I just finished Book 1 of Native Son.  I know, it took me long enough.  As I was reading I knew what was going to happen and yet was completely horrified by the grotesqueness of it all.

I found his sexual desire for Mary and his equal, if not stronger, hate for her very disturbing.  For racism to be beat into his head since birth and him to internalize it unconsciously into his adult life is scary because it happens so frequently in reality.  However, that social dysfunction coupled with his own extreme insecurities, as seen in his beating of Gus to avoid robbing Blum’s even though his own insistence drives the operation, make him a time bomb waiting to explode.  He reminds me of Walter from A Raisin in the Sun without the common sense enlightenment at the end.

In response, I grapple with the following two questions:

1. How many Biggers have I seen throughout my teaching career?

Bigger is not the first young male minority to feel oppressed and poverty-stricken without any outlets or safe methods of surviving.  He isn’t the first character I have encountered who seems to possibly lack a conscience, judgment, or the will to move up in the world the “right” way.  In fact, I would argue that Bigger’s statistics are very common in the urban high school setting.  And while the racial climate has changed in America since the book’s time, urban youth are fighting more obstacles than ever to avoid becoming the Biggers of our time.  It’s hard to blame teens when there are so many obstacles pushing them away from being responsible, independent, and thoughtful individuals of our society.  I think it was this realization that freaked me out.

2. Also, how far does someone have to go before we, as a society and individuals, refuse to forgive the person?

By the end of Book 1, I found Bigger unforgivable and could no longer empathize with him.  And I wondered at what point was he unforgivable to me? Was it the rape, murder, mutilation of the body, the ability to leave the scene, or the ability/desire to return to it the next morning? I’m not sure I’ve ever read a book where I could not understand the protagonist.

Wright gives us a glimpse into the psyche of Bigger, but what we learn does not make his actions justifiable and makes him seem more like a soulless coward.

Wow! I haven’t written since September 23rd?  Man.  Well, life (work really) has been so crazy that I haven’t had or taken much time for myself.  In fact, because I’ve had some 12-13 hour days at work the past couple of weeks, I have inevitably gotten sick.  So today, I took the day off because my throat feels like the phoenix is being reborn in it when I speak.  Also, this time I had some terrible body aches and was worried I had mono.  Luckily, the doc says I’m a-okay and just low on protein (I don’t think this is directly related to my cold symptoms).  Anyway, going from having all the free time in the world over the summer to not having much at all has made me start to wonder what it is I do when I’m not working.

Today
I got up at 9
Worked until 11
Decided I should shower (just in case I come into contact with any other human beings)
Decided I deserve to treat myself to a cup of tea and bring the work to a local coffee establishment
Went there, had lunch, worked on lesson plans, mastered how to make origami cranes (for work), and read for school
Came home and worked some more

I have come to the conclusion that I am a workaholic.  This is probably why I prefer summer because there is no impending work, deadlines, or doom. However, to give myself some credit, I have/will do things I truly enjoy and give me peace of mind today as well.

Fun activities

Had a lot of tea- including the tea I’ve been saving from Hawaii that smells like almonds, coconut, and plumeria

Will write letters that I need to (have been working on being a real friend/human being and staying in contact with friends and family)

Read Native Son.  Yes, I know.  I’m still trying really hard to read this.  I’m struggling because of a lack of personal time and screwed up priorities here.  Anyway, look forward to notes on Bigger and his life soon to come.  I hope you’re reading!

Listened to Julietta and Belanova, two of my girly favorites.

Redeem some of my itunes bday gifts (what wonderful gifts!!!!! thanks guys!)

Sat and examined all the colors of the autumn trees changing.  The colors are so magnificent, even my phlegm is getting in the spirit and taking on all the fall colors :/  Sorry no more Debbie Downer moments.  No but truly, autumn is turning out better than expected in terms of colors and weather.  The warm winds we’ve had the past week have really give us the chance to enjoy all the season has to offer.  Afterall, I should enjoy the season I’m named after.

Finally, I leave you with some probably weird quotes that K^2 recently came up with.  I know at least one other person who will get a kick out of these.  Every time I read them, memories from my childhood babysitter and her family flood back into my mind. These are so accurate! Thanks K. By the way, how’s the book coming???

Just thought I'd try to give ya a fun way to start your day with some "Kathy-isms"
I have transcribed..
 "Oh, don't give me any of your crapola!" -Kathy
"Hey, McGillicuddy, move it or lose it!" -Paul
"All I wanna do.. is have some fun.... an' All I wanna do.. is have some fun" -Uncle Ed
trying to sing the Cheryl Crow song and only knowing one line
"Mom, can I take one or two of them?" -Therese, in reference to stealing
a few of us for some errands in the death trap car. 
Followed by, (smiling) "No, she's not mine..."
"You're gonna wanna go ahead 'n'... [insert instruction]" -Uncle Ed/Paul
"Phony-bologna!" -Kathy
"Ohhh, shut up already!" -Kathy
"We don't tell people to 'shut up' in this house." -Again, Kathy
"Saying the word, 'bored,' is not allowed here." -All 4 family members
"Can't sit on the couch until you're 13." -Each and every family member
(..until next year..) "Can't sit on the couch until you're 14."
"Hey! Cool your jets.." -Kathy, Uncle Ed, Paul, and occasionally Therese
"He/she's been drivin' me bonkers!" or "You're a pain in my drain, kiddo." -Extraneous
"Who did this?!" -Superfluous
"Sorry, kid, that's the way it goes." -Moot
"Hey, MA!?!" -Paul
"You wanna do me a favor? [...]  Wanna go
ahead 'n' get me a beer?" -Uncle Ed
"You got the graj-ky?" -(I don't know, but they
have distinct accents like this..)
"Maahhhhhhzelltofff!" -Kathy
"Did you go poo? [sticking finger in baby's diaper
and smelling butt]  Yeah..." -Kathy
"Uh, Therese... there are children in the room." -Kathy/Uncle Ed
"How 'bout a knuckle samwich??" -Paul
"What's for lunch?" -child
"Butter noodles--it's all I have." -Kathy
"Hey kids, com'on and get your snacks.. snacktime!" -Kathy
"Superduper!" -Kathy
"How're da Bears/Bulls doin'?" -Paul/Uncle Ed
"Get outta townnn!" -Family in general
"Heere's a cup.  Heeere's another.  And here's a spot of tea.  Pourrr one cup.  
Pour another.  Won't you drink with me?"
"Hey, hey, whattaya say?  I just got back from
the U.S. of A." -Kathy, imparting old-time wisdom

To some of you, I know none of that makes any sense, but you have to admit, those quotes make for some fun stories.

Hope you’ve enjoyed my random comments of today.  At least I didn’t end up doing my collage of random thoughts from today.  That would have been even more off the wall.

This year, I’ve become more of a writing teacher then ever before.  I’ve never truly felt comfortable with being considered an “expert” on writing.  However, one of the strategies we are teaching students is to connect their lives to pieces of writing and use them as jumping points for their own work.  A few weeks ago, I went to the celebration and remembrance ceremony of poet Mark Perlberg.  I was fortunate to be invited as a guest, and as I sat there listening, writing ideas popped into my head left and right.  Unfortunately, I had no where to write down my ideas (plus it seemed inappropriate), so they have disappeared into my crazy and upside down life.  However, one of his poems draws me to peaceful summer days and moments of my own happiness.

There Are Afternoons in Summer

There are afternoons in summer that are so fine
They seem an interval of time’s first day that has never ended
And will never end.

I am sure it is the palpable force of the light.
Of light so clear that one sees everything open to air:
the veins on the underside of leaves
the sharp serrations of the fern
the shadow cast by each small stone
the glass edge of the sea that is the horizon’s line
the sun flinging diamond fires from a patch of the bay,
the luminous wing-edge of a gull crossing.

The illusion dies as the day dies
When light lies down level in the weeds
And the sky in the west takes color like a bruise
And the evening walks in cold shadows like the morning.

Thank you Mr. Perlberg for so eloquently describing some of my most beautiful summer days.

A Walk on the Beach

My life has become so crazy with work and family, that I have finally booked my flight to Vegas for Thanksgiving.  I will be thankful for my sanity if I still have it at that point.  That means I can’t die from a stress-induced heart attack before then because I have nonrefundable tickets.

Sometimes life moves too quickly.  The first day of school was last week, and it was a complete blur.  As I tried to get things done for my freshmen, I felt the pressure of time on my shoulders weighing me down.  At the end of the day, I felt dehydrated and exhausted.  However, it all wasn’t in vain.  I do have a couple of students who I like already.  I even have one student who sees me three times in one day and still left with a smile on her face.  But I don’t worry much about students like her.  It’s others that pull at my heart.

I can already tell who the students are that will need me to carry them.  And I wonder, if I’ll be strong enough to do so.  I was taught through example early on not to mess up in school, so I didn’t. I worked really hard in high school because I knew that was my only shot at the life I wanted.  Yet, for so many of my students and some of my friends, school has never seemed like something fun, or even like something that is worked on diligently for a powerful end-result.  It is often done if the motivation is there, and often it’s not.  I try every year to reach these students, but by now, I can unfortunately see who may not be there in June.  Within a couple weeks, I can feel them letting go and their fingers like slippery silk scarves slide out of my hands.  I wonder if this is inevitable.  I know I can’t reach all my students, but so many end up settling for a life they’ve seen far too many times.  They often say that they want professional careers, but the path to get there is undefined.  Even as I try to help guide them with resources, research, and applicable discussions on life, so many of them disengage and disappear into a dropout abyss.

I have a student who has already missed half of school.  You have to wonder if you’ll just become jaded and lose faith in these students saying, “There’s nothing I can do” or if you’ll worry and pine over them only to realize at the end that you haven’t reached them.  I’m worried that I will eventually become too compliant and give up too easily because I feel like I’m just watching reruns.

These are just thoughts that I’ve wondered about for awhile.  Yet, with all this in the back of my mind, I do try to stay positive for the students who I can affect.  It is the small moments of individual successes with students that really make me see and feel joy for what I do.  For example, I feel like I’ve had 27 successful classes and 3 not so successful classes.  Today, I witnessed a girl buy into the lesson and improve her personality and behavior so much from yesterday.   I think some students actually enjoy the class, and I feel like I’m finally starting to manage all the smaller tasks that I have to do each day.  Yet no matter how much I doubt my teaching skills, I do know that I’m always unconsciously wearing my teaching cap.  I realized that today when a student did an impression of me and said I’m like a housewife, soccer mom, and teacher all in one.  I wasn’t sure how to take that.

Some music just makes me feel good.  These are some of my favs.

Valeria Gastaldi

Belanova

Julietta Venegas

Today I had the crazy experience of planning my grandmother’s funeral. As I sat in the chair across from the balding middle aged man who read me the pricing details, I wondered what I was doing there. At my age, I don’t think anyone should have to plan anyone else’s funeral. Fortunately, I’m lucky. I’m planning ahead and don’t have the unfortunate experience of planning a funeral for a recently deceased loved one. However, I started to wonder if it is a bad omen to plan someone’s funeral ahead of time. On the radio today, a book was even announced that would allow someone to write down pages and pages of his or her own personal desires once deceased. I started to think that that was a bit absurd. In our fast paced society, are we living just to die? Are we a culture that is too obsessed with time and dying?

I walked into the funeral parlor even feeling like I was an ungrateful granddaughter rushing my grandmother out of this world by making all these plans. I walked into the room where my grandfather lay thirteen years ago and memories of pain, sympathy, and awkwardness returned. Why would I want to revisit these feelings before I have to? Why do humans put ourselves through this weird numbness of life? I can’t quite describe what I feel about my loved ones dying or death itself, that part of me lives in denial. Yet, I do feel that as I’ve taken more and more responsibility on with my grandmother, I’ve seen her change greatly, and it has made me conscious of many truths.

Ultimately, I have had to come to the realization that she will not live forever as the woman I fondly remember. She will not be the woman who drives the blue Astro van around the city, who fishes along Montrose harbor with my grandfather. Nor will she be the woman who takes her granddaughters out for walks along the shore, asking other fishermen if they caught anything today or urging her grandkids to pick up cans so we can recycle them and make extra cash. She will not be the woman who is waiting for me after school to take me to dance lessons, piano lessons, or K to Aikido. Over time, our roles have been reversed.

At one time, she was in charge of my sister and me after school and during summer days. Now she is a woman who can’t remember what day it is four times after I’ve told her in a matter of fifteen minutes. Now she is a woman who walks with a limp and often stumbles. Now she is a woman who needs help cooking, cleaning, going to the doctor, taking care of her finances, and getting her medicine. Often, I find myself making decisions for her, as if she is my child, my young one. Many times she can’t see why I make these decisions or why it is the best solution for her situation. Like a child, she threatens silly things and doesn’t always use rationale. Yet, she is still the same person.

As human beings, we experience this circle of life. Cheesy, yes I know, but it’s true. We start at one point and follow this path through life that takes us around. And one day, that path starts to wind back towards the beginning. I realize more and more that I don’t have an infatuation with death, but that I’m accepting the realities of life. When the day comes that my grandmother is no longer with us, I’ll be able to mourn her death instead of plan her funeral. So as bad as it may make me seem, I think it’s important to be realistic and plan ahead. This way, my feelings at that point will not be masked by errands and tasks; I’ll be able to live through one of the purest and essential human experiences.

I read ch. 2 of Atwell today. I definitely devoured it. It was a much better feeling reading it this time, then after I finished ch. 1.

However, I do wonder what it means I will have to give up to live a more literate lifestyle. There are only so many hours in the day. While I love reading and was like one of her students with the spark in my eye when I got something in English class, I love my hobbies and my family. Aren’t I already spreading myself too thin?

The Pear Tree and Me (Winter, Spring, and Summer)

Day 2- I wrote a short memoir today. I thought I would share it so you don’t think I’m going crazy here. I have happy memories too.

Backyard space is often hard to come by in an urban area. However, my family was fortunate enough to have a small yard behind our home. In this yard were small patches of grass and sidewalk that led to the garage and an enormous pear tree standing by the back gate. With pride, I would look down the alley and see our tree was one of the tallest on the block. With its sturdy trunk and outstretched branches, the tree was a forever-friend always waiting for me. While the tree was constantly there, it was constantly changing.

In the fall, the dark round leaves would begin to trickle to the ground. My father would meticulously rake the leaves into heaps of foliage while my sister, K, and I would jump into them wearing stretchy sweat pants and knit hats, laughing as we purposely messed up my father’s progress.

As fall would give way to winter, the tree would sit there barren and empty. However, it appeared like a caring Mary Poppins watching over us with the snow on its branches and the light from the garage. We would build our snow forts and make snow angels below it as it looked on and smiled at our silly stories of make-believe. I smile remembering K and I inside our gigantic snowball fort whispering so enemies wouldn’t know our hideout location. The tree stood guard there that night.

Time passed, and a fresh scent of spring would fill the air. During one specific week of spring, the tree would transform into a radiant woman wearing a lacy dress. The woman would stay only for a short time before she started weeping and white flower petals would fall covering every bit of the yard, making it look like Mother Nature was confused.

Shortly afterward, the summer heat would arrive along with the tree’s gifts. My mother would pull out the long pear picker and pull down as many of the large pears as she could reach. Within the next couple of days, we would smell pear pie baking in the oven. And on a hot summer night, K and I would sit on the porch steps and look out onto the tree, enjoying pear pie a la mode.

So I have just finished reading chapter 1 of In the Middle by Nancie Atwell. This is part of the assignment of Day 1 in our training for our new Freshmen Academy. She discusses how she has realized that the way she taught writing before (strict roles of teacher and students) was incorrect. She then gave almost complete control to her students to come up with their own writing prompts and gave them ownership, and realized that that too wasn’t working well for her students. So now she uses an ever-evolving method of asking questions to herself and her students; changing assignments, roles, and ways of responding to students’ writing; and being okay with never being sure with what is exactly the best method of teaching writing. As I finished chapter 1, I was disturbed to see much of myself in the teacher she was before and also seeing my failed attempts at being the teacher she tries to be. I am very uneasy with never having a result or end solution. I have heard and understand that teachers must be flexible and willing to learn in order to be better teachers. Yet, I start questioning the type of teacher I am, and if I would ever be completely satisfied in this career.

First, I want to make clear that I am not “fishing” for compliments, but truly questioning if I could ever be comfortable with not knowing the “right” way to teach something, accepting that I have failed, and worse, acknowledging that I must start from scratch again and possibly never “finish” crafting my methodology. This scares me because for years all I wanted to do was teach. I felt I had the passion and the desire to push students to become who they wanted to be, but I feel weaker as a writer and writing mentor. I even feel my knowledge of literature is limited to what I enjoy reading privately, which doesn’t always agree with the liberal teacher label I like to give myself.

The explanation of life is that we never know where it will take us, who we will meet, and what we will become. I openly admit to others my acceptance of this absolute, and yet, reflecting on my own life and the way the past 2o-something years have turned out, what hasn’t been planned? I have always taken the correct measures, followed the designed path, and in the end gotten what I was striving towards. But where does that leave me now? A young woman scared to admit that she has no idea what she wants from her career and that really if she wants to be truly satisfied, she may have to go out on a limb and let go. I have a loving husband, a nice home, and hobbies aplenty, but I do not have a career I am truly proud of at the end of the day or the year. I work 6 days a week during the school year and do my best because I feel my students deserve it and again, it is the right path to take. I have even started to lean towards taking some desk job, 9-5 pm position that I can leave behind when I leave my desk, wondering if life really begins at 5:01pm every weekday. This life scares me. I want to live all the time and drink the nectar of life in all that I do. I want to do something I love and feel is a valid career.

Two things immediately come to mind after that: One, how many people ever find the perfect career that is fulfilling and sustaining for life? I start to think that I should suck it up and stop being a baby. However, in the back of my mind, I question, “Is there more to it? There has got to be something out there.” Two, I do know I want a career that I am passionate about and that I can feel like a stronger person for doing. Broad, I know. So I sit here wondering, “How am I supposed to find that calling, when so many people in the world end up settling for a job that pays them enough to support their families and lifestyles, but leaves them unfulfilled?” All my life, I have felt that I have a calling to do something amazing and fulfilling with art, language, and children. I have yet to figure it out.

So at the end of Atwell’s introduction to her book, instead of feeling excited to learn her practical secrets on becoming a more open-minded teacher, I sit here wondering if I’m up for the journey of attempting, failing, learning, retrying, and accepting there may not be a right answer. Can I handle reading the rest of the chapters? Can I make some of her ideas work in my own classroom? And will I feel fulfilled afterward as a teacher, artist, and human being?