My Day

5:00 - hit snooze, choosing sleep over shower (had one yesterday, anyway!)
5:15 - snooze button
5:30 - slowly made coffee and pulled half of my closet out onto the bed
6:21 - listened to angry girl music on the ride into down (huge grin)
7:00 - grabbed a coffee at Perk Place (another smiley face)
7:05 - Set up classroom, pretended to think about putting some grades in. Called downstairs to talk to a parent instead.
7:40 - 160 "precious" screaming children arrive to socialize around thier lockers
7:50 - the battle has begun.
3:55 - Escorted 160 "precious" screaming children outside with thier (PTA???) candy to run in screaming circles and ignore buses and parents.
4:15 - Parent Conference #1. Very glad I had my documentation, for this child does no wrong.
4:55 - Parent Conference #2. Smoother than #1, but still long.
5:30 - Began grades.
6:00 - Swallowed 2 Cherry Coke Zeros.
8:30 - Left the building, listening to my city mix (rap, rebellious guys, and trance)
9:15 - got home, warmed up some soup.
10:30 - theoretically (asleep).

Long day. :)

Copy room and late night allies

Into the throes of my first-year teaching, I have little time to write now. I easily spent over 60 hours at school last week – arriving no later than 7, and leaving no sooner than 5 (one night I stayed until 9!). No, I’m sure many first-year teachers leave sooner and are more organized – for me, however, I feel like a mom who has finally found quiet and time to finish project when her children are in bed. As I become more organized and develop more of a system, I hope to start leaving school at a normal time.

I’ve made some allies, however – the math teacher down the hall, Ms. D____, often stays as late or later than I do. I bumped into the new (also first-year teacher) 7th grade social studies teacher, Ms. A____, the other morning in the copy room. We laughed about how she always sees my van in the parking lot. “It’s good to know I’m not the only person who has to work so much!” As we rushed off to our rooms, I was once again comforted.

I’m not alone.
Others have been here.
I will survive.

"It Couldn't Be Done"

Funny how little things make such a big influence on you. My grandmother made my mother memorize this poem, who in turn quoted it to us whenever we complained that something was impossible.
Funny - now I LOVE the challenge.
Funny. Buckling down "with the trace of a grin" is now my secret joy.
Funny: The adrenaline rush that comes with rolling up my sleeves and starting to sing... as I tackle that thing "that couldn't be done," and I do it.
Special thanks to Katherine Miller Boddie and Garnet Field Miller.

"It Couldn't Be Done"

By Edgar Guest

Somebody said it couldn't be done,

But he with a chuckle replied

That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one

Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin

On his face. If he worried he hid it.

He started to sing and he tackled the thing

That couldn't be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;

At least no one has ever done it";

But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,

And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

Without any doubting or quiddit,

He started to sing and he tackled the thing

That couldn't be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,

There are thousands to prophesy failure;

There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,

The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,

Just take off your coat and go to it;

Just start to sing as you tackle the thing

That "cannot be done," and you'll do it

Reverse Culture Shock - one opinion.

July 19, 2008
Running up my stairs last night after watching “Maverick” with the family, I nearly stepped on a brown toad who was calmly waiting for a playful dinner to float down from the light.
Everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed. Have I changed? I feel as if I simply switched from the sur-reality in Mexico City to another reality here. Without a rigid and demanding schedule, life here also feels like a dream as I spend time with old friends and re-study my old stomping grounds.
For now, my wanderlust has been sated. I’m so glad to be back in Georgia that although the maps and postcards of dream trips still decorate my room, their sirens’ calls have been tuned out by the song of a familiar existence.
I feel older. I know that Mexico and Westhill really happened; yet it seems so long ago, as if it happened to another person – and I somehow have memories and stories floating randomly through my brain.
Yet there are obscure, indefinable aches – smelling Starbucks and remembering 3 years of weekend nights laughing with the 988 girls, teasing the green apron guys and flirting with customers – sampling and loving life. Early hours and long nights spent in the KSU library over delayed homework and laughing with the librarians. Student life – cargo pants and jeans, hoodies lounging in the hall and gossiping about the profs. Curled up in my favorite sideline seat armed with pen and coffee; listening, commenting, taking notes, LEARNING. When and how did it so suddenly end? Remembering those late brunches with Ash and Tara in our apartment, with the ghetto speaker set-up blaring our favorite tunes as we sleepily laughed and chilled. DUST. The morning sunrise ritual as we rode up above the city, through the Doors of Santa Fe and my “get ready for battle” song. Monday morning ceremony - looking over the heads of all my kids and laughing with joy and pride.
And all of this too will pass.

Home

Home sweet home.

93 degrees Fahrenheit.

GREEN trees, green grass, the smell of warm humidity and leaves.

Little burning scratches - rewards of blackberries waiting to become cobbler.

Little boys and laughs.

Old friends and lunches.

Dancing and nights on the town with the girls.

Dinners and get-togethers with all the old folks... all the new couples and wedding plans.

An amazing new place to stay - but full of old, beautiful memories.

A little pink and slight color on the skin...

ON our WAY back to GEORGIA

To surrender, or not to surrender...

January 28 – February 1

“I promise I’m not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were.
…But I will go down with this ship.
I won’t put my hands up in surrender
There will be no white flag above my door”
- Dido, “White Flag”

Last week ended with high hopes. I was finally teaching! I researched lesson plans and activities, brainstormed, consulted with other teachers… and spent hours beautifying my showcase lesson plans. On Monday I prepped the marker board at the front of the room with a beautiful Freytag’s pyramid and the agenda for the day: Watch a video about Mark Twain, read his short story “The Celebrated Frog of Calavaras County,” and end the day with a “yarn spinning” contest. I handed out the weekly syllabus to the class, having highlighted the days when I would be teaching, and when my cooperating teacher would be. The kids were sharp. “Miss, Mr. S is only teaching on Tuesday? So… you’re teaching the rest of the time? Will he be here?” The sense of inadequacy and a fear of not meeting expectations had begun.

Mr. S came in and out of the class, but, since he is the headmaster and has constant demands, ended up disappearing before the end of 9th period. I was cool – hadn’t I planned to teach on my own two feet?

There were complications with the video equipment, and the kids didn’t understand the strong southern accent used by the man impersonating Mark Twain. I should have taken the hint, but assumed that because the story on the day’s agenda was funny that the kids would love it. Was I ever wrong. Students read extremely slowly, and not only did we not finish half of the story, but they also understood little if anything.

On Tuesday Mr. S conducted an essay workshop with peer reviews, and I helped. On Wednesday I pushed through the rest of the frog story and went over Freytag’s pyramid, only to realize that the students had apparently studied it already and were bored by my presentation. Mr. S was not there, and although I tried my best, I had a very difficult time maintaining control of the classroom. Both the Principal and Assistant Principal dropped in throughout the periods I was teaching, and tried to enforce my authority. We stayed until after 5 for teacher in-service, and Mr. G, Ashley’s teacher, gave us a ride home.

On Thursday I decided to see how much the kids had learned and gave them a 3-question pop quiz. I was unable to keep them quiet, and had a strong suspicion that they were cheating because they know I don’t understand Spanish. I also realized that I’d left some of the answers on the board under “words to know.” I pretended I had known they were there all along, but felt like an idiot. We started reading a brief paragraph about Chief Joseph and one of my girls was struggling to pronounce the Indian names. The class ignored my pleas and mercilessly laughed at her (even though most of them aren’t good readers either), until she ended up in tears. I felt horrible and pulled her aside when class ended, telling her that the Native American Indian names are difficult for everyone, let alone ESL. She tearfully asked if I would help her with her reading skills, and I promised to read with her during lunch one day. During 9th period my students constantly questioned why they had to do what I asked, when Mr. S was coming back (I had thought he was going to be there, but had been kept back by meetings). I handed out graded essay drafts and found a rebellion on my hands as an “all As” student revolted at the 6/10 points he’d received for missing class, not participating in the peer reviews, and trying to write an essay like a conversational speech. I was shaking by the time the last bell rang, but managed to pull myself together and go downstairs to give some messages to administrators. I met Mr. S as he was leaving and told him how bad it had gone, and he promised to be there the following day. On my way back up to the 4th floor I had to slip into the bathroom to wipe away the tears. At least I didn’t break down in front of my kids.

On Friday we found out that all but one of the 1102 students (my 9th period, and 1/3 of the 11th graders at Westhill) had skipped school. The idea was officially instigated by my “all A” student of the day before, and was apparently to spite me. Mr. G told me that it was good that I was getting to the students, but my sense of inadequacy kept increasing. A number of my 8th period students were gone as well, but Mr. S was there and ended up leading the entire class discussion. It was a relief to have made it through the week, but all of my hopeful confidence from Monday was destroyed. It appeared that all the beautiful plans in the world were not enough, and I was frustrated with the extreme emotions I was dealing with.

That night I sat down at Ashley’s computer and typed up my concerns. Most were personal, but I realized that the school-related ones were connected. I went through again and listed positive facts, such as “I like the school, I like the kids (even if they hate me), and I really do want to stick with this and learn how to teach.” I went back through my concerns and sorted through them – what can I change, and what can I not change? It took a while, but it was very therapeutic to face my fears and see how groundless they were.

Monday was a holiday, but Mr. S met me at a coffee shop and we went over plans and concerns for a couple hours. I hadn’t realized it, but not only is he my cooperating teacher and the headmaster of Westhill, but since he is moving to Ecuador next year, he also is running a school there. I was grateful to have uninterrupted time to ask questions and listen to his experience, and I left with concrete suggestions and a stack of supplemental materials.

I realize that I’m jumping into this week, but I wanted to end on a positive note. Mr. S was in my classes yesterday, in which I managed to cover all of the items on my agenda and have both classes caught up. The management went much smoother, mostly because Mr. S was there I’m sure, but I’m hoping that I’m gaining more confidence and the students are starting to see me as an authority as well. It all takes time, learning to be flexible and see outside the traditional box, and learning to meet the students where they are. As Dido sings in “White Flag”, “I won’t put my hands up in surrender – there will be no white flag above my door.” I’m (learning to be) a teacher. This IS what I want to do. It won’t be easy, but I’m in it for the long haul.

Buenos Dias

I love the morning ritual:
Chasing Ashley and running up and down the street crossing
Walking to school under a full moon
Slamming through the turnstyles
Hopping on the train
Laughing at the sleepy men with us on the morning commute
Laughing when the train driver slows down for a look at Ashley

Music on the Metro.
The Churro* salesman.
Watching people setup their food stands before the sun is up
The smell of fresh vegetables, frying pancakes, and cinnamon coffee
The juicer's stall - never with a light on, always with club music

Jose our bus driver
Nora, Sandra, Scott, Mark, Enrique, and the random other few
Balancing bags and lunches on our knees
Shoulders jamming against headphoned sleeping teachers
Tuning out negative conversations
Trying to learn from positive discussions

Watching the sun rise over Mexico City as we climb up out of the smog
Yawning ¨Beunos Dias!¨ everyone as we stumble inside and up 4 flights of stairs
Email.
The day has begun :-)

*Churros are a kind of fried breadstick with cinnamon sugar... really good!

This is the stuff of (future) legends

We watched “Soy Leyanda” (I Am Legend) Sunday night. All the Bob Marley themes have me missing Tanya really bad. I wanna make coffee and tease the customers. I also watched some of “Friends” for the first time – my roomie brought the first season with her. Hah. I finally know what everyone was talking about, and figured out some connections a certain acquaintance made with coffee shops. Weird when you start figuring out what makes people tick.

The metro isn’t really that bad, and I’ve been in love with public transportation since Moscow. At night, during “rush hour,” when the trains are crowded, the front 3-4 cars are reserved for women and children, so we don’t have to worry as much about being felt down while smashed like sardines. The veteran Americans here have given us a lot of good advice, and we never go anywhere alone. We live in a safe part of town, and watch each other’s backs. Mexico City really is the secret of Mexico – I had no idea how classy it could be. Sure, the kidnappings really do take place, but safety can become a habit. We try to switch up our routes home every once in a while. We’re saving a lot of money cooking at home, so we don’t have to go to the ATM all the time, and we can leave valuables and home and carry the minimal change and passport copies.

My language acquisition is horribly slow. I listen and usually catch the drift through guessing and context, but Ashley’s my security blanket – I freak out if I’m asked a question and don’t know what it was or how to answer. The barista at Starbucks (yeah, we found one nearby! J) was irritated with me when I couldn’t tell him if I wanted anything else, but he didn’t sabotage my drink, so we’re cool.

pictures

Thursday Reflections

Upon returning to the hotel after dinner yesterday, Mr. Wright informed us that he had found 4-6 more apartment options for us, and that we will take tomorrow (Friday) off in order to try to find one and finalize our plans. I am very relieved. Think I will miss school, but it is important to find an apartment. Besides, we need to find somewhere to do laundry – I can only wear the same pair of dress pants so many days, especially since the hems get so dusty with walking.
Yesterday we walked to the metro station from the hotel – we left at 6, got to the metro about 6:15, caught the next train, and were still about 10 minutes early for the Westhill van. I bought cinnamon-sugar coffee from a street vender and paid the gringo price, because I forgot to ask how much it cost – I paid a crazy $2 USD L. Lesson learned, however – and it was really good. I brought my ghetto portable CD player (everyone else had Ipods) and nearly fell asleep on the 35 minute ride to school listening to Arabic love songs. Somehow listening to relaxing music, particularly if I don’t understand it, makes the cultural transition easier. I’m not sure why, but am pondering it.
I spent the first couple of periods writing emails back and forth to Kennesaw, getting advice from my professors and trying to resolve some issues with financial aid and the study abroad office. After a couple of hours writing stressful emails, I sat down and organized my teacher notebook – hole-punching and filing everything till I was satisfied. I know it’s a sign of perfectionism, but I love to clean/organize when I’m frustrated because I feel like I can fix at least one area of my life. Maybe I can use this tendency in my classroom.
I sat in on 2 of Ashley and Mr. G’s classes and observed, once again, his amazing ability to adapt his lessons to the specific needs and abilities of his classes. Ashley and I both observed that he treated his 12th graders like college students, asking them higher-level questions that required critical, philosophical answers. He told more anecdotes and stories to the 11th-graders, however, and glances around the room saw all the students in rapt attention, sitting on the edge of their seats. I really would like to be that kind of teacher one day!
After classes, Mr. G took the time to talk with me and Ashley, and give us some advice. He tried to explain the importance of teachers understanding the difference between negligence and simple negligence. He explained (from an insider’s administrator’s position) that often administration not familiar with teaching will try to pass the blame to the teachers, and (especially as new teachers) we need to not only document everything, but learn to determine whether we had really done our best. If so, he said to let the blame roll off your shoulders and not get upset. I’m so grateful for his advice, because I could see myself breaking down under pressure and being confused. Hopefully I’ll learn a lot here and be better prepared to face these types of strain.
During Mr. S’s classes, I noticed how wild the kids were. The couples couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and one girl was even painting her nails in class! I know they’ll mope and complain, but I to try to be strict. They’ll probably still trick me, but I will try my best. Not be mean, of course, but try to maintain order. Mr. S told me that he’ll sit down with me today (Thursday) or Friday and go over next week’s lesson plans, and let me start easing into the classroom by backing up his lessons by leading activities. We then attended the high school staff meeting. I’ve always wondered what teacher meetings were like, and wanted to participate. Things went well, and after a get-to-know-each-other, build-working-relationships activity led by the school psychologist, various announcements and concerns were addressed. A (cultural?) concern that received the most heated interaction was that of objects “missing” (probably stolen by security/cleaning staff), which administrators answered by reminding everyone to keep their valuables with them. Mr. S ended the meeting by announcing that it was his last year here as the headmaster, and I was surprised to see how little reaction resulted. Perhaps everyone already knew, but it almost appeared like some were relieved – most did give him a hug or handshake as they left. I may be young and idealistic, but I think that even if I did not agree with someone, after fighting alongside them for a common cause – the education of the kids – I would at least have some level of attachment and regret that they were leaving. Previous work experience showed that I could still be nice to people I didn’t always like and appreciate their strong points.
Ashley and I signed up for lunch duty patrolling the recreation areas outside during 6th period lunch on Thursdays and end-of-the-day duty at the front entrance for Tuesdays. Ashley will be working with the 12th grade group on Oaxaca, and I will be with the 11th graders who represent Saudi Arabia. Mr. G then gave Ashley, Tara, another teacher and I a ride home and a mini-tour of the Santa Fe district, which is very much like Beverly Hills. Today I hope to discuss planning with Mr. S, but if not, I’m learning to be flexible. J Being proactive is good, but sometimes I think you have to do your best and let the responsibility lie on someone else, in order to avoid harassing them.
Sorry I don´t have more pictures yet - I haven't bought batteries yet. When I do, I'll post them.

Week One: Observations (January 7-11)

Strict. Terrified. No PowerPoint, overhead? What do you think happened to the old English teacher, Ms. C? Can I possibly lecture for 50 whole minutes? In front of the headmaster, no less? How much do I need to know about student backgrounds in order to reach them the most effectively?
Mr. G – “You have 100% to start with in my class – its like a paycheck – you can lower it if you want to, based on how much work you do or don’t do.”
On the first day, we attended the welcome-back, Monday traditional ceremony at the beginning of the day. The middle and high school students sat shivering on concrete benches outside while a female color guard brought up the Mexican and American flags. All students saluted in a parallel fashion as the Mexican anthem played (a few teachers sang), and 1 or 2 Americans saluted and sang as the American anthem was played.
After a brief tour, Ashley and I sat in on Mr. G’s 11th and 12th grade classes, which Ashley will be working with, and the Headmaster 11th grade periods, which I will be teaching. We introduced ourselves and enjoyed their curiosity. The bus home and then the metro weren’t nearly as intimidating as previous trips, since a couple of the teachers kindly (and patiently!) showed us around. We looked at 2 apartments on the way back to the hotel, but decided to sleep on it before rushing into a decision.
On Tuesday, Mr. S asked me to let him know what novels I’d like to teach with American Literature so that they can order the books and have them available to students in 4-5 weeks. I’ve been working on my list – so far I’m thinking about Stephen Crane’s short story, “Maggie, a Girl of the Streets,” Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, and Margaret Atwood’s “Happy Endings.” After walking through the school library, Robert Louis Stevenson sounds adventurous and maybe and maybe Great Gatsby? I haven’t read all of the classics, and while I would definitely read a book before I taught it and do preparatory research, I’m still nervous about branching outside of a textbook and the texts I covered in my own education. However, there’s no time like the present to learn.
Its very intimidating to think about teaching in front of the headmaster of all the campuses – however, I’ll be trained to think and teach like an administrator, so hopefully I will be better prepared to work with them in the future and have a better, inside understanding of their expectations. For now, I’m extremely grateful for the time to sit and observe. From my seat in the back of the classroom I get to know the students. With a copy of the roll in my hand, I watch the girls passing notes and a make a mental note to keep an eye on them. I see the boy who’s bored and needs more challenges, the couple playing footsie under the table, and begin to understand why the girl in the middle has an IEP. Will I be able to project loud enough, command attention? Mr. S’s naturally commanding voice booms and echoes in the small room.
I have a copy of Mr. S’s lesson plans for the week, a copy of the American Literature textbook, and a copy of the yearly plan for each grade level. However, because the previous English teacher did not return any of my inquiring emails from last semester (I didn’t know she resigned), I still need the necessities – a grade book, markers, a whole punch. Mr. G said that there is a whole street of supply stores downtown – we just have to figure out where and how to get there. I have a whole list of questions and want to sit down with Mr. S to plan out the semester, to understand his expectations. I need to know how much authority I have, what he expects of me. Unfortunately, because he’s the headmaster he’s only on this campus the second half of the day. I need to consolidate my questions and be prepared to only get 5 minutes with him.

Teotihuican and Dia de los Rias Magos

Taxi rides.
A hotel room.
Dinner with the headmaster.
Pyramids.
3 types of salsa - chocolate, red, and green.
The day of the 3 Kings.
Riding the Metro.
Not much internet.
Dancing waiters.
Museum of Mexico City.
Getting lost and reading maps.
Tomorrow: 1st day of student teaching!

No yo pequino hablo espanol!

Market Day

Yesterday Ashley and I, the missionaries, and some Mexican Christians had a mexican breakfast (omelet, steamed brocolli and some other vegetable, with coffee) and went to visit the largest market in the world. We saw an aerial view and it was HUGE. We walked all day and still didn't see a portion of it. At the end another Mexican friend who worked at the market had all of us come over to his house, where his wife and kids fed us meat, beans, rice, fresh tortillas, a salsa made out of cactus (not that bad!), and a dessert of pineapple,jello, mayo, and nuts. It was wonderful. The families were extremely hospitable and very protective, even though they both live in one of the worst parts of town (Nesa - remember where they take the girl in Man on Fire after she's kidnapped?).

Dia Dos

This morning Ashley and I bummed around the apartment and made nachos with yesterday's leftovers (while watching some guys paint the gutter?), and then took off on an adventure to visit the two local malls. We quickly discovered that we were in a well off upper/middle class neighborhood and were shocked to see how well dressed everyone was. The families are very close and we enjoyed watching the beautiful women, the men opening thier doors, and the cute but mischevious children (throwing stuffed animals in the food court?!). We then walked down the street to another mall with mostly American stores, and wandered up to the movie theatre. I made Ashley go find out the ticket price, and when she announced that it was 35 pesos ($3.50 USD) we went to see the English playing version (with Spanish subtitles) of National Treasure. It was a lot of fun, not to mention the guy next to us who kept answering his phone. We got home and the missionaries next door invited us for hot chocolate and apple pie, and we spent the evening swapping stories and learning about life from different cultures, generations, denominations, and perspectives. Tomorrow we're going with them to the largest market in Latin America - I can't remember the name right now. Pictures soon!

~ Angela (now pronounced "Anxela")

we're here!

Mexico city is super modern. Sure, there's graffiti and slums but there are those in all big cities. Ash and I are really sheltered so far, though - the missionaries we're staying with right now have a very nice apartment (and we have one next to them for 3 nights) in a Jewish section of town. We walked around the corner and bought groceries at the Walmart-owned (very nice, Western-European styled) grocery store - the workers all wear collared shirts, the men wear ties, and the managers wear suit jackets. If they need anything they walk to the microphone by the door and call someone. Everything was clean and they had all the American brands (well, most - definately more than I'd expected), plus the delightful European perks of an amazing cheese selection and fresh bakery breads. Ashley and I made a really great fajita meal with lots of leftovers. If anyone's hungry, just drop by. (Pics and more news to follow soon). Buenos noches, Amigos!