The challenge of modernity is to live without illusions and without becoming disillusioned.
~Antonio Gramsci

Monday, August 9, 2010

The Most Spirited School in the Bay

I have the privilege of working at the “Most Spirited School in the Bay.” That’s right, for two years running, my high school has won Wild 94.9’s radio contest to have such innovative new hip hop performers as Flo Rida and New Boyz serenade our students in assemblies in the school gym. We blew all other schools out of the water in terms of votes online. South City pride y’all!


For those whose ears didn’t immediately perk up at the mention of Flo Rida’s name, you’d probably recognize his song/laundry list of sexy items of female apparel: “Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur, you know the whole club was looking at her… them baggy sweatpants and them reeboks with the straps, she turned around and gave that big booty a slap. She hit the floor, next thing you know, shorty got low low low low low low low.” In case you didn’t know, it’s a major hit. If you didn’t recognize that one, perhaps you’d know the catchy, “Oh hot damn, this is my jam. Keep ya partyin’ till the am. Y’all don’t understand. Make me throw my hands up in the ayer, ay, ay, ayer, ayer.” That was two years ago Flo Rida rocked our gym. Obnoxious, materialistic, objectifying women, but innocuous for the most part.



Last year, though, brought us a surprise performance by New Boyz, a group who will, I predict, only be known while they are actually still new—my guess: this two-hit-wonder group has the shelf-life of its current fans’ pubescent hormones. New Boyz is made up of two super-fine seventeen year old boys known as Legacy and Ben-J. You cannot imagine the thrill in Ashley’s voice as she excitedly told me about getting to touch Legacy’s abs during the concert in the gym. The music video for “Tie Me Down” is actually pretty charming, featuring Legacy and Ben-J clad in fresh baseball caps, cardigans, and kicks. With backpacks strapped on, they look just like any of my students. They wear skinny jeans hanging off their narrow butts, and they look pretty darn cute, as in I could imagine them seated in desks in front of me stumbling through lines of Shakespeare and groaning about the homework posted on the board.



The title of New Boyz’ big hit, “Tie Me Down,” is actually somewhat misleading, since really the boys sing in the chorus about how, “She ain’t gon’ tie me down.” Alright, fair enough. It seems like a good thing for teenagers to hang out with lots of friends and keep their options open. But, curious to know more, I looked up the lyrics, and what I found horrified me. The rap portion of the song, which must have been incomprehensible auditorily to my principal, contains such choice lines as,

“Yea you cute. So what?/ But lets get it through your head,/Yea we make love, sex, weed all in the bed,/…/ Now you stuck like a stain and I cant believe that,/…/ There’s too much girls and I ain’t lettin go,/ Cause my life is great,/ And you ain’t nothing but a ho,/…/ Ay yea you know I’m a man,/ And I have no feelings.”

Is this some kind of joke? It almost seemed too bad to be true.

Now call me an old fogey if you will, but I don’t think I am. Well, only partially anyway. I would say that I am not a fogey but a feminist. I object to the disrespect of women in this song, but also I object to the portrayal of masculinity. Perhaps I take myself and life too seriously. However, I saw Sarah and Lisa bouncing off the walls in anticipation of the concert. I saw the photos and doodlings of New Boyz on Brianna’s binder, and I fielded countless questions from these teenyboppers about who in my opinion was hotter, Legacy or Ben-J. Needless to say, I pleaded the fifth. These rappers are under-age minors, after all.

My students are a weird mix of innocence and experience. Strict Catholics, many of them certainly believe in “saving” themselves for marriage. However, one day I discovered an empty, discarded Trojan condoms box lying in the center of my classroom. I was horrified to realize that, thinking it was merely a candy wrapper, I had allowed it to lie there for most of the day. In class discussions of Romeo and Juliet, at least half of my students argued that love at first sight is indeed real. Their rationale? You see it in movies all the time! I quickly learned that the worst supervision duty at my school is the dances, because the main responsibility is to patrol for freak dancers, trolling the dance floor with a flashlight to break up such lewd and lascivious behavior. Seems incongruent, given our leadership-sponsored performances by Flo Rida and New Boyz, right?

In Female Chauvinist Pigs, Ariel Levy argues that with the rise of raunch culture and the porn industry, images of women have again been co-opted in the interests of men and making money. Women, rising in their careers and the workplace have had to play by the rules, becoming one of the boys in terms of chauvinism and giving the boys what they want and expect in terms of image. We’ve allowed ourselves to be convinced that women’s lib has come so far that we don’t even need such a concept anymore. We’re living in a post-feminist world, in which women are so sexually “liberated” that we’re free to flash our tits on Girls Gone Wild and dress as skankily as “we” (i.e., the male world) desire, all in the name of sexual self-expression. Yet, as Levy points out, in the midst of all this “liberation” many women still may not be freely expressing their own selves, but really playing into the artificial, unrealistic, even dangerous ideals we’ve been steadily spoon fed by the media. Free, informed choice doesn’t necessarily exist. So, to be a cool chick, one that is most desirable, my female students must now make themselves sexually available and emotionally unattached, as recommended by New Boyz, and drape themselves in the right brands, becoming walking billboards and victims of consumer culture, as exalted in Flo Rida’s song, “Low.” These are the values that we, as a school, are actively supporting when we sponsor concerts by such inane, commercialized performers.

South City, I think we can do better than all this. There must be some positive, socially-conscious hip hop groups we could endeavor to bring to our school via Wild 94.9’s spirit competition this year. Any input?

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Back to School

The sweetness of a carefree summer lasted only until about mid July for me. Summer vacation was halfway over and I began have nightmares about the school year to come. In one scenario I showed up late to the first day of school because I had lost track of time while on a date. I crashed my car across the campus frantically trying to drive right up to my classroom door. In another dream it was the first day of school and I didn’t have any of my handouts prepared. I stood there exposed, a fraud pretending to be a responsible teacher, in front of 35 expectant, overachieving honors students. Worst though, was the nightmare in which the guy I’ve been seeing filmed us having raunchy sex and posted it on the Internet with my name as the tagline for Google searches. Needless to say this horror of a dream did not end well; I lost my job and my teaching career was destroyed.

Whoa, I guess I have some anxiety about returning to the classroom. Last spring was rough, and I succumbed to depression. Being laid off, toiling on my thesis, my grandmother’s illness and death; it was all bad. Having to perform for students, putting on my teacher face day after day felt oppressive. I am scared of feeling that way again this year; more scared of that feeling than I am of actually teaching another school year.

This, then, is a little feel-good motivation. These are some gems from the end of last school year that I’ve kept tucked away for a moment such as this one to remind myself why I teach. I only hope I can recreate some of this magic again next year!

“This Feeling for You”:

This is a poem written by a tall, soulful, Dumbo-eared boy from marching band. His previous credits include a short story about his numerous crushes and unrequited loves. In that story, the names of his crushes were anagrams of many girls from our class, eg Stephanie became Epishtiane in. Tim read this poem, though, as part of our open mic at the end of the year.

This feeling for you is something I can’t explain,
sometimes it’s fantastic, sometimes it’s horrid.
It’s horrible when I’m not with you,
And it turns terrific when I see your face the next day.

This patience for you is something I can’t explain,
waiting 30-40 minutes after school for you,
to say hello and goodbye to almost everyone you see,
just to spend 25 minutes walking you home.
But that’s ok,
because 25 minutes can feel like a lifetime with you,
it just depends on what I make of those minutes.

This way I act around you is something I can’t explain,
doing crazy things,
from swallowing the legs off of gumbas,
to licking tampons with fake blood on it…
don’t ask,
But it’s all just to make you smile,
and to make you feel better when your [sic] down.

This feeling for you is something I can’t explain,
sometimes it’s marvelous, sometimes it’s detestable.
It’s awful when I’m not with you,
and it turns amazing when I see your face the next day.

You can imagine the uproar when Tim came to the tampon line in his reading. It was difficult to quell the pandemonium in the room, but luckily everyone was curious to hear what outrageousness would emerge from his mouth next. I’m choosing to overlook the fact that Tim clearly took nothing away from my lesson on run-on sentences and the use of the semi-colon to separate independent clauses.

Another Romantic Moment from the Poetry Unit:

On the final day of class, I asked my students to write anonymous appreciations on slips of paper that I would then read for the entire class (ie, “I appreciate (insert a classmate’s name here), because (give a heart-warming reason here)…)

Rowan, a kid who’d almost failed freshman English, but had shown dramatic growth and elected to go into junior honors next year, wrote this in his anonymous appreciation: “To Adrienne: my last poem was about you.” Rowan had sat opposite Adrienne for most of the year, though I had never witnessed any interaction between them. When it came time for me to read and grade Rowan’s poetry portfolio, I eagerly flipped to the final poem:

Words Never Said

I look at you everyday
Never having anything to say
So I play it off
And keep it cool
And not act like that big of a fool
But what can I do
When I think I might be
In love with you


Added now to my list of goals for the next school year: orchestrate an encounter between Rowan and Adrienne. Perhaps I can pair them together for groupwork…

And Finally… The End of Year Familial Drama that both Broke and Gave Faith to My Heart:

Charlotte and Maria were two sisters both enrolled in my fourth period sophomore class. Both were quick learners, articulate writers, and eager for an adult mentor. They came from a family of three girls, all in attendance at El Camino High School. Charlotte was actually concurrently enrolled in both my sophomore and freshman classes, having failed English the previous year. Maria applied to be my TA for next year. Thus, I spent much time with both girls, and being one of three sisters myself, I felt a special kinship with them.

They’d emigrated with their mother from the Philippines to the US about ten years previous. A single mom, their mother worked two fulltime jobs from 8:00 am to 12 midnight daily to support her family. This toil and sacrifice bespoke her love and dedication to her daughters, but it also meant that the girls were expected to raise themselves. This was a tall order, and might have worked out better in the Philippines where sucking it up and working hard, supporting the collective family unit were the values in the dominant culture. But Charlotte was an American girl now, and this was a lot to ask. She roamed the streets with her friends after school, experimented with drugs, explored her sexuality, fought fiercely with her family and got in lots of trouble. Mom decided, “I can’t deal with this unreasonable, wayward daughter anymore,” and sent her to live with Grandma.

Spring semester, Charlotte seemed to fall to pieces. She cut my fourth period class every day and came tardy to fifth period an emotional wreck. Usually, she’d then ask to see the counselor or school nurse or excuse herself for a 20 minute trip to the restroom. When I confronted her about this pattern, she tearfully explained her situation and told me she could not stand to sit in fourth period across the room from her sister. “I feel like my family doesn’t want me anymore. We never talk. I can’t stand to sit here and see my sister looking at me. She doesn’t care about me.” I doubted this very much, and told Charlotte so. The counselor spent a couple sessions working with all three sisters, but Charlotte was defiantly silent. The counselor advised me to just try and hang on with Charlotte till the end of the school year. She’d likely get shipped off to the continuation high school soon enough anyway. Charlotte was now failing every single class. One day, she fled the classroom in tears. I teach in the portable that time forgot in a far corner of campus, so it was okay for her to hang out on the blacktop outside for a few minutes. Suddenly, though, a booming crash like a minor temblor shook the room. Startled students looked up from their group work alarmed. Hurrying outside to investigate, I found Charlotte nursing some bloody knuckles and heaving in sobs. She said Maria’d been mugging at her. I began to think the end of the year could not come soon enough for Charlotte.

As previously recounted, there were some pretty cute appreciations written on the final day of school. As I sat on my stool in the center of a horseshoe of desks reading them aloud for my rapt teenagers, Maria warned me, “Be careful, Ms. Sterling, some people wrote their names on the backs of the slips of paper.” So far, I had not encountered any appreciations signed in this fashion, but I diligently cradled each in my hands thereafter. And when I came to Maria’s appreciation, I understood her fear of exposure, for she had indeed signed her own appreciation in this way. She wrote, “I appreciate Charlotte for being the strong girl that she is. I appreciate her as a person.”

A few minutes later, I came to Charlotte’s appreciation. She had written, “I appreciate Maria because no matter what happens I’ll love her till the day I die because she’s been with me my whole life.” It killed me that they had written these sentiments for me to read aloud anonymously, but they could not openly share their feelings with one another. But then again, maybe they knew each other’s voices. Sisters can tell. Despite everything, I think they’re going to be okay.

As a teacher, I am a witness and a rock. I witness my students’ joy and suffering, and I am a rock in their lives. Always there. I bear witness and I stand by consistently. It is worth it, and I’ll keep coming back no matter how hard it gets.