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.