east meets west

Growing old

It’s only taken three months of teaching in the desert to take the city out of this city girl.

Last weekend in Las Vegas, I sat in a café at the upscale Paris hotel, far from the casino and boulevard congestion. Yet I felt a numbing headache crawl behind my eyes. By lunchtime, I had already taken two Tylenol capsules and was ready for a nap. That night, I slept for almost 12 hours. I was burning with a fever and a sore throat. The only explanation my friends and I could arrive at to my (and others’) sudden sickness was the air pollution.

I actually looked forward to leaving the glitzy city to return to my mesa. The first thing I did when I got home Sunday night was do laundry. Apparently life out here has made me kind of boring. My parents and their friends concur; they stay out later on Saturday nights and hit up the same restaurants and breweries I prowled in college. On a good Saturday, I watch old DVDs and make posters for my classroom.

It took 22 years of heavy-duty smog to refine my lungs to the fumes of traffic, clubs and bars. In college, I could sit in a cigarette-seeped room until early morning, drowning in music and beer. Now, every time I enter a cigarette-filled room, my head spins. I can’t have more than one alcoholic drink without feeling a little too happy. And staying out past 1 a.m., is kind of wild. Welcome to my early 20’s.

How to teach reading

After seventh period today, I sat dumbly at my desk and proceeded to stuff five Hershey kisses into my mouth, one after the other. It was a pitiful attempt to inject some sweetness into my day. It was a bad day.

Actually, it was possibly the worst day for me thus far. My assistant was absent again and ALL of my students, even the best ones, were in foul moods. I had kids rolling around on the ground, I was called name after inappropriate name, and only two out of my seven classes actually learned anything, I think. I kicked one student out, am writing up two incident reports and a student's CD player and Game Boy were stolen from my desk. All these things, big and small, happened before 2 p.m. This was the first time I was ready to cry in front of my students. I had no control. I thought the day was a lost cause.

But then came seventh period. It was a quiet class with one of my most oppositional and defiant students who happens to have an extremely severe learning disability. We review his reading flashcards and I'm just counting down the minutes to the end of the day. But you know what he said when we got to the word "they"? He struggled with the word for a second and then paused, saying "That's the word with the posers!"

He actually remembered what I taught him. Since phonics is decidedly uncool for 15-year olds, my explanation for blends (sh-, th-, wh-, etc.) is that those are letters who are dating. Letters that are dating make their own sound (luckily my eighth graders don't think too deeply about that and neither should we) and letter combinations like -ey are posers. Indeed, those are letters who combine to make a sound that belongs to neither-- much like the trifling posers all 8th graders recognize in the hallways for sporting the wrong colors and talking trash they don't know about.

When he used my "posers" explanation to sound out "they", I began jumping up and down in glee. The rest of the class thought I was nuts. I probably am. I was so happy that someone actually remembered something I taught and applied it, I thought that one little thing was going to clear the misery from my day.

I was wrong. After class ended, I found out someone had gone through my desk and taken another student's CD player and Game Boy. The students know that they put their things in my desk at their own risk so it is not technically my responsibility. But it still took five Hershey kisses and concentrating on the fact that my student remembered what posers are to even get me out of my chair after school.

The secret to success

I have found the secret to success, happiness and confidence.

The secret is in the tables.

The multiplication tables.

Virtually all of my 13-, 14-year-old math students came in not knowing how to multiply. By the end of 2005 they will. In fact, most have already memorized the 1's through 5's. Some are already on division. We just finished our first nine weeks. I'm still a fresh and inexperienced (read: lousy) teacher, but if anything, these kids will leave this school year knowing their tables at the snap of a finger.

Since the first week of school, everyone flips through their flashcards religiously. It's one of their dreaded, yet most rewarding exercises of the day. I drill them individually on their multiplication and then we do Mad Minutes. For five minutes, each person silently completes as many multiplication problems as they can.

Often, this daily drill cuts into almost half of our math periods. Some days it feels like a waste of time. Many days I want to just jump into the day's lesson, because our 45-minute class period seems nearly over after the kids stumble in. And on other days, I just want to skip the whole darn process because it just takes too much energy to holler and coax the students to even just take their cards out of the plastic baggies.

But I can't give up on them. Because my mother was right 14 years ago when she hammered me nightly with multiplication facts until I cried: Memorizing multiplication is the key to everything else in math.

Since they've been practicing their times tables, the same kids who were once relegated to the plus and minus side of arithmetic are now dividing fractions. They can execute long division and we'll start doing Algebra soon. They're whizzing through math that they weren't even taught in all eight years of schooling. They might hate going to school and they might dream of skipping my class but the facts stand true: One student who is almost 16 and still in eighth grade can finish more than 100 multiplication problems in five minutes, and another student who has mental retardation is now learning multi-digit multiplication.

For some of them, this is the first time they've been empowered to do the same work as their peers in the general ed classes. For others, this is the quickest way to boost their confidence for other subjects. And yet for others, this is the first time they've been able to do something remotely right at school.

Temporarily abled

From Phil Nash, my former Asian American studies professor:

My mom taught special ed students and was fond of saying that all of us are temporarily-abled. We start life unable to take care of ourselves. Many end our lives that way. A sudden ski accident or illness can change us from a seemingly free and independent creature to one who is dependent on the assistance of others.

If we see ourselves as an interconnected community of care, then we realize that those of us who temporarily are blessed with the ability to take care of ourselves and others have the obligation to do so. And we should not look upon others without seeing a piece of ourselves.

My mom had each of her four kids spend a day at her school once a year when we were growing up. It was a good reminder that each of us has strengths and weaknesses. Our current society sees the ability to take standardized tests and sit still in a chair for six hours as paramount, but that has never been the norm for most of the world, and even here it has only been a norm for the majority of us for a few decades. The people I saw in my mom's classes sometimes had serious developmental or learning issues, but sometimes they were the kids who needed a little extra attention or support.

You are doing one of the hardest jobs a teacher can do in your first year of teaching. Most of us have one grade level and one plan per class. Keep that in mind when you think you are pushing that rock up the hill one time too many.

And what a rock that can be. This week I watched one of my students get beaten up, another caught with drugs and yet another handcuffed and shoved in the back of a police vehicle. There is nothing quite like just standing there, watching your student-- your responsibility-- get arrested. He needed to be, but as the kids would say, dang it...

I feel like I'm getting the hang of the actual working description; my lesson plans come faster, I'm a little better organized and I finally learned how to unit plan. It's the emotional drain that takes the extra energy out of me sometimes.

But then again, there are some things they can't take away, like how one of my students learned his 2's multiplication tables this morning. Sure, he skips my class two, three, four times this week. Sure, he's defiant and oppositional and bigger than me. But the point is-- he couldn't stop grinning as I stood there and drilled him on what 2 times 7 was.

He's 15, an eighth grader and illiterate. But as far as the 2's tables go, today he was temporarily abled.

Fun facts and fluorescent lights

FACT: If you replace one regular light bulb with a fluorescent lamp found at Wal-Mart, you will save 500 pounds of coal

In my continuing effort to make Special Ed "cool," if not "OK" or "tolerable," I've been posting fun facts outside of my door each week. Everyone passes by and reads it. Even the principal pops in to comment on our fact of the week. This is my small attempt to give Special Ed a respectable rap in the halls.

I stood in the hallway this morning monitoring kids as they shuffled into their classrooms. Standing next to me was one of my sharpest students, Jeremy. He glanced at the fact on my door and asked me if it was really true. I said yes, as far as I knew; I found it from a reliable source.

Jeremy paused and gave me a funny look. As I turned around to head back to my classroom, I heard him say to his friend, "Man... When I grow up, I'm going going to fill my entire house with fluorescent lamps."

I couldn't stop beaming. School hadn't started yet, but I felt like my job for the day was done.

This wasn't in the job description

By trade, I'm a teacher.

Out of necessity, I am a mother, a counselor, a big sister, a social worker, a secretary, an advocate, a friend and a parole officer.

As I sit in bed jotting down my to-do list for Monday, I quickly realize that teaching is going to be the easy part of my day. In addition to reams of paperwork for my Special Ed students, I also have to call two different counselors and give them my recommendations on student placements. I must hunt down the high school course packet so I can show my eighth graders how to choose classes. I have to make sure Shylo has a belt to wear. I must give one of my girls a talk on dropping the f-bomb and check another boy for bruises. Sometimes I think teaching is secondary.

All teachers wear many hats, but I find that Special Ed teachers have an even wider selection of styles. I'm the liaison between regular education teachers and my students who are often the worst behaved. I know that if I walk down the hallway during class, there's a 60% chance I'll run into one of my kids who were banished out to the hallway. It's not in my job description, but usually I stop and admonish them. Other times I stop by after school and question the teacher.

Teaching has made me both eager and wary of motherhood. How can I not want my own children when tough Derrick drops by in the morning, apologizes for his behavior the day before and gives me a bag of pinions?  I'm one of the first people they tell about their new ponies and kittens on Monday mornings, and one of the last people they hug on Friday afternoons. I keep mental and written notes of their counselor visits, their doctors visits and their trips to the principal's office. I know who needs a sweatshirt for the coming winter months and who needs a haircut.

Really, it's hard work constantly wondering if my students are being shunned by their peers or discriminated against by other teachers. I pull them into the hallways for stern talks and calls home. I check for gum, drugs and fevers. Depending on their moods and their grades, my students are equally likely to say that they love me or to scream that they hate me.

Motherhood can most definitely wait.

Last but not least

Added, always, to my collection of gratitudes are my friends who will help me recall my life after college as one full of long drives, long cries and walks across my backyard to deliver freshly baked banana bread.

Un-glam

Not everyday in teaching has to be tears-to-my-eyes inspirational. Yes, there are small things to be appreciated each day, like having most of my students follow directions and do their work, but sometimes you have to look outside of the classroom and be happy with what you have. And what exactly do I have in this hot-water-not-guaranteed teacherage of mine?

I have:

- A good bag of Einstein Bagel's Vanilla Hazelnut coffee beans and hazelnut flavored creamer

- Hot water (for now)

- Ready-to-eat dinner, compliments of my cooking this weekend

- A stunning view of rain clouds bursting over Ch'ooshgai Mountain

- A 30-second commute

- Wonderful boxes of books shipped from all over the country, including good ol' USATODAY.com, which sent two boxes of fabulous books my students eagerly poured through. After the papers are graded and IEPs written, my next project is to build bookcases for my classroom. I'm serious.

- Getting only bitten once by fire ants when taking the trash out

- These fabulous flowery curtains my mom sewed me

- Free wireless Internet

- Homemade shortbread that I can whip up in 10 minutes flat

- Almost 100 lbs. of Chinese canned goods and packaged snacks that Bill lugged over from Maryland.

- A carton of my grandma's Chinese hot sauce with dried radishes and anchovies that Bill hand-carried from Maryland. If bringing me 100 lbs. of food isn't love, then this has to be. 

- Having my plastic recycled... in Maryland. Bill brought my water and milk jugs home with him. That's hot too.

- Having furniture (even though my house still a mess)

- Having friends

- Having a car that runs

- Mommy sending me Moon Cake

- A really, really big pot with an accompanying steamer, pasta strainer and well-fitting lid. And a big wok. Next buy: crockpot, food processer and an iron skillet.

Behind, but better

I do learn the hard way. Everyone, including my TFA Program Director Rachel, repeatedly told me to take time for myself. And of course I didn't listen. But after a weekend of doing absolutely nothing for school, I feel so much more refreshed and reenergized to teach. My class size has officially doubled to 17. I have three meetings I was just notified of this week. We have testing until Thursday. One child walked out on me today and an adult reamed me out. But I haven't (really) cried yet. I'm still feeling OK after doing positively nothing all weekend

My boyfriend sacrificed an entire weekend, including two sleepless nights on the plane, flying the red eye to New Mexico. We spent a luxurious weekend shopping, eating and sleeping. And by luxurious I mean we went shopping at the Gallup flea market, ate my home-cooked meals and had the hot water stop working. We had to heat water on the stove to bathe. Welcome to Tohatchi.

I am still terriby behind on work. But I'm giving myself an hour and a half to simply write and have coffee. I'm even eating dinner sitting at my kitchen table tonight.

6 a.m. to 10 p.m.

I used to work a lot in college. But never like this. My hours are unreal. I am up by 5 a.m., and at school by 6:30. My computer busted, so I have been staying at school to catch up on work and type lessons until 10 p.m. I'm not complaining; this is for my survival during the school day. It's a good thing I live where I do, because I don't feel like I am missing out on much at the Mustang gas station when I'm holed up in my classroom until the security guard, Vincent, asks me, gently, when I am going to finally leave.

Highlights of the week:
- Derrick and Natalia, my two tough eighth-graders who are usually arm-in-arm covering for each other, sticking up for me when my other students get out of hand.
- Having Natalia's mother tell me that her daughter was finally being inspired by someone.
- My most unruly student writing pages and pages of journal entries responding to my short questions. He won't listen to me or anyone else most days, but I have little ways to calm him down. I can truly say I am afraid of him, but I can expect some sort of coherent response when I ask him what 2 times 2 is.
- Receiving a package from a neighborhood in Raleigh, N.C. Total strangers caught on to my call for books and sent a care package of things for my classroom. I sat in front of the post office and cried. No joke.
- Receiving two care packages from Jenny and my former professor Phil Nash. I was truly grateful to get things for me. And it's about time I have an "APA Sisters Unite" T-shirt!
- Getting seven clipboards for each of my classes.
- Almost everyone turning in their homework each day after I installed a no-homework-equals-lunch-detention policy
- Having my kids think it's OK to hang around my classroom. They drop their stuff off here in the morning, stop by in between classes, borrow my books, crack jokes with me... For the first time, they're OK admitting that they're in Special Ed. What can I say. This is why I put on eyeliner, mascara and heels every morning.
- Yeah, that is it.

Low lights:
- Being called stupid and ugly by one of my students. Woohoo.
- Reams of paperwork, unfinished
- My kids' bad grades in all of their other classes. Oops.
- Graduate school starting.
- My printer running out of ink
- My computer no longer working
- 16-hour workdays
- Kids talking back, attempting to hit me, etc.
- Seven lesson plans a day. 'Nuff said.
- Meetings, meetings, meetings
- Class size swelling from 8 to 15.
- Not covering ALL 10-million of my job responsibilities

I love this. I'm just tired. But my M.I.A. boyfriend is coming to see me this weekend for the first time in four months!