Ch-ch-ch-changes!

Yes, I know, my blogging has been suffering lately.

To the point of fans (yes, apparently, I DO have fans...) asking me what happened to my blog.

Alright, "fans" with an "s" might be a stretch.  But one person asked, I was flattered, and so I'm going with the notion that other people might also be on the same page and be wondering what happened to my writing.

What happened to my writing is what happened to my life!  Which is wonderful, exciting, terrifying, and exhausting all at the same time, but mostly, right now, exhausting.

For anyone who hasn't heard, I've accepted a doctoral assistantship with Salisbury University.  In exchange for working with the Salisbury education department faculty in conducting research in the field, I'll be granted a tuition waiver.

Yes, I was blessed enough to be given a full ride as I earn my doctorate.

Words can't express how excited I am for this opportunity.

But, it's also a bit scary.  Per the terms of the contract, I'm not allowed to be employed full-time elsewhere.  So, just like He has always done for me, God showed up in an incredible way and opened doors for me to make up the difference in income.

The Cottage Café, an awesome restaurant with which I've been employed as a part-timer server for the last seven years, made me a front-of-the house manager.  Full-time in the summer.  Dropping back to part-time around my schooling schedule come fall, with the understanding that my duties to the education department receive priority.

I'll still be coming up a little short of the teaching salary I was receiving, but when you consider that I should be coming out the other side of this four years later with a doctorate degree valued at approximately $120 grand for FREE?  I'd say it's worth it.  No questions asked.

Even my principal said I would have to be a fool to turn it down, so she understands why I'm leaving.

But in the mean time--with the end of the school year closing, and all the emotional implications and chaotic end-of-year work, with training for my new position at the restaurant on the weekends and having basically said goodbye to such a thing as a day off for the past two weeks and at least one more week to come, with trying to ensure my responsibilities to the Young Writers program aren't suffering in the process--well, to say the least...

Things have gotten a tad bit crazy.  Maybe even crazier than usual.

Here's an example of how exhausting last weekend was.

Saturday morning, Oak Ridge Baptist Church held the first ever Stride for Supplies, a 5k race I helped organize.  Because I wanted to be there to help set everything up, I got up at 4:30 am.  It was a great time of fitness, fun, and fellowship.  We also raised tons of money for our partner schools to purchase school supplies with.

Sidebar, I also won my age group--in my first race after October's full marathon!

After the race, I tried to manage a quick hour or two of relaxation at the beach, as Shieme and Kaliah were out of town for Rashieme's grandmother's birthday.  So I went alone figuring it would be some much needed down time to relax.

This didn't really turn out to be the case, thanks to the group of high school graduates lounging out behind me who were BELLOWING out idiotic conversations in which the F-bomb was dropped in every other sentence multiple times.  I heard not a single intelligent comment throughout the forty minutes I endured attempting to ignore them.  It was impossible to block them out, and it was as if it had never occurred to them that they weren't the only people on the beach, and that the multiple families surrounding them with small children might not be interested in hearing about their drinking, sex lives, drinking, and astute observations of the human condition that couldn't be expressed without multiple mentionings of the terms "Dude, f***, bro, yo, f****," etc.

I know I was once young(er) and dumb, but this sad, shallow example of "celebrating" life following graduation by perpetuating the stereotype of idiotic drinking as the norm for the 18 and over young people crowd really made me worried for our future.

Anyway, onward I went to work.  I ended up closing and getting home at a little after three in the morning.  I didn't fall asleep until after 4 am, at which point I realized (a little deliriously) that I had been up for nearly 24 hours.

All that to come to this point:  After working another shift on Sunday and then heading to one of my final days of teaching on Monday, I arrived home completely exhausted.  Rashieme took one look at me and ordered me to bed.  I complied, and when I woke up, I panicked.

The clock said 6:50.  Kaliah's bus comes at 7:15.  I flew out of bed, skidding into the dining room and immediately reprimanding my daughter.

"Kaliah!  It's 6:50!" 

Why was she wearing her clothing from last night??

Hmm... maybe because it was still "last night."

I had automatically assumed that I'd been asleep for the entire evening and somehow missed my alarm, when in fact, I'd barely been down for two hours.

Lifestyles of the totally exhausted.

But alas, all this is coming to an end.

Yesterday was my last day with students.  Maybe ever.  At least for four years.  My head and heart are full of emotions.  This was a great year to possibly end my teaching career.  I will truly miss these kids, and my work family at MMS.  But I'm looking forward to my next adventures.  I'm looking forward to new possibilities and opportunities.  I'm looking forward to a more flexible schedule, and to, eventually, more time with my family and less time grading.  Hopefully more time for my writing.

But mostly?

As far as the immediate future is concerned?

I'm looking forward to a few good naps. 

Eleven Always Was My Favorite Number...

Eleven days.

That's how many teaching days remain in this school year, which was one of the best of my career.

This year also happens to be my last year in the classroom, for possibly at least four (and perhaps even more) years to come.

I've been accepted into Salisbury University's inaugural doctoral cohort in the Literacy Curriculum Theory and Instruction Ed.D. program.

But wait, there's more.

As of this week, I received notice that I'll be receiving a graduate research assistantship.  This means I'm blessed enough to get a full tuition waiver, and I'll earn a modest stipend in return for performing scholarly research.

I am overcome with gratitude at being offered this opportunity.  I'm praying that I'll find success and fulfillment in this next chapter of my professional life.

And, it was time for me to leave the classroom.  Though there are aspects of teaching that I'll always be in love with, I am not a career teacher.  I've always known that... it's not that I don't enjoy teaching.  It's the politics, the external factors, and many, many other contexts surrounding our profession that I can't stand.

I feel like this new opportunity will really offer me a chance to fully explore my talents and make a broader contribution to the field.  I don't want to add to the hoops teachers have to jump through.  I don't want to become someone so ingrained in theory that I forget what it is to actually put it into practice.

But I do know that I am a far better writer than I am a teacher.  I know I have the power to use words to make great things happen.  It's a gift from God that's not fully being used right now.  But I believe with all my heart that He is opening this door for me, and He has plans better for me than even I can imagine, plans that exceed my wildest dreams.

I want to revolutionize the way we teach writing.

One of the biggest compliments I ever received from a former student went something like this:

"Miss Meister!  You made writing click for me.  All of the sudden I could just write what I would say.  You're the bomb."

That's my end-of-year-teaching-brain trying to quote that reference, which is from the lovely and talented Rebecca Witzke, whom I had the pleasure of teaching several years ago.

And I have had other students reach out years after having taught them.  Students that I wouldn't have necessarily thought I had that great of an impact on.  Ones who told me how much I helped them, how much they appreciated me.  These students praised my teaching in some cases, but even more special to me, they valued the relationship we'd shared as teacher and student.  I was someone they trusted.  Someone who made them feel safe.  Someone who respected them and treasured them and gave them confidence that they deserved to own, because they were special and unique and wonderful.

This is the part of teaching I'll miss the most.

I have eleven days left with a group of kids that have really touched my heart.  Hands down, they're the best group of 7th graders I've ever had.  They've made me laugh.  They've made me cry (in a good way).  I've experienced that not-so-good crying throughout my teaching career, too.  And that's okay.

You can't hike through the mountains by staying on the peaks.  You gotta hit those low points, too.

So, in eleven days, this journey will be over.  The good.  The bad.  The precious.  The mistakes, the deadlines, the testing, the everything...

It will all be behind me.

I couldn't be more thrilled with my chance to learn, to grow, and then to make a huge difference.  But I'm also saddened when I think that this might be the last group of kids I work with face to face on a daily basis.

I'm relieved in a way.  No more grading.  No more disciplining.  No more nerve-racking parent phone calls.

But it's so bittersweet.

No more coffee mugs or homemade goodies at Christmas time.  No more high-fives or hugs for a job well done.  No more comforting someone who needs it, with a smile or an encouraging word.

Who knows?  Maybe I will end up back in the classroom.  Maybe I won't.  Either way, I will make these next eleven days count.  And to commemorate the end of an era (one decade of my life), I wouldn't be me if I didn't share a little Everyday Crazy, Classroom Edition to celebrate my exit/hiatus from public education.

And Yes, This is Going To Sound Like Fiction...

(But it's not)...

 

Why English Teachers Die Young

            I once received a chain email entitled “28 Reasons Why English Teachers Die Young.”  Supposedly, it contained actual similes and metaphors used in high school students’ essays and stories written for English classes.  I’m not sure of its authenticity, but I am sure that it was hilarious.  I was (I think) a freshman in college when I first received it, and I remember searching the internet on a couple different occasions in the later years to find comfort in its humor as the stresses of studying for the occupation and then actually performing the job on a daily basis began to wear on me.  I was so fond of it, I printed a copy and hung it on one of bulletin boards when I taught tenth grade, reading it to my honors class on the first day of school to give them an idea of what not to do (and to also show them that I wasn’t some grammar-correcting-Nazi-robot with no sense of humor).

            Some of my favorite snippets from said email include:

Reason #5: She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

Reason #14: Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

Reason #20: The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

The longer I’ve continued teaching, the stronger my conviction has become in believing that yes, English teachers are probably more inclined to die young than those who’ve chosen differing career paths.  I have read my share of laugh out loud, terribly poorly written analogies and explanations in my students’ papers, not to mention careless errors and typos that make me want to smack my forehead.  But what’s more likely to lead me to early graying isn’t so much what they say in writing as what my kids say out loud.  Particularly since making the switch to middle school, I’ve experienced this phenomenon.  So, I represent this irrefutable evidence:

Legitimate Reasons English Teachers Will Die Young:  Actual Conversations with Middle School Students

(Names other than my own have been changed to protect the innocent)

1.       Art:  “Ms. Meister, I don’t understand this question.”

Me:  “Let’s read it together, Art.”

Art:  “Select the word that doesn’t follow the rhyme scheme.”

Me:  “Okay, so what does that mean?”

Art:  “Um… pick the word that doesn’t rhyme?”

Me:  “Very good, Art.  So what are your choices?”

Art:  “Sun.  Flower.  Done.  Run.”

Me:  “So what do you think?”

Art:  “Well… I think maybe flower, because it doesn’t sound like the others.”

Me:  “Uh-huh…”

Art:  “But maybe sun, because a flower needs sun to survive?”

In my head: No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

2.       This one occurs on a daily basis.  It is the primary reason I am insane:

Me:  “Okay, guys, turn to page 23, and complete problems 1, 2, and 3.”

Random Student:  “What page do we turn to?”

Me:  “23.”

Another student:  “What problems do we do?”

Me:  “1,2, and 3.”

One minute later…

Yet another student: “What page?”

Me: “23.”

Other student, who, for the record, wasn’t talking, just staring off vacantly into space as all this was going on:  “What are we doing?”

Chorus of angry classmates: “Problems 1,2, and 3.”

Student:  “Oh, ok.  What page?”

3.       This lovely gem came from the joys I experienced assistant coaching the middle school track team:

Me:  “400!”

Richard:  “Coach, how far we running?”

Me:  “400, Richard.”

Richard:  “What’s a 400?”

Me:  “One lap.”

Whistle is blown.  One lap later, I get set to blow it again:  “800.”

Richard:  “Coach, how far we running?”

Me:  “800, Richard.”

Richard:  “What’s an 800?”

Me:  “Two laps, Richard.”

Two laps later:  “200.”

Richard:  “Coach, how far—”

Me:  “200, Richard.  Come on, this is the third month of track.  You should know how far a 200 is.”

Richard:  Blank stare.

Me:  “Half a lap, Richard.  We get math, right?  One lap is a 400.  Two laps is 400 plus 400, so that’s 800.  So if I ask you for a 200…”

Richard:  “How far we running, coach?”

4.       Kevin:  “Ms. Meister, he won’t give me my pencil back.”

Me:  “David, give him his pencil back.”

David:  “It’s my pencil.  Not his.”

Me:  “Kevin, whose pencil is it?”

Kevin:  “It’s mine.  I need him to give it back.”

Me:  “David, give him his pencil back.”

David:  “Ms. Meister, it’s mine.”

Me:  “Look, guys, I’m not your baby-sitter or the pencil police.  Work it out!”

Kevin:  “But Ms. Meister, we called you over here because we can’t work it out.”

5.       Shakima:  “Ms. Meister, is your daughter mixed?”

Me:  “Yes.  She’s bi-racial.”

Shakima:  “So her dad is black?”

Me:  “Yes.  He’s African-American.”

Shakima:  “Mmm!  Ms. Meister got her vibration on!!!”

…. I still don’t know what that means, but it makes my life sound a whole lot more interesting than it actually is.

6.       Me:  “Shaquir, what are you doing?”

Shaquir:  “I’m getting ready for the game.”

Me:  “The game isn’t for hours.  And you’re in English class.  Take your helmet off.”

Shaquir:  “I need to be ready.”

Me:  “No one is… um… trying to tackle you right now.”

Shaquir:  “I gotta get my mind right for the game.”

Me:  “And the helmet helps do that?”

Shaquir:  “Yep.”

Me:  “Take the helmet off.”

As always, thank you for reading.  If you are a teacher, thank you for what you do.  If you are a student, remember... your teachers are people too.  We do what we do because we love you.  We want so much for you.  More, sometimes, than you want for yourselves.  We are on your side, even when it doesn't feel like it.  Every time you were dissatisfied with a grade?  We gave it to you because you could do better.  Because we knew you would do better.  Because when you earned what you were after for the first time, we knew what that would mean.  How that would feel.

May you always find success in whatever it is you do.  Whatever your passion is... follow it.

And don't be discouraged when the crazy follows you around from time to time.

Because if crazy is finding you?

Well, that's a surefire sign that you're alive.  Because cray cray is everywhere.

And thus ends my homage to teaching.  Well, in this blog post, anyway.  May the work I attempt to do in this next chapter of my life live up to the quality of the people who give it their all each and everyday.  Thank you, teachers.  Thank you, co-workers.

And most especially, thank you students, particularly those of you whom I had the privilege of teaching.

Busy, Busy, Busy!

I've been neglecting my blog a bit lately... mainly because there is SO much going on right now.

At work, I just survived my final round of state testing with the kids.  The students also all made it out of the process without a single casualty.

At home, we've been celebrating Mother's Day, planning our wedding, and preparing to celebrate Mommom's 86th birthday this Sunday.  (Her birthday was actually yesterday, but we're all getting together over the weekend).

In other exciting news, I was accepted into the inaugural doctoral cohort at Salisbury University!  The degree is a doctorate in education, and pending the resolution of the financial implications of going back to school and their impact on our family... I may very well be headed back to school in the fall!

Kaliah is also doing very well in school.  She was selected to be tested for admission into an accelerated learning program, and so I'm very proud of her, and hope that she will be given this opportunity, as I think she needs to be challenged.

So all of these changes and happenings have impacted my writing a bit... mainly, it's just been hard to do any!  When I started blogging again, I promised myself I would stick with it this time, so I decided to make sure I'd update today, and then I realized that even with everything going on, I couldn't think of a really good blog topic for this week.

But luckily, this little gem emerged from the dark recesses of my foggy memory, where it was nearly lost forever:

I was chatting with my students this week about my upcoming wedding.  They all know about it and talk about it and some of them seem just as excited about it as I am.  One little girl asked me how my fiancé had proposed, and so I began relaying the story to her. 

(For those of you who've never heard the whole thing, I'll save it for another post).

In a nutshell, it was shortly after Valentines Day, and I had bought Rashieme an Xbox 360, and was eager to exchange gifts.  He had the ring with him, but wasn't ready to pop the question yet, so when I presented him with his present and asked him what he'd bought me, he froze.  When he remained silent, I assumed he hadn't gotten me anything.

I was at this point in the story with my student and was explaining, "So I started yelling at him, getting really upset, going off and screaming--"

At which point she interrupted me and said, "Oh!  Like you do with us all the time?"

And all I could do in response was laugh.

Hashtag--I'm really not that bad of a teacher?

Things My Students Say...

So I'm teaching, or trying to, last week, when one of my angels has a light bulb moment.

"Ms. Meister!  Ohmigosh!"  she cries out, throwing her hand up in the air, but excitedly babbling on before I can bother to call on her.

"You know what I JUST realized?" she asks breathlessly, and, once again, before I can ask what, she rushes on, in spite of the fact that we're in the middle of the lesson and what she's about to say has absolutely nothing to do with anything we're learning about.

"You know how come time machines can't be real?  I just figured it out!  No one has invented one yet because, like, if they were already invented, people from the future would be like, totally visiting us all the time, right?  Don't ya think?"

The rest of the class and I are staring at her.  I think, collectively, I could have spoken for us all by saying...

"What?"

She was absolutely glowing in the realization she had vocalized with this epiphany.  I was still trying to figure out where on earth this line of thinking had come from.  It certainly had nothing to do with anything I had been talking about, anything anyone else had been talking about, or pretty much anything to do with anything.

Such is life in the seventh grade.  We should consider, perhaps, retitling my age group:  "6th Grade, Random Grade, 8th Grade."

I should consider, at least, that my student was thinking.  Granted, it had nothing to do with English Language Arts.

Or any other content area generally taught throughout the school day.

But thought did occur.

A random thought, but thinking none the less.

Things that make you go #wow.