High School. Our school has for years flown under the radar. We are not a flagship school of the district. Our test scores are not impressive, and a good number of our students will not go on to college, but I have the privilege of being a part of a wonderful team at Northbrook. Our school needs (and should be given the opportunity) to provide our students with the same hope for a future that a student “across the tracks” enjoys. My hope is that this scholarship might be used to enable students to see the possibility of a greater future for themselves. I should be the recipient of this scholarship so that students who come from the disadvantaged environment in which I work can at least see a glimpse of what more privileged students have seen since the advent of their education. I would use this scholarship to somehow dare my students to want more.

PROFANITY

Transcript from class just now
Student A: "Man, F*** that."
Ms. H: GASP. "I sincerely hope I didn't just hear what I think I just heard. Did I really hear that out of your mouth? I really really hope not."
Student B: "Miss, do you say bad words?"
Ms. H: "Errrr."
Student C: "Miss, do you know a word that starts with an F- and ends in -U-C-K?"
Ms. H: "I'm not going to say it. You can't trick me."
Student C: "You don't want to say FIRETRUCK?"


So clever.

Cool English Teacher

Of course I do nothing like the guy in this video (pshhh), but LITERALLY THE LAST 3 SECONDS ARE HOW I ENDED CLASS TODAY. OOPS. GLAD I'M RIDICULOUS.

go to sleep you little baby

I sang to my students today (connection to the sirens in The Odyssey- which we're reading next week) and then played them the corresponding clip (below) from O Brother, Where Art Thou? They very quickly understood the concept of the scene, and one asked if I was trying to seduce him. No, child. No.

go to sleep you little baby (O Brother, Where Art Thou?) 
go to sleep you little baby (as performed by Emmy Lou Harris, Gillian Welch, & Alison Krauss) 

"Love, your 7th prd"

BAHAHA

Meet Dorina

"He did it with all of his heart, and prospered."
2 Chronicles 31:21

 
Even though my kids have shown some waning excitement about our Mustard Seed Sponsorship (as shown through their contributions), I feel strongly about this organization and have decided that despite little funds from my students' pockets, I am moving forward and have begun a sponsorship. 

So, meet Dorina Kayesu. She is a P1 student at the Sonrise Primary School in Rwanda. According to her student information page, she has a generally shy personality. Her assigned chores are washing dishes and fetching water. Her favorite subject is English, and she wants to be a teacher when she grows up. (How could I not sponsor this child? Especially after reading that her Other Interests are simply, "Worship.") And will you just look at those eyes? I love her already. 

More information on the Sonrise Primary school and Bishop Rucyahana's mission here. And check out all the other missional organizations that SJD supports here.

Bump, Set, Spike it! Or not...

I am officially not coaching next year! Wahoo! I literally just spoke with the Varsity coach after school (verrry difficult conversation to have- so glad to have it out of the way & to still be alive). Below are pictures that serve as a tribute to my time as Coach Hunt. It was fun while it lasted! I just have too many other things I want to accomplish, and coaching wasn't quite at the top of the list.

How I entertained myself on the bench during A team games. (Notice the cut-off "Tigers Suck" on the right.)

Freshmen A team with Coach I

Freshmen B team with their ridiculous Coach. I totally made them do this pose. Sound of Music style.

The Lesson by Don Linehan

Then Jesus took his disciples up the mountain and

gathering them around him, he taught them, saying

blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the

kingdom of heaven

blessed are the meek

blessed are they that mourn

blessed are the merciful

blessed are they who thirst for justice

blessed are you when persecuted

blessed are you when you suffer

be glad and rejoice for your reward is great in heaven

try to remember what I'm telling you

Then Simon peter said

                 Will this count?
and Andrew said

                 Will we have a test on it?

and James said

                When do we have to know it for?

and Phillip said

                And how many words?

and Bartholomew said

                Will I have to stand up in front of the others?

and John said

                The other disciples didn't have to learn this

and Matthew said

               How many marks do we get for it?

and Judas said

              What is it worth?

and the other disciples likewise.

Then one of the Pharisees who was present

asked to see Jesus' lesson plan

and inquired of Jesus

his terminal objectives in the cognitive domain

and Jesus wept.

My day in a nutshell...

Childress Academic Achievement Dinner

Honoring our honors students last night at Freebirds!

My Freshmen smarty-pants

Ms. Hunt & Mrs. Castillo- Freshmen Childress teachers unite!

Defiance

I had two students openly defy me in front of the class yesterday morning (Wednesday). Not abnormal, that's for sure. What made the situation abnormal, though, and what actually hurt my feelings, is that it was two girls with whom I have built excellent rapport- one is the very same girl to whom I lent $40 so she wouldn't have to run 40 suicides in Volleyball for not turning in her Serve-A-Thon money on time (don't worry, she paid me back the very next day). I was standing there, hands on hips,  heart rising in my throat, and tears stinging the backs of my eyes (for several reasons), realizing that regardless of the things that I'd done for this student in the past, regardless of the encouragement I'd given her and notes I'd written her, she still goes home every night to a pit. She is still a troubled student. She needs me to be consistent. She needs to see me smile at her everyday and have something solid to lean on, and she definitely still needs to be put in her place.  It may be more difficult, however, to manage her in class now because I did show her so much concern and so much care outside of class and within Volleyball. Such a fine line.

Happy Monday, love ya.

Goodbye to Coach Hunt!

I am happy to say that my role as Coach Hunt has come to an end- the Volleyball season wrapped up this past Tuesday, and while I am ecstatic to have my Tuesday and Friday nights (and afternoons and random weekends...) back to myself, I did enjoy the ride. On October 16th, Coach Ikhimokpa and I lead the girls in a Tully Stadium clean-up program fundraiser during the Memorial vs. Taylor football game. 

On our way! Last time on a bus all together!

Yes, they gave me the keys to a John Deere Gator. And a walkie talkie. What a joke.

Syreeta- my sista from another mista

After the clean-up, we hopped the yellow bus, went back to Northbrook, and settled in for an all-night lock-in at school. We scrimmaged for hours, played dodgeball, watched movies, & made up incredibly messy games involving chocolate. I made it to 4 a.m. and then passed out on a gymnastics mat on the gym floor (yes, I did remember a pillow) whilst watching Paranormal Activity with Flamin' Hot cheetos & Big Red making a halo about my head.

Varsity gals

Wee hours of Sunday morning waiting for parents to pick up the girls. Sweet little Emily, Garcia's future step-daughter- I followed her around for several hours but for the sake of space am only putting up one picture. How precious is she?!

TGFS (Thank Goodness For Summers)

It enrages me when people say, "It must be nice to get your summers off." Yes, it is nice. Nice because without it, teachers would be frequently found locked in janitors' closets buried beneath a mountain of pencil shavings and thousands of pointy pencils covering the floor. Perhaps having shaved their heads with the razors that the nurse dispenses to boys caught with sideburns past their earlobes.  And perhaps having stolen the volleyball lock-box to lock up classroom markers, pens, pencils, tape, and staplers (yes, staplers) that disappear into the abyss that only thieving students know the location of. Or perhaps there wouldn't be any teachers at all; they'd all have pulled an Ophelia and jumped in the school swimming pool. 

I know other people work hard. I know I am not the only one who deserves a summer. And I know there are those in our world who actually do believe that "those who can, do, and those who can't, teach." Of those individuals I request two things: stop spitting disdain at the people who are going to have your children in class one day, and watch this.

Mustard Seed Project

 If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to the mountain, "Move" and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.
   - Matthew 17:2

Look what I'm doing with my Childress classes! To encourage (and let's be candid, basically force) my students to be generous young people, we're going to sponsor a Rwandan child and her education at the Sonrise Primary School in Musanze, Rwanda through a non-profit called the Mustard Seed Project. My church here in Houston has specific ties to the organization and connected me to their available sponsorships. It's a truly remarkable organization, and my kids are super excited to be involved, especially after my stealthy planning and explanation of the project: in our Root Words Lesson for the week, I gave my kids the root word "gen," meaning race, kind, and "cide," meaning cut down, kill. From there, we talked about what genocide was- I asked them if they were aware of any examples of genocide throughout history. Most classes were pretty quick to list the Holocaust, but beyond that, they had some difficulty. Enter, Rwanda mini-lesson and terrifically effective video from the Mustard Seed Project. 

Take a few minutes to watch this video- it is so well done. Can't wait to have enough money to start our sponsorship!

Steel Dahlias

I gave a ride home to one of my Volleyball girls earlier this week: slightly illegal and against UIL regulation, but c'mon, the fourteen-year-old girl was going to walk the sixteen blocks home in the dark (no family car). No way. I could not allow the possibility of another attack. (Freshmen girl was attacked while walking home a couple weeks ago. It was 6 PM.) On the ride home, she painted a picture of her family life for me: single mother with three kids in high school, one of whom is 16 and pregnant. Pretty girl. Mother dating an atrocious man who only comes around when there's money available. Brother who's been in and out of jail and who comes home sometimes. Small apartment, pretty dark surroundings.

This particular student had broken down in class a couple weeks ago, and I'd excused her to the bathroom to clean herself up and dry her face. I asked her about that day. Her reply: "Life's just heavy, and I'm not that strong." Oh, my dear. But you are.

I've seen the statistics. I've been "made aware" of the tough situations students are put in. I've read the stories and even written my limited responses to the texts. But it is a far different thing to see it written across a young girl's face rather than simply written in a book required for an Education class. It just breaks my heart. Steel Magnolias? No, Steel Dahlias. My classroom is a garden blooming with them, and it is Springtime year 'round.

My Kids

Goodness gracious, I love my kids. Momma thinks it’s funny that I call my students “my kids,” but I’ve been thinking recently about how fitting it is that I do. They’re the closest things I’ve ever had to children. Every day I’m doing some of the same things a parent might do for his or her child: I pour myself out for them. I try to convince them of the importance of their education. I watch over them. I discipline them (except when they crack me up with their antics. See below picture and meet Samuel). I feel responsible for them. 

 I feel a little silly having become so attached to a group of 14- and 15-year-old punks. Perhaps that’s simply the nature of your first group of students. Perhaps I’m a corny sap with Starbucks in her veins. Probably it’s a combination of both.

One of my students said this to me today: “It’s kind of funny that you say 'Love y'all!" all the time. I mean you only see us for 50 minutes a day, Miss.” Though speaking a truth about how much time I actually spend with my students, the student failed to realize that when I look at him, I don’t just see another face. I don’t just see the skin, the eyes, the expression, or the name. I see the creation behind it. I see my kids as God’s children. I’m picturing Luis in 2^nd period, who rallied the class together and dubbed me “Abuelita Coco” because apparently “Coconut Grandmother” is a fitting name for me? (Today I was “Abuelita Banana” because I’m wearing a yellow sweater dress). I’m picturing Marlin in 4^th, who made friends with the “loner” in his class and invited him to join his discussion group. I’m picturing Florence in 7^th, who just loves to give me hugs and allow me a bird’s eye view of her cornrows. I’m picturing Jamie in 4^th, who I know hates English but whose smallest effort or involvement in class makes my careful and strategic lesson-planning well worth it. And I’m picturing Vanessa in 3^rd, who I truly appreciate because she sits there, leaning forward and nodding, as if to say, “Yeah, I get it. Keep going.”
 
I just gotta love 'em.

Just say "NO" to Fried Cookie Dough

I was fortunate enough to have gotten food poisoning this weekend from the fine dining at the TX State Fair (see blob in picture). After realizing Sunday afternoon that I would not make it through my flight without getting sick (which would have made it the second time I'd gotten sick whilst riding public transportation in 24 hours- my apologies to the sweet grandmother & grandson I was sitting next to on the Dart and who provided me with a bag), I changed my flight and enjoyed Sunday evening at the Johnson household (more on what a blessing that was later). I requested a sub and flew home yesterday instead.

After walking into my classroom this morning, however, and seeing what disarray (both within my actual classroom and within my children's heads) I now have to try to fix, I basically burst into tears. I'd never gotten a substitute before and didn't understand the process- I just didn't do it right, apparently, and my Department Chair had to cover my tracks, which just makes me look grreeeeat. I am looking at the kids' notes from the lesson, and they are nowhere near where I'd wanted them to end up. The substitute's notes were not encouraging. I realize that my kids are unruly. You don't need to tell me that. I realize that they can only "express gross generalizations" and have a "seeming inability to express their opinions about the characters in the story." I'm working on it. Most of the time, if your students give you bad answers, maybe it was a bad question to begin with. While seeing my class through the eyes of an outsider has really discouraged me, seeing the way another person handled my classroom has encouraged me slightly. There is only one person who can be me. I am the only person who knows the jokes to share with certain students or certain classes. I am the one who has built these relationships and who has made these references and created these expectations and procedures. There is only one person who knows that Maricruz in 7th period isn't glaring at you- she squints because she can't afford glasses. I am the only one who knows that Luis and Samuel in 2nd period need to sit together because Luis needs his best friend to help "break things down" for him, which is help that I readily welcome. (And who cares if they're a bit chatty sometimes? They help each other learn!) I am the one who understands that you cannot just ask them any question. It has to be the right one. 
At least I know that I am needed. I am thankful for that. Not everyone can say that about their jobs.

Sharing is Caring

I'm currently sprawled out on the floor of my classroom, grading papers, listening to iTunes radio (because Pandora is blocked at school- grrrr) and generally examining my class from the perspective of a rug rat. I'm glancing up at the growing number of books on my shelves with a certain amount of pride. 
As an English teacher seriously attached to some of her favorite novels, I have often been saddened when I realize that a beloved borrowed book was never returned. While the books in my classroom certainly aren't valuable, and most were either donated or purchased for $1 at a resale shop or garage sale, my personal books- the ones whose company I seek after a long day of being surrounded by children- are the books I have a difficult time parting with. In an effort to overcome my fear of lending my "companions" to real friends, I have purchased a set of custom bookplates! (Obviously, I'm not Sarah...they will come printed with "Emily.")

I found this design on etsy, but there are tons of templates and designs out there to choose from (try Martha Stewart). This particular design was made from the final pages of a very very old children's Hymnal, the idea of which obviously made me quickly drop that prize find into my online shopping cart. I can't wait to add this touch to my books- call me a dork, but I just love my books too much to not take care of them! Especially since it's my money that's now buying them...(Love you, Momma and Pa).

Also, if any of you are looking for a Christmas present for me (or someone who loves Classics- since Christmas really is sort of right around the corner, tee hee) or just want to send me a little care package as if I am a camper again, I am absolutely dying for a set of Penguin Classics in their clothbound hardcover versions. I simply must have Little Women and Pride and Prejudice. Oh, and Emma! Aren't they just beautiful? (Thanks to my friend Katie, whose blog is a smorgasbord of pretty things and pictures! Thanks KT!) A perfect complement to the words behind the cover...back to grading...

Childress Foundation Academy (CFA)

To elaborate on one of my roles within Northbrook, I teach English within a specialized Academy designed for students who have shown a certain amount of potential and who, with a little extra push and support, could go on to college. To be admitted, students are identified and recommended by their 8th grade teachers, and to remain in the Academy must participate in a number of service-based projects throughout the year, maintain high grades, and generally behave themselves. (No babies or drugs. You think I'm being silly.) The Childress Foundation Academy was created by Ray Childress, a former Houston Oiler and Northbrook Raider. When I was first asked to join the Childress ranks before the start of school, I was telling Bobby about the Academy, and he asked, "Oh, Ray Childress, as in the big oiler?" I literally thought he meant he was some big oil and gas name in the industry. My response: "Yeah! The very one!" No clue.

This Saturday was the very first project that I've been able to participate in (because of my Volleyball tournament schedule); we traveled via yellow dog to Galveston to volunteer in a beach clean-up along with other Houston-area service-based organizations and school groups. Of course, I was crowned "photographer" and documented the day, both for my own benefit and that of the Academy's. Enjoy!

Some of my Childress Freshmen- Class of 2014! Can't wait to see them gradumitate.

My best friend in the world, Blair, is in PA school at UTMB and was able to pop by during the lunch portion of our trip, a grill-out right across the street from the beach. I hadn't seen her since July- missed that face! Such a rare treat that she got to meet some of my kids. So glad to have seen her- we only needed Gig there to complete the trio. 

Gig: Blair and I have decided that you've been away from TX long enough. Move back. We're too poor to buy plane tickets.

This week marks the first week that my appraiser has access to my classroom and can do walk-throughs to critique my work and progress, and it's the last week of the six-weeks (grading cluster). Oh, and we play Stratford on Friday (i.e. will be slaughtered). Prayers would be greatly appreciated. OU weekend will be a golden nugget after the next five days. Hook 'em! (Even after yesterday's game...)

Evil teacher

Is it evil to pray that a certain student won't show up today? He makes me feel like an idiot. This "Love and Logic" discipline management program that the district follows does nothing for this student. I've been told that with his track record, he will likely drop out soon. I want to have hope and believe that I can make an impact- at least let the student know that adults aren't out to get him- but at some point I have to let reality sink in. I will have students who choose to fail. I have to let go. 

Praying for Syreeta this morning as she heads into surgery. Lord, calm her nerves!

Jarritos

I bought a Mandarina Jarritos (Mexican soda) at a gas station near school the other day. I love them. It was to be a treat for later in the week (i.e. something to keep me from strangling the next child that asks if he can go to the bathroom two minutes into the period.) 

A few days later, after I’d enjoyed my sweet treat at lunch and successfully resisted strangulation, the empty bottle sat on my desk for my afternoon classes. One of my students came up to my desk, glanced at the bottle, glanced at me, glanced back at the bottle, and asked, “So Miss, are you like Mexican on the inside?” Why yes. As a matter of fact, I am. Thank you, El Paso and San Antonio roots. And thank you, God, for bringing me to a place that speaks to this part of me. Makes me smile. 

Vaya con Dios, mis amigos!

Making our blueprints.

My students are in the process of completing blueprints of some of their favorite places. I modeled this pre-writing activity for them, drawing the blueprint of one of my favorite places on Earth: the Cabin in Ruidoso, NM. After blueprinting for them, I told them stories that took place in different rooms of the cabin and the areas around the cabin (the time Jamie hooked his own ear when trying to cast off with his fishing pole and squiggly worm bait, the time Grandmommy taught all the kids to play poker at ages 8-10, the time I gave my cousin a black eye by chunking a book at her head in the pink room). The idea behind this pre-writing activity is that certain places hold dozens of memories, and more importantly, dozens of stories that we can use to develop into full narratives.
Some of my students chose their grandmothers' houses to blueprint, others drew outlines of their apartment or house, and others drew the blueprints for their entire apartment complexes. Glancing through some of these blueprints and looking at the memories that some students associate with different places, I found a few such as these: "The time I saw my homegirl get beat by her Mom." "When my neighbor killed his wife and then himself." "When my Dad got drunk and passed out near the fire." "The last place I saw my Dad."
Don't be fooled. I certainly received some more family-friendly responses: "When I jumped off the roof with my brother and broke my arm." "The time I was locked in the storage closet for hours because the chicken outside the door scared me." "When the dog dug a hole through the fence and I had to chase him around the block." 

Quite a spectrum. How can I possibly reach them all? How can I reach the most students with the ten fingers and one brain and one mouth that I have?

My student, Marlin.

I have a student in class and literally the only reason I remember his name is because every time I look at him, I picture Nemo's Dad. You try learning 120 students' names when you have 15 Vanessa's, 10 Jorge's, and a whole lot of Francisco's.

"My Person"

Yesterday in class, the kids were responsible for a Writing Workout in their RAW Book journals, answering the following prompt: "Tell me a story about how someone in your life may have made an impact on you."  The title of this Writing Workout? "My Person."

(Recently we have been reviewing narrative elements (plot, characterization, setting, conflict, and theme), and I encouraged them to incorporate those elements into their stories. Our Freshmen English team is going to be looking at these writing samples to see what we need to tackle and where the holes are in their understanding.)

In explaining the Writing Workout prompt, I gave them tons of examples of who they could write about- a teacher who took a special interest in them, a friend who helped them with a problem, a mentor or coach who may have taught them a specific lesson, a parent who taught them the meaning of respect, a sister who may have showed them why it's important to work hard, etc. Most students immediately bent their heads into their writing, eager to put a pen to paper about their "person." Others took some prodding and questioning to come up with their "person," which I did as I walked around the room reading over some of their shoulders.

I stopped by one student's desk because I saw a blank page. I figured he was having trouble coming up with his "person," which indeed he was. I kneeled by his desk (thank you, Dr. Shiring) and launched into a series of questions about the people in his life. I asked about close friends or relatives, anyone who may have taught him something about life or helped him make a decision (either right or wrong); I asked him about friends who may have lead him to do something or people that have come and gone from his life; I asked him about teachers who may have shown him that they cared in some way; I said, "You can think of someone. You didn't become the way you are today without someone's help." He just stared at his paper. I talked to him for a full five minutes. Each question I asked was met with either a shake of his head or a "No, there's no one like that," or "Miss, I can't think of anyone." He was not being lazy- I could see it in his eyes. Sure, if I had sat there and dug deeper, I probably could have helped him come up with a minor character that had played a role in his life and impacted him in some way, but that's just it. The character would have been minor. He didn't have and hadn't had anyone in his life make a big enough impression on him to make him want to write a paragraph telling me how.

The five minutes I spent kneeling at his desk was all the time it took for me to feel the weight of the reality of some of these kids' lives. Some kids have no one. They do not feel cared for. One of my students wrote in his journal, "I feel like a stranger in this place."
Where are these kid's "persons?"  

Well, I made it a week and a half before crying!

It wasn't a sobfest or a complete meltdown, but my tears did make their first appearance yesterday. Sitting in a Freshmen English team meeting, I simply became overwhelmed thinking about everything I want to impart to my kids and everything I am trying to do within Volleyball. The academic curriculum is a mile-and-a-half long; we only have so many days with these kids, and they only have so much energy to give us! The Volleyball teams are all over the place because we had such low numbers in the beginning- many are only just now beginning to come to practice and compete in games.

I feel as if I'm being pulled in so many different directions, trying to succeed in all these areas, and in the process I am not succeeding within any of them. Of course, I am being tough on myself. I am my worst critic, as most teachers are. Things are going fine. They really are. I am just soooo dang tired, and I just wish I had more time, more energy, more creativity, more resources, and more hands to do everything it is that I want to do. It seems like the 5-year-old version of Emily Hunt has not changed.

Welcome to Ms. Hunt's classroom

To those with whom I have shared this blog: 

Welcome! I have for awhile wanted an avenue through which I could share my first-year teaching experiences and stories, and I thought a blog would be just the ticket. 

When beginning the job application process a few months ago, I marveled at the number of schools out there. How did teachers end up where they were? There are so many! What would ultimately pull me to the school that I'd end up in? At the time, I had my hopes and heart set on staying at Austin High (where I completed my student teaching), but as He always does, the Lord moved in ways that I had not expected nor wanted. When my applications were failing to yield any calls or interviews, I feverishly began applying to any and every school I could find online and even opened my reach to Dallas and Fort Worth. I got my first interview in July, though, and I (and Momma and Pa) were certainly relieved.The Principal offered me the position on the spot, and though I wasn't to give him an answer for another week (and in the meantime receive another offer at an Episcopal school in SA, which I hesitatingly turned down), I left the building thinking, "How the heck did I end up here?" I never expected to be working in a school I'd never even heard of, and yet, I now find myself at that same "here": Northbrook High School in Spring Branch ISD, Houston, TX.

My first week went well. There were no fights. No students cried. They paid attention and answered questions when I asked them. All in all, I have good kids. Most are kind and follow directions well. I am definitely going to have my work cut out for me, though. Students speak Spanish across the room to each other and refuse to tack on the name "Hunt" to "Miss." I've started ignoring students who don't call me by my full name. My typical response: "How would you like it if I just called you 'Boy' and expected you to come running?" I am building good rapport, though. They think I'm funny (sometimes). 

It is amazing how much slower I have to go with them because of the number of ELLs I have in class. I cover half as much in a period than I did within AHS. I am going to have to be very very deliberate and careful with my lesson selections- I thought I had so little time to cram everything into the students' heads LAST semester. I am going to have to layer skill upon skill upon text upon text. I am going to learn so much this year. I expect to be frustrated. I expect to be tired (all the time). I expect to mess up. I expect students to disappoint me. But I also expect to have a pretty incredible year. The administration is great, and the other Freshmen Volleyball coach has become my fast friend (i.e. Happy Hour companion). I haven't found a Chilango equivalent here yet, though, but then again, it's only the first week of the year.

I know I am supposed to be here. I have been reading some of my students' writing from the first week's assignments, and it truly breaks my heart to hear of some of the things they've dealt with in their 14 or 15 years: death of friends, loss of babies, responsibilities I haven't even seen at age 22. I hope they enjoy my class. I hope they learn to enjoy reading. I hope they learn to enjoy writing. My constant prayer is that my day will never cease to be about them- about their growth as academic learners and their growth as human beings clinging to this crazy world we live in. May my hands be His hands.

I could really use a nap. Or a hazelnut latte.