Job Search Dreams

Wow! Searching for a permanent teaching position for the fall has given me some really weird dreams, that's for sure. Anxiety, uncertainty, shameless self-promotion and a horrible fear I will end up as a teacher-without-a-classroom fuels these dreams. Last night, I dreamt I was teaching at a school that did away with all arts programs and instead, created an aromatherapy room. Not that I'm opposed to aromatherapy! It was just one of those illogical, scrambled dreams. I'm used to the back-to-school dreams where I walk into a classroom of a hundred kids and have forgotten my lesson plans. Dreams where I forgot my clothes. Those kind of dreams.

I guess this dream about doing away with all arts in schools was inspired by last night's television broadcast. When I was serving as a long-term sub at the utopia school, I created a lesson plan competition. The students were asked to write, create, film, produce and edit a thirty second PSA to promote the idea of the importance of keeping arts alive in all schools. The winner of the competition was interviewed for the local news, which aired last night. The PSA will run throughout the summer on the television station.

http://www.foxlexington.com/newsroom/top-stories/videos/performing-arts-school-students-produce-psas-4127.shtml

I am so proud of "my" pickles. Seventh graders! Incredible!

Today, I will counter my night dreams with continued daydreams of returning to the classroom.

Full Circle

In February, I taught the idea of the importance of public speaking. I used poetry as an example. I said, "Even the worst poems (like my own) sound great when you put yourself behind that poem and belt it out with confidence." I then expanded the idea, "Conversely, even the world's greatest poem sound terrible if you mumble it quietly like this..." and I launched into Shakespeare's Sonnet 18. I know this sonnet "by-heart" from a drama teaching gig about fifteen years ago. Imagine my surprise when I began reciting (mumbling), "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day..." when first, one student began singing it, then another, then another until by the end of the sonnet, the entire class had sung it along with me.

I stood there in awe, tears welling up a bit. Overcome with emotion. "How do you know that? Who taught you that?" They responded that their drama teacher had put the sonnet to a melody to teach them to memorize it. I was dazzled. What a brilliant teacher. How incredible, too. I mean, I didn't know that before I used that particular sonnet as example. Seriously, I couldn't have planned that lesson if I tried. It was magic.

I relayed this experience on facebook in my delight teaching at this utopia school. Many people "commented" to give credit to that particular teacher. So, I made it my task to meet this incredibly brilliant woman. She is amazing. One of the most kind, caring and dynamic teachers at school. I made a point of stopping by to sit in her rocking chair on my planning bell from time to time to chat with her and just breathe in her drama room space.

My last day at that utopia school, I stopped by her room. She invited me to stay, asking me to paint a canvas that would be used as a prop for a play she was managing for a local theater company. Of course, I agreed, even though I haven't painted in a long time. And how stupid. Why haven't I made time in my life for painting? So, I picked up a brush and delved into my task. Her class filed in and guess what? It was the day for the kids to recite Sonnet 18. There I stood, blissfully painting away singing along with the sonnet.

It was a full-circle moment that left me centered and grateful to have joined the best school I had ever served. I left the paint on my hands all day to remind me of how peaceful painting is for me. What an incredible meditation that centers my being. I won't let that much time pass again depriving me of one of my favorite activities of life. Time to brush the dust off my studio and delve back into my art.

Mother's Day Post

I would have been very upset with this idea when I first became a teacher... but I know it to be true. Being a mother makes me a better teacher. I am more patient, understanding and have a better sense of humor. Especially in dealing with redirects on behavior issues. I just don't get as frustrated as I did before I became a mom. After raising a son for fourteen years, I have experienced a LOT of crazy behaviors! I'm sure I am in for a wild ride getting him through high school... which will make me an even better teacher, too.

The idea that being a mother makes me a better teacher does not mean that young people who are not parents are not good teachers. Of course they are. I was a good teacher in my pre-mom days. It's just... parenting gives me a deeper understanding and empathy for students. And because I've almost always taught high school, I would never have been equipped for this latest gig which included teaching elementary aged students. So, I'm grateful that age, maturity and maternity were on my side in this latest teaching situation.

Although, I am grateful one thing hasn't changed from my pre-mom teacher days to now... one of my students wrote in her farewell letter, "thank you for treating us like we're humans and not just some dumb kids who you are forced to teach". You're welcome, pickle. I have always treated my students like the little PEOPLE they are. Dignity and respect. Care and concern.

Human Nature

It occurs to me that teaching has shaped my personality in a way.  I remember (twenty years ago) when I was a student teacher and I "acted" out a scene from a book. My university professor was observing and he commented specifically on my dramatic nature and encouraged it. He said that one of my strengths was my authentic exuberance and lack of inhibition and that I should rely upon that to engage my students.

Today, my middle school students worked hard on revising proficiency testing styled essays. When each student approached the desk, I made a big fuss over exclaiming, "Yes! Score Four!" Big high five. "So proud of you!"

Same with my littlest students writing haiku. Their task? To write three haiku during the bell. As each student brought their first attempts, I naturally exclaimed about the beauty of their words. I do what I call "Ms. Beck's Poetry Dance". I can't help but to stop, sigh and breathe in a particularly beautiful line. That enthusiasm encourages them to write more, more, more.

(I do have to laugh that I taught my elementary kids to "Haiku Haiku All Day" to the Grateful Dead tune. Just a giggle as an aside)

But, I have to wonder... would I be as exuberant and dramatic in my nature if I didn't "practice" it in the classroom for so many years? Certainly people who work in "grown up" office settings don't belly-laugh as often as teachers. They don't "act out" scenes or exclaim over their clients' successes with dances and songs. How different would I be if I wasn't a teacher?

Teacher Prayer

Okay, Universe, I give it up to you. I am grateful for my blessings. Love my family, dogs and friends. I do not take for granted the opportunities I have been provided. I devote my life to serving others as a teacher and in the community. I pray under the elm tree. Appreciate my life. Allow joy to flood my being. Thank you.

This is the prayer I almost posted on Facebook, but then decided it would be misinterpreted or perhaps just too "unsacred" of a place for such a sincere sentiment. I am ending my long long-term sub position Friday and out into the land of interviewing for that elusive permanent position for next year. I've gone to some very promising interviews already, but it's the beginning of the interviewing season for teaching, so I'm strapping on my seatbelt and getting on the rollercoaster.

I must trust that the universe has a plan for me that is beyond my control. That is the advice my teacher-guru-friend gave me the other day. The right school will offer me a position in the right place at the right time. In the meanwhile, all I can do is hustle and put my best self out there. Beyond that, it's not in my control. Especially since the BIG district in town is on a "hiring freeze" until May 15. So, that means no school can even post a position, let alone offer a position until after that date.

And with my son's prep school commitment looming... that's not a lot of time.

I did choke back tears yesterday as my little elementary students walked out of my classroom for the last time, clutching their three haikus they wrote during the bell. Oh, I'm so funny. When I was first confronted with such little people, I was baffled. After almost three months, I'm endeared. I've never met a pickle I didn't adore. Even little pickles. Especially those dimple-knuckled hands clutching poems. They're that little.

I will walk out of the school doors on Friday with a smile of gratitude for the wonderful experience I've had serving these students. I will focus on the open doors that will welcome me in the fall. I pray.

Too Close for Comfort

Yesterday afternoon, our new neighbors made their appearance. We have been really excited to meet our new neighbors who just bought the house next-door, so we walked over to introduce ourselves. We met the husband who was there to cut the lawn. He explained that he worked in an ER and his wife was a teacher. Imagine the look of dismay when I exclaimed, "Our son attends that middle school" and then, the look of relief when I clarified, "but, he's an eighth grader. He won't be at the same school next year."

I had to giggle. Of course, he looked relieved. I would be horrified if one of my students lived right next door. Not that I don't love my students and delight in seeing them out in the community. But, to live right next door to one of my own students? That's a bit too close for comfort. We teachers need to have a bit of privacy. Especially in our own homes. It's one thing to invite students over once they've graduated and grown up, it's entirely another thing to have to come home from working hard in the classroom to seeing one of your own students in your backyard.

What's even better for this teacher is that she teaches sixth grade. Our son never had her as a teacher, as she just started at his school this year. Our son plans to attend private school next year, so they won't even be in the same school system. This teacher is safe. Not that I would expect her behavior at home to be much different than at home... that's not what I'm saying. It's just nice to have boundaries.

I will forewarn them about the "epic" birthday party my son has planned in two weeks. It's going to be a movie-on-the-pond party and also a farewell to his school party. He plans to invite forty kids. I will make sure our new teacher neighbor is aware of this event so she can make herself scarce, if she's so inclined. Otherwise, imagine her dismay to look out the window to see forty students from her school running wild in our backyards. I'll give her a chance to hide.

Figuratively Literal

Ha! This age group of kids cracks me up. Mostly because they don't understand figurative language. When I launched this gig, I started calling my students "pickles". For the first time ever, one student took offense. "I can't be called a 'pickle', Ms. Beck. I'm allergic to pickles." What? Allergic? Seriously? Apparently so, according to her health plan at school. So I replied, "Okay, then. I'll just call you what you are. You are my BEST student". Now, every time I say, "Pickles" she always responds, "And your BEST student".

Today, I told the writing majors that I was reconsidering their topic ideas for flash fiction. First, I agreed to allow them to write murder mysteries. Then, I started thinking about their one-act plays. I said, "I don't know if we should write murder mysteries. No offense, but you kids do much better when you write what you know. When some of you wrote about anything to do with the law, courts or hospitals, your plays went awry. And listen, John Grisham was a lawyer for years before he turned his attention to writing legal thrillers. I can't write legal thrillers. I don't even know the jargon. I've never been to law school. So, I'm thinking we should stick with gritty realism."

I received a groan. After three months, I "get" them now. So, I clarified. "When I say 'gritty realism', I don't necessarily mean you have to go for the emotional juglar. You don't have to write about personal painful stuff. You can write funny stuff. Most embarassing moments. Light-hearted topics. It doesn't have to be heavy. It just needs to be authentic."

Later, a pickle approached me. "Do you have an idea for me to write about?" I replied, "I don't have your ideas. Where are your ideas?" When she frowned, I told her to take a "zen moment and contemplate the universe". Now, I've got a kid wandering around the classroom, looking thoroughly confused.

A group of kids came into class late, which happens often at a performance arts school. However, they were very loud and talkative while the rest of my students were quietly tap tap tapping at the computers. A pickle said, "You are being very rude and disruptive. We are working."

I looked up from writing this essay, raised an eyebrow and said, "Good thing you are my 'best' student then, huh?"

The Drum

"What do you do to relieve stress from school situations?" This was the question I was asked in an interview. Of course, my first response was, "I write. I keep a journal and I write." This, because I am a writer and a writing teacher. I then talked about practicing silence... my spiritual quest to learn to listen more and talk less. I concluded that I like to walk my dogs and that my husband and I are boaters, so we like to take our family and friends boating.

What I forgot to mention was my drum. Perhaps it's because I haven't gone to my drumming class lately. Too much stress. What a mistake. Learning West African drumming and buying a djembe are honestly the best stress-relievers there are for me. The reason? Because it's the only two hours of the week where I can't think about anything other than the rhythm we are practicing. It's that complicated when drumming to polyphonic rhythms. Like being on a roller-coaster. You have your rhythm and then the next group layers their rhythm and the next layers a third rhythm while at the same time, our teacher keeps time with a tambourine attached to his foot and adds solos with his djembe on top of it all. Add a djun-djun and some claves or a cow-bell and chaos ensues. Either that or the most exhilarating music I have ever heard (or made).

When I was in middle-school, I wanted to choose drums for band. However, I got stuck with the clarinet. So, learning to drum at this stage of life is a gift to my little girl self. Playing in the school band was great, though. Participating in a group to make music together is just so satisfying. But, there is nothing like the joy of banging on a drum. Especially hand-drumming. It's physical. Visceral. Real. No room in my brain to worry or work a poem through or dream up lesson plans. I am completely present in the moment of the rhythm.

So, with this reminder, I am inspired to return to my weekly drum class. Another reason is because I have been blessed with the world's greatest drum teacher, Tripp Bratton. Not only is he incredibly talented, he is brilliant. He knows the history of rhythms and teaches us. He also happens to have one of the kindest faces I have ever met. It's because of his soul. He is a kind and generous soul and it radiates from every pore of his being.

It's time for me to return to the drum. I'm so grateful for the interview I had. It reminded me that all professionals experience stress and we need to work our tools to relieve it. If I'm super-stressed out now teaching full-time while working full-time to find a job... I must find time to drum. My soul will thank me.