Preaching to the Choir

So, this blog will most likely come across as preachy, but allow me a few moments on the soapbox.

Many who read this blog are of a teaching persuasion, or have someone in the family who teaches. I am reaching out to the people who don't know much about teaching or for those who do...pass the information forward. I learned of this book from a PBS talk show interviewing the writers, and I ordered it when I finally had a break. While most of the information was not new to me, the authors' key thesis was profound: the lack of professional perception towards teachers.

A key part of the book that really stuck to me was an interview with a really inspiring, tough teacher who left the profession:

This teacher "routinely worked seventy- to eighty-hour weeks because that was the only way he could come close to feeling successful. Despite it all, he says, he never felt more than 70 percent effective." I have felt like this for the past 4 years of teaching. I work mostly 60- to 70- hour weeks depending on my grading load, yet I always feel like I am not really successful. I know I am a good teacher, but I still have students who cannot get the material, cannot stay organized, cannot read or write, cannot focus and refuse to think. How do you reach them?

Now, my mate feels the effects as well. I am guilty of not being home very much and when I am home, working or sleeping to prepare for the next week. My mind constantly seeks out better ways to present material. My mate thinks he is not supportive enough, but really it's me not putting the time into us.

"So...what's your point?" you may be asking. Many of you work very long days and can understand the lack of home time. However, most of you are considered a professional in your field. You are respected doctors, nurses, business men/women, and managers. When you tell someone your job, he/she will most likely view you as well-educated, hard-working and productive. When someone explains to someone else that he/she is a teacher, he/she will get the remark "how noble" or "why would you do that when you are so smart?"

Many of my friends have professional jobs and wonder why I am teaching. Now, I will admit that the credentialing program was a bit easier than my undergraduate degree in biology, but nevertheless, I completed 60 hours of graduate work (credential and master's in education) in 2.5 years while working full-time. I researched and completed a 30-page literature review on the effectiveness of science education on high school special education students (an area very overlooked). I took four very difficult subject-related tests to prove I am "highly-qualified" to teach ($80/test). Similar to the idea of the boards for doctors and nurses, you must complete these tests within a certain time frame with accurate, vocabulary-rich responses. I had to write three 2-page essays in one hour from topics ranging from the difference between conduction and convection to how dialysis works to supplement kidney function. I also had 2 multiple-choice tests ranging in topics from biology, chemistry, physics and geology/earth science. These subjects are so broad that you are not sure what questions might be asked.

And the kicker...with a master’s degree and 4 years experience, I make $55,000/year. A very good salary for a teacher considering in San Francisco Unified District (only 10 miles north of here), a similarly qualified teacher is most likely making $40,000/year. When the average rent in San Francisco is $1200/month for a one-bedroom and mortgages are $3000/month, this salary seems insignificant. Likewise, think about your area of the world. Most teachers make $15,000-$20,000 less than what I make and they have been teaching for 6 years! In the book, one teacher makes more money selling televisions at Circuit City than his day job as a teacher.

So, as I am about to step down from my platform here (it is starting to wobble), please think about how teachers are viewed. Why are we expected to be poor? Why are we expected to work a second job in the summer when we already clocked over 2000 hours of work throughout the year including the time during the summer prepping for the next school year (for those in the dark about teaching hours, teacher salaries pay for 7 hours of work per day and vacations are not paid)? Why are we expected to not receive raises and bonuses for the good work we do?

There are some bad teachers out there but there are also fantastic teachers who are leaving the profession. I am a fourth year teacher and based on the statistics I may leave the profession within the next year because of burn-out and low pay. I am asking for people to think and spread the information. Please don’t martyr teachers, treat them like professionals.

Happy Holidays

In an effort to save on the hassle of postage, the "right" greeting card, and the politically correct thing to say on a card...we (I) opted for the digital greeting with video. While the compression really looks terrible, it gives you the excuse to come visit us to see the good copy!

Click here to see the greeting and video
(I would download the QuickTime Movie for better viewing)

A Gift

Every year has a new beginning...and an open end. See his beginning.

A Day in the Life of a Teacher

It's Friday. What did I do? I got to work at 6:45 am to get out scissors, scapels, tweezers and blunt probes for high school students to use (just think about that for a moment). 7:00 am. After showing two teachers how to breathe right to reduce stress (another unit taught in a different class), I proceeded to practice an eye dissection, completing such activity in 5 minutes...it is now 7:45 am.

After pushing tables together, prepping a computer lab, and finding a video at the library for 5th period (I need a break), I rest for 5 minutes (drink water and breathe), then prepare for the kids (it is now 8:45 am).

Seven hours, one vomiting student, one meeting, and a smelly classroom later...they have left. Now I need to clean up from today and prep for Monday.

Friday...ah...no students tomorrow and I can lie in bed (see weekends.). Beer anyone?

Large Families

Large families have interesting dynamics. Unless you are in a large family, you would not understand the dialogues, the jokes, and characters that exist within a large family. Two people should not have more than two (maybe three but you are pushing it) children in order to give enough attention to them. For those of you with more than two (or three) children, ask your children in 10 years how they feel about their siblings and their lack-of-attention issues...and see. Maybe I am wrong.

Every sibling within a large family (I am speaking of 6+ children) seeks attention. The attention seeking may be quiet, it may be direct, it may be mean and negative or nice and positive. However, once the attention is received, many children from large families do not know what to do with it, and usually overcompensate or want it to go away. Even as we get older and separate from each other, we have difficulties handling attention...in a public arena, you may be the quiet one, the actor/actress, the party animal, the one who sabotages, or the motherly one. Everyone is competing to be the smartest child, the most clever, the favorite, the most talented (whatever that means), the best cook, the best listener, the best writer, the most sober drinker, the most successful (again, whatever that would include), and who embodies what he/she should. Everyone in a large family (including parents) always seem to know you better than yourself.

You let them into your thoughts a little, but never completely, because again, we are not sure what to do with the attention. However, with the little information they know of you, your life completely unfolds before them. The decision you made five years ago is still a bad decision even if you are content and happy with your life. Your life is not what it should be because they know what grandiose person "you could have been" or "was". Now, let me know, has every decision you made been completely right?

Most of the time I "wing" my life. However, a quote from a sister-in-law sums up the concept of "winging" it: "At least you look good while doing it, so no one knows". As long as you know what to say, know when to be quiet, know when to pretend you know exactly what someone wants you to do, then usually you can wing something. You may not be able to wing intricate surgery, but hey, I hack up a chicken once a week...I probably could "wing" an amputation. Now you must remember, I am "young" so obviously I don't know myself well enough, so any decision I make must be wrong, because I cannot possibly know that I cannot forsee the future. If that makes sense, please read on. Do you see why siblings live far apart but miss each other greatly?

Watching two large families has been an interesting experience. One family has had more years to simmer on the stove than the other, so I can forsee how the other could potentially turn out. In addition, I can see how bad habits die hard, as similar quirks and petty arguments and jealousies last. The one aspect no child from a small family or single-child family could understand is the nature of sibling support. I walk with my head high because I know I have 4 brothers, 2 sisters, 4 sister-in-laws, 4 brother-in-laws, that would kick anyone's a** if he/she messed with me. Who else can you get in trouble with by working out an elaborate plan to steal cookies or designing a road trip to New York City at the age of 17?

Each family has the lone single child married into the family. I feel for those two and any friend who desperately tried to join the "gang" because the learning curve is rough. Full-contact board games are dramatic for the average layperson, but hey, they made it and keep with the family! Once in, you never leave because how could you lose the support? Trivia Pursuit, anyone?

Now, these are my thoughts on large families from my lone perspective as child #4 in a family of 7. Making assumptions means I open a Pandora's box of comments expressing how I missed the mark and how dare I assume the life of one of my siblings or married-into siblings...but hey, I wouldn't trade in either family. On the other hand, I won't subject my own children to the traumas of a large family. Again, if you are not part of a large family, you don't understand the trauma and disfunctions. Amputations, road trips, dysfunctions, drinking, and the occasional therapy session (or two) are merely simple descriptions. Don't open the box.

Baby Fat

The pot-belly stomach, the cheeks that droop but in a squeezable way, the scowl, worried about impending events. Where did all that baby fat disappear to? You can see the imp with the childhood intolerance for unfairness. You can see much of this man within the picture of a boy at one. While the baby fat may be gone, his mannerisms continue to invoke childhood habits.

Many people say that you can see how you looked as a child by observing your sleep patterns as an adult. The truth is he burrows and curls his body on the couch before falling asleep like a puppy finding its spot, and will sweetly wake up from a dream to share a little morsel of it (sleep talking). While the drummer boy instruments are gone, two guitars fulfill the need of music even if the tune is off. A little light dances in his eye when he admires his crafty and creative successes. While many times I want to call him an ass, I feel the need to smile softly as he reminds me of the Peter Pan I used to wait for every night to take me to Neverland.

You see, I never wanted to grow up (still trying not to). I like having fun, sleeping on the grass at the park, eating ice cream and swimming with mermaids. Every year I used to read the book Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie to fly back to Neverland with all the strange adventures with the Neverbird, the wolf and the ferocious mermaids (please, never watch the Disney version of Peter Pan). However, now that I met this Peter-like character in 2000, I only read the story to other children, so they too can be inspired to have adventures, make-believe they are eating food when they aren't, and fight each other to only make up in the same day.

Childhood stories often do teach people a lesson. However, childhood stories also teach the power of imagination and creativity. At times, I wander off to Neverland as I see him construct costumes from pillow cases and construction paper, in time for the newspaper photo shoot. He discovers so much beauty in simple objects and moments.

So while the years may be creeping up, his heart, mind and spirit will never lose their baby fat. You hear it in his laugh, the tears in his eyes when he feels like a child, and when his smile has a kiss no one can retrieve. He is my Peter Pan and I am having so many adventures, I never want to go home (only for spring cleaning).

Happy Birthday Darling.

Small Time Frame of Sanity

If I get home by 4:45 pm, then I feel like I achieved something for myself that day...however, most days I get home at 5, 5:30 or sometimes even as late as 7:30 pm. It is amazing how different I feel by getting home before 5 pm. I don't think about the lack of pay I get for those lost hours (I get paid for 7 hours of my work day) because it seems unproductive.

What I feel I lose is my time to be with my mate, to talk and joke around. Even just watching a movie. Many times like tonight I come home late only to spend my time grading papers and trying to make sure I catch a few words of conversation (but I must admit, I don't know what we are talking about sometimes because my mind is on so many other topics).

I also lose time for me. My time to pursue my fading photography hobby..my time to read...my time to think about other things than why "my darlings" cannot seem to pass a quiz (did I teach it well enough?).

So as I finish cleaning up the kitchen, put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow and pack up my papers and computer, I cannot help but be a bit grumpy. Teachers spend their career trying to discover two things: the curiosity of children and life beyond school and work.

I miss my mate even though he is just a few feet away snoring softly on the couch. I miss me. I need to find my life...

Small Talk

The process of putting on a dazzling outfit (with help from friends and neighbors) is fun. Walking down the street looking like a magazine shoot is interesting as people walk past wondering what event you are attending. However, upon arrival, I dread the "small talk". I never know what to say and I always pray the other person can start and continue a conversation. I can answer politely and put my two cents in about a topic, but starting...what conversation would I start? My brain gets flustered with thoughts such as: Do people want to know about the lab I am stressing over for Monday? Do people want to know that I am excited to have my laundry finally done after thinking about it for one week? Is my breath okay? Do people really want to know that I probably will not remember them since I have to worry about the lives of 200 students, myself and a husband each day and I cannot handle another life? How do I eat this food? Who are you? Do people really want to know that we prefer to be at home at the moment?

The art teacher has more topics to choose from since he works at the school the fundraiser was addressing, and he could dart in between people discussing kids, golf, and the occasional smoke. Yet even he got caught with a chicken wing in his mouth (to avoid the stomach wrech) as a former teacher wanted his deep intellectual thoughts. Can he really address an issue with a chicken wing in his mouth?

The morning after a surreal experience like last night, I catalog the moments I spoke to someone to make sure I sounded at least a little intelligent. However, I can think of possibly three times I approached the small talk with the wrong topic or the wrong person who also didn't want to talk. I was trying to hide and watch the people as a wanderer is apt at doing, but someone would come up seeking some deep tidbit. Even the wait staff stopped to hear some small talk. What do I say? While chugging coffee to help relieve my wine-induced brain, I believe I repeated myself three times on how coffee does not affect me.

This is why I usually photograph events. Today, my throat is sore from screaming at people who sat 2 feet away from me (the acoustics were terrible), my head is a little sore (from nervously drinking wine), and my brain is tired (from sorting through surreal events such as a Corvette hitting a BMW on the way home with two Georgians and loud mother in a small space). Oh well, I can hide away for another year.

Weekends

Waking up with the cool fog, I pull the covers closer to my chin, snuggle a little closer to the warm body next to me, and pray the morning won't end.

All during the week, I work for the weekend morning, the mornings when I don't have to get up and start thinking. Coffee is more enjoyable on the weekends. The thoughts bound between two covers get read. We don't have children during the weekends to wake us up early like they do during the week. Our bodies can relax from the lifting, conjoling, counseling, peer mediating, and psychoanalyzing we do several hours during the weekdays.

My eyes are opening and my thoughts start to turn to the stack of notebooks needing my analysis--why couldn't they just do their homework?--and the laundry that NEEDS to be done. I shut my eyes and hope the morning can last a little bit longer.

But alas, the morning is almost over and tomorrow is Monday.

A Post

So...my mate has been saying I should start a blog.

however, i prefer to travel around reading blogs instead of writing blogs.

If my wanderings require some comments, I will post them.
If my wanderings require some deep thoughts, I will blog.

please don't hold out for some deep moments.

I am just wandering through.