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.