work

finally, some Christmas music

the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day

I am finally ready to embrace Christmas. I wish I could be all exemplary and everything and give y’all a profound lesson in patience and the proper way to observe Advent and all that, but no. I am generally shallow and Scrooge-y, or perhaps, Grinch-y because for teachers, December is the cruelest month.

Everything comes due in December if you’re in education. Grades, of course, are an overwhelming part of it — but when that gets bunched together with all the other stuff — well, it puts me in a foul mood so I ignore the holiday stuff going on around me. I don’t do Christmas shopping. I grudgingly attend the office party for the sake of politics. And I finish my work.

YES! I am done. Finished! Finis!

Nice that it usually coincides with the third week of Advent, isn’t it? That little pink candle that I light at dinner tonight is going to make me very very happy. Because now I can get ready. 

And while it’s a bit of a jump, I’ve been playing Christmas music in the office. Here’s my top 10 favorite Christmas songs:

1 What Child IS This?

2 O Holy Night

3 Do You Hear What I Hear?

4 It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

5 Silent Night

6 Angels We Have Heard on High

7 O Come All Ye Faithful

Hmmm. Did I say 10? I meant 7. That’s all I got at the moment. 🙂

wanna know how I sleep at night after I’ve turned in grades?

Not exactly the context the Holy Father was thinking about, but well, it works for me.

Interestingly, this is less about F’s, and more about C’s. Go figure.

“Charity will never be true charity unless it takes justice into account … Let no one attempt with small gifts of charity to exempt themselves from the great duties imposed by justice.”
Pope Pius XI, Divini Redemptoris , #49

“everything is everything”

I happened to catch a snippet of a conversation this afternoon that got me thinking about a number of things. No, I wasn’t eaves-dropping — I told you I feel creepy about doing that, but when people are speaking in their outside voices near me, well, I tend to be able to hear what they are saying, right? So this conversation went the usual route of generic greetings:

first woman: How’s everything with you?

second woman: Oh, you know, everything is everything.

Whoa. Everything is everything? Everything is everything. I love it. I don’t know what it means, but I love it. I could call my friend Jeff and use my cultural void card, but somehow, I don’t think this is an American idiom. Still, it stayed with me because there was something familiar about it. So of course, I used it as part of the poetry unit I’m currently teaching. The students have to put together a presentation, and I did a little search for some samples. I found it!

It’s a line in a Bruce Springsteen song, post 9/11, that speaks to the missing in the aftermath. It’s a pretty amazing song:

Well, here’s the exceptional part. The students loved the video, but pointed me in the direction of another song, this one by Lauryn Hill > Perhaps, dear reader, not your style here? Probably not, but I invite you to broaden your horizons a bit:

My favorite part of the whole exercise? They drew the following conclusion: “everything is everything” is the bridge, in the present, between the first video which mourns the past, and the second video, which is hopeful about the future.

How ’bout that?

to be, or not to be

One of the more difficult aspects of the teaching profession occurs after the courses are finished, the grades are submitted, and the euphoria of not having any deadlines settles in. It doesn’t last long because invariably a whole new set of deadlines crop up, but the euphoria is short-lived, replaced by a brief period of introspection.

Did I do a good job? Did I reach enough students? Have I made a difference? Did I unwittingly break someone?

Perhaps I am the only one who has these self-doubts, but I suspect it’s more widespread; we’re just in a hurry out of the building and don’t sit around discussing our insecurities.

After all, it takes a great deal of ego to do what we do. I need to face a group of adults (several times a week) and speak with the voice of authority, sure that what I am communicating is true, authentic, and …  well … right.

It’s easy to do in the classrooms that come right out of a Norman Rockwell painting, but the truth is that classrooms don’t look like that today. In fact, I’m cynical enough to believe those classrooms only existed in Rockwell’s paintings.

My reality is quite different.

My reality is filled with an astonishing collection of people from places that I cannot grasp, pursuing their own slice of the American pie.

After 25 years in the profession, I am still optimistic that there is enough pie to go around.

After 25 years in the profession, I am experienced enough to know that pie isn’t always good, or appropriate, or even useful.

The problem is arriving at that conclusion. I could never suggest to anyone that an education is out of reach. It runs against every fiber of my being. I serve the pie!

Still, I perform my job to the best of my abilities – some days very well, other days … I don’t know. I’ve heard teaching described as performance art – that’s a pretty good assessment. I don’t have many people asking for refunds, so I might be doing a fair job of it.

Anyway, I’ve lately suffered from more than the usual insecurities –so much so that I have questioned my career choice and whether it was time to try something else. The problem is that I don’t really want to do anything else, so I have to figure out what’s making me unhappy in the classroom.

I pulled out all the stops – rummaged through methodology texts, read crazy progressive articles on trending topics [one thing I can say about education is that if you wait a few years, everything will be recycled under a new name], read some of the dinosaurs in the profession.

I found my answer in the unlikeliest of places and could have face-palmed myself for not having gone there first…

St. Augustine of Hippo.

Now, I’ve often been amused by Augustine’s desire to be holy … but not quite yet. It figures I’d find him to be an interesting guy, but I was unprepared to have the answer to my dilemma laid out so nicely. You see, I teach Rhetoric, a fancy name for grammar, but it is much more. It is the art of human discourse.

I am steeped in human discourse. If you don’t believe me, visit my classroom.

Evidently, Augustine was steeped in human discourse, too. I admit that I am intrigued enough to study him some more. At any rate, he has just become my new patron saint because it seems he encountered the same challenges I face – more than 1500 years ago.

Ah. The more things change, the more they stay the same. If anything, we both work in the human condition. It turns out he also taught Rhetoric.  And developed a philosophy of education that mirrors the attitudes that I have pieced together over the years.

Don’t misunderstand me – I am not putting myself in Augustine’s … um … august … company. What I mean is that I have found illumination in his theory, and it has made all the difference.

First, he explains that there are three kinds of students:  1. Well-educated [a delight!] 2. Poorly-educated [ a challenge, but satisfying to teach] and 3. The poorly-educated who think they are brilliant [yes, he’s right—I see them all the time!]

This last group can make any teacher mad (in a clinically depressed way).  Those poor souls tax my last nerve, and they are numerous. Augustine has much to say about this last group, and it is here that I found consolation. He stressed the importance of teaching them the difference between having facts and having real knowledge.

To teach this 3rd category of student is truly a challenge. How does one teach someone to THINK? This is especially challenging in today’s world, where it seems like everyone is living in a heightened state of entitlement. The students who feel they deserve A’s because they exist fall into this phenomenon.

Augustine says these students must be helped to discover what they don’t know. Ha! Evidently I am good at that. He calls it the restrained style of teaching. Who knew what I was practicing was restraint?

Augustine also had some interesting things to say about teaching styles, and I have found myself following those, too. In one style he advocates using a lofty approach to find the beauty in knowledge for the sheer beauty of it, and in another he advocates a less showy appeal to passion/ I’m no St. Augustine (well, maybe in the sinner part) but I have found great consolation in his theories. If I’m going to revamp my approach in the classroom, I couldn’t have found a better and more timely model.

In Which the Honeymoon Ends

It is indeed over. They served us corn flakes for breakfast. With bananas, of course. Oh, and an assortment of fruit-filled breads. Still, a clear sign that they had moved on without us. Snack-time was no better. Along with the coffee, they put out an assortment of Quaker granola bars. I took two. I know – – I’m a rebel. That, and there’s no lunch today.

I won’t be home until late. There’s an afternoon session that I don’t think I’ll attend. It’s an additional really technical thing for which I have no mode of reference, and one of the Veeps has already bailed, and the other said he wasn’t staying for it, so I’ll have a couple of hours to kill at the hotel. I’ll be able to do some critical reading and writing. I have plenty to do and appreciate the captive audience part of my situation, me being the captive.

At any rate, the concierge is my new BFF. He very kindly confirmed my flight, printed my boarding pass, and ordered a shuttle to the airport.

And by the way, people who use big words ALL THE TIME bug me. So do people who make a freakin’ running commentary on stuff that is really important and really serious, like, oh, SACS maybe. SHUT UP! Okay, I feel better now.

P.S. stupid questions bug me, too. Maybe I’m just bugged. LOL!

Overall, I’d give an A to the conference, in spite of information overload, and an A+ to the hotel. No, I didn’t “accindentally” pack the fluffy bathrobe.

The flight home, on the heels of some scary weather, was okay. There was an obnoxious child that annoyed me in the boarding area, and fortunately for me, kicked the back of someone else’s seat on the flight. The flight itself was less than great, but brief. We took off in stormy weather (not Lena Horne’s version), and had a bumpy ride. Let’s just say that the flight provided the up and down, side to side jarring that I managed to avoid by going to EPCOT with Deborah. The descent was like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

Still, the pilot landed us safely, so he’s a contender for BFF along with the concierge.

There’s much to be said for Home Sweet Home.

Another update, maybe not so long

Day 2

Breakfast was tasty – – certainly not the Holiday Inn continental breakfast. Among other things, there was a French Toast soufle. Yummy. I sat with some interesting folks and we actually had a fantastic conversation about boring educational stuff that was relevant and useful. It’s a good thing – – the first session today has killed me. Killed. Me. Proof that having a lot of degrees and being in a position of power and knowledge does not equal finesse in delivery. The presenter redeemed himself by speaking some unpleasant truths, which is either stupid or courageous.

The other sessions were greatly improved, but nothing tops the luncheon. Wow. I’m thinking that these good folks realize that they are on a mission to destroy us by “talking us to death” so they are making amends by feeding us to death.

I’m writing my recap of the day from the hotel bar, drinking a $6 domestic beer and munching on some potato skins. It’s all I can stand to eat after the grilled salmon luxurious banquet at noon. I didn’t really intend to give you the gastronomic tour of the conference, but here I am, contemplating taking a walk before retiring to the welcome solitude of my room.

Let’s just say I am intellectually exhausted from the information overload, and definitely socially exhausted by all the schmoozing and networking. I am currently sitting across from a woman who seems equally content to sip on her wine and avoid social contact.

Maybe there’s a good movie on the tube tonight. On second thought, I imagine it won’t matter. The minute I hit the bed I’m gonna be snoring.

Update! Wow, this is long

The Flight

The flight to Orlando was pretty uneventful – – pleasant even, if you think squishing into coach for an hour or so could be pleasant. Nevertheless, it was, and here I am.

There was a woman on the flight that was screaming “educator” and while I’m going to be pretty careful about how I phrase this, the truth is, I look like an educator, too. I won’t go into too many details, but it involves sensible shoes and a certain alert-while-simultaneously-distracted look. I confirmed my brilliant analysis in the shuttle to the terminal when I saw that she was carrying a conference registration packet. In a totally out of character move (if given a choice, I’d rather not engage anyone in small talk, least of all a total stranger) I pulled a John Johnson and started a conversation. By the time we got to baggage claim, we had decided to share a taxi [hold onto your seat—a taxi from the airport is like $100 – – get out!].

My new friend and I stood around the information booth when the mob of other “educators” showed up. Lucky for us all, the folks who rented cars took us over. Phew! As a mob, teachers are pretty good with problem-solving.

The Hotel

Wow. What an incredible facility. I am so sorry that I am here alone and engaged in workshops instead of enjoying all the amenities with the family. Just with the room I am in heaven. After checking in and checking out the incredible room (comfy bed/huge TV/ delux bathroom/FLUFFY BATHROBE! I know I sound like a country bumpkin who only goes to Motel 6). I sat in the lobby and enjoyed the complimentary lemonade to the delicious and soothing sound of a beautiful fountain.

Could this be a spa and  work?

The First Session

I barely had time to settle into the room before I had to attend the opening session. I was totally prepared to doodle and write while tuning out the goofy stuff.

To my surprise, the speaker was totally engaging. She looks like Edna from The Incredibles. She could barely be seen from behind the podium, but her presentation packed a wallop (wollop? which one?). This was followed by an awesome reception. I was surprised by an open bar, but hey, I’m not complaining! Chicken tenders and bite-sized Cuban sandwiches rounded out the snacks.

I ended up back at the room, brewed a pot of coffee, and lounged in the lap of luxury while writing this longhand. I’ll have to hit the cybercafe early to get this posted. In the meantime, enjoying the juxtaposition of work and luxury.