We Looked Like Giants

or
TFA Induction / Institute update.

Her name is Destiny. She sits on the second row of my classroom but when Kimbo isn't there (I somehow became cool enough to call Kimberly by her friends only nickname), she moves to the front row. She has little issue sitting next to our special students with autism during class, though she sometimes falls into the class habit of treating his as though he has an infectious disease. She wears a purple lumberjack / hipster-esque hoodie to school everyday to handle the subfreezing classrooms. She's in seventh grade. She reads at a fifth grade level. She hates math - when she feels like she can't understand math equations, she shuts off. You can see her eyes checkout of class and hear in her sigh when you ask her to solve a multiplication problem that she just doesn't get. But in reading class, I ask her to tell me a point of view and describe it. She proudly sounds out om-ni-scient, just like we practiced as a class. She says it means "all-knowing." "Is Kevin all-knowing," I ask her, referencing another student in the class. Kevin reads at a 3rd grade level. He is 12. "No!" several students call out. they're breaking one f our class rules, but I let it slide because last Thursday, no one answered any questions. This week generall at least 4 raise their hands every time I ask for a fact or a thought.

Destiny and the other scholars at Room 33. They're why I teach for America.

But that's my class at the middle level. They're compliant and on task... if I don't count Marco, who let's his hair swing over his eyes and refuses to read out loud in class. Or Nadia who needs to be reminded to read instead of coloring in the pictures ("I know you can do it Nadia, let's answer the questions together"). Or Ricky who says at least four times a day that this is all "too hard..." even though he can list off the step to find theme in his sleep. He can tell you how, but he can't execute. And so far, I haven't figured out how to help him. I've got 11 more days.


Teach for America so far has been a whirlwind. I've met people that I know will be some of my best friends for a long time. And I've met people who irritate the crap out of me (i.e. the girl who draws unicorns on everything. Really, why are you doing that?). And I've met a precious few, like maybe 2, that I'm not really sure I trust to teach America. I've had a million and a half conversations about politics, social activism, personal belief systems, and a ton of other things that fill the minds of the "type" that TFA attracts. Oh there is definitely a type. Idealistic, naive, smart, goal oriented, type-A. I've never sat in a room with so many people that I immediately felt camaraderie with. And now that we've all lived through three weeks of Institute (an exerience like no other), there's a bond that we'll never be able to explain to others. Yeah, it's partly about staying up until 2am to finish a lesson plan (or 3). But it's also about the feeling you get when a kid writes a summary to a story about weaving... that he's been reading for about 15 minutes... and writes about waving goodbye to a friend. Its an immeasurable sadness and a sense of frustration and definitely being overwhelmed that, like, this kid made it to 7th grade without so many basic reading comprehension skills. And then its a sense of urgency that, like, maybe we're not outstanding teachers yet, maybe we're not even really sure what we're doing on this rollercoaster out in LA, but we have a duty to every student we encounter to help them as much as possible in the time we have left together.

Angel wrote at the end of his assessment today: "I hope you like it Ms, I did the best I could" (with a few more spelling errors). It definitely made me cry, because I know he's being honest. I just want to help his best be at an ability level that will let him succeed next year in middle school. I'll be honest - I'm not entirely sure that's going to happen for Angel this summer. But I do know that everyday we're both learning a lot. That's a start.

So, yeah. That's just such a small small part of my story since I left Alabama. I love Kansas City (based on the week I was there) and am so excited to move back. I don't particularly like LA, though the weather is fantastic. Santa Monica is pretty awesome. I don't sleep nearly enough. Today was TFA Day which is why I suddenly have time to blog lol. And my English class of 17 is awesome. :) As for updating again, I shall try... but it might not be until August. There are many lesson plans to write and many assessments to grade. :)

With love,
Shelli

One Less Bell to Answer

I've been writing for hours but I haven't written anything worth reading. But isn't that the life story of the English major? This sounds conceited, so take it at face value. I know I'll get an A on this paper. It's pretty good, and undoubtedly way better than most of the other papers that will be turned in tomorrow at 2:00pm. But I know the truth - it's mediocre at best. With time and a little more concern from me, it could be great. Right now, at 12:30am, if I have to write one more sentence about perfume I'll kill someone. So I'm taking a break. And writing something else. But isn't that the life story of the English major?

I haven't been much of anywhere. I fancy myself really cultured because I took art history in elementary and middle school and because I listen to NPR and because I read... but the sad truth is that I've spent most of my life tucked away into a corner of Alabama in a corner of Southern America in a corner of the world.

What I have done is driven down highway 280 about 100 times since my freshman year of college. Sometimes I talk on the phone, sometimes I listen to music. But tonight I rolled down my window and turned off my radio and I rode with my thoughts and the wind that rustled between assaulting my cheekbones with cold sharp jabs and gently brushing the front locks of my hair across my nose. I was somewhere between Dadeville and Alexander City when I saw a baby deer standing on the side of the road. I've heard that there are lots of deer in Alabama on the roads and such, which explains those deer crossing signs, but I don't think I have ever noticed one just standing on the side of the road like she was. I say she. Maybe he. But something about deer and her eyes that looked mournfully at me as my squeaking Nissan glided past and probably the American partiachal tradition of the powerful man and the innocent woman, with a dash of a childhood viewing of Bambi all make me think she was a girl. Although now that I think about it, I'm not entirely sure if Bambi was male or female. She was just standing there and by the time my heart jolted at the prospect of this deer escaping whatever made her eyes look that way by dashing in front of my car and dashing the rest of my semester... she was just a reflection in my 'objects may be larger than they appear' mirror.

The rest of my ride was uneventful, unless you count being tailgated by a Lexus SUV. I drove the speed limit. I tried not to text. I shed a few tears that I'll blame on the sting of the air as the time grew later and Mother Nature remembered that it's supposed to be February, even in Alabama. I sang a little, maybe outloud, maybe to myself, because it's all the same when the wind is covering your voice and only the occasional deer is around to listen.


Now I'm going to finish my paper. It will be done before 2am, at least the content. If not, there may be an addition to this post in an hour.

With Love

7 Things

I blog on Saturday nights a lot. I should probably work on having cooler things to do on the weekends. Oh well.

I haven't made a list in a while, so I thought I might do one tonight. :-)

I started my senior year last week. My senior year. My last year. No more undergraduate institution after this year. What? It's completely shocking and fun and terrifying and exciting and stressful all at once. I've bled orange and blue for the past three years and will for the rest of my life... but after this year it will never be the same.

But I'm trying not to think about all of that. I'm not dwelling on the never ending what am I going to do with my life scenario and I'm trying not to focus on all of the lasts that are approaching. Instead I am thinking about my classes, and my social life and, of course, boys.

I'm not a Miley Cyrus fan, but I'm not a hater either. I did always really like her cute little song 7 Things though, and I've had just the slightest bit of boy drama in my life lately. No details, but I think her list is pretty accurate right now. The grammar in the list is terrible though.

• You're vain
• Your games
• You're insecure
• You love me, you like her
• You make me laugh, you make me cry (this is actually 2 different things Miley)
  
• Your friends are jerks
  
• You make me love you

Love might be a bit strong. The rest is a bit legit. Is it ridiculous that I relate my relationships to songs written about / for / by 15-year-olds? Absolutely. But it could be worse... it could be The Bachelor. ;-)

Otherwise, about my life. Taking some freaking awesome classes this semester that are going to kick my butt. Lots of reading and writing in my future. But, hey, no big deal. Its cool. It's also going to be a semester of impromptu day trips, dinner parties, coffee dates, lunch dates, and Maisonette parties.

Oh and football. Lots of football. :-)


With love,
Shelli