Shades of Gray

Today in our "moment of silence" I prayed for my kids.  I prayed that I would love them for that 75 minutes they were with me--no matter how impatient I got.  I prayed for patience with them, compassion for them, and kindness towards them.  

And you know what? Today I actually had a good day.  I'm not saying that every day I pray that prayer I'm not going to have issues or get frustrated, but it definitely changed my attitude before I even began teaching.  Which needed to take place since on the way to work I got a $145 ticket.  Yeah, that happened.

Today we learned about plate tectonics. To start out, I had them crack the chocolate layer of a Milky Way and maneuver the candy bar to mimic convergent, divergent, and transform boundaries.  Before I passed the candy out, I told them about my morning and how they were essentially eating $200 chocolate; if I hadn't gone to the grocery store before work I wouldn't have gotten a ticket.  They were amazed that white people got pulled over too.

The best thing about it was I think they actually learned something.  Other than how to piss off a "country" girl. 

Far be it from me to go a day without getting myself into some sort of a mess, though.  At least this one was funny.  As I was explaining convection currents, I made the analogy of a hair dryer blasting hot air upwards to split the plates apart.  To illustrate my point more clearly, I actually drew a hair dryer on the board with air shooting out of it.  First of all, that was a dumb analogy in the first place (but again, I'm an English major, not a science person).  Secondly, and unfortunately for me, the hair dryer looked more like a penis than anything else--a fact I realized as I grandly finished the last stroke of my "air current."  I could not control the class for a solid five minutes.  And to tell the truth, I couldn't really blame them.  I was having to turn my face to the board to keep from laughing right along with them.  My maturity level has dropped since I've graduated from college.

Let me back up.

Last week was the worst week I've had by far.  I'll skip the day-to-day drudgery and get directly to Thursday--the day I'll likely remember forever as the day I realized I didn't know what the hell I was signing up for when I accepted this job.  Third block came in, rowdy as always.  I spent 75% of my instructional time explaining how to go to the bathroom (in a line, quietly, in the restroom six at a time, no loitering in other classrooms' doors, no pushing, shoving, wandering, etc.).  I did this because we've tried to go several times, only to have our bathroom privileges taken away for the rest of the week because they can't do it.  Well today I was determined that they would go and that they would do it correctly.  After I wasted 10 minutes lining them up, I let them out of the door to watch them scatter and run, laughing, pushing, and shoving all the while.  They weren't in the bathroom for two minutes when Ms. D came out of her room.

"Ms. M, I'm sorry.  But every time your boys go to the bathroom, they beat on the wall adjacent to my room and we can't get anything done."

Before the words were completely out of her mouth, I was standing beside the boys at the urinals.  "IN MY CLASS. NOW."

After I got them back in their seats, I unleashed my wrath.  A solid month of pent up frustration.  I don't remember much of what I said except for something along the lines of "No wonder you're failing if you can't even go to the bathroom without me holding your hand blahblah I feel more like a babysitter than a teacher in this block blahblah."

When the bell rang, I walked the first half of the line out into the hallway, where I remained until the last of the class was out.  Then I walked into my room and saw it.  I saw the binders from my other classes that had been knocked onto the floor, papers ripped out.  I saw the trash can that had been overturned.  My eyes followed the paper ball trail to the lab sinks, which had all been turned on and were splattering the textbooks.  As I walked towards my desk, I noticed that all the tests I had just graded had been ripped up and scattered.  

All my anger had been purged minutes before.  This was a different emotion; frustration, helplessness, and hurt mixed with pure exhaustion.  

"Don't ever cry in front of your students.  In their culture, it is a sign of weakness; a sign that you can be walked all over.  They see you cry and they know what gets to you.  They WILL use it." 

I've heard this repeated over and over, and I began to say it to myself. "Lock it up, Ms. M."  I couldn't.  I stood at the door, back to 4th block students (who were looking around in shock and slowly picking up the mess) and started sobbing. Uncontrollably.  The more I tried to hold it in, the faster the tears flowed.  

"How can I continue to do this? Why am I working so hard for a group of people who hate me so much? What am I doing differently than anyone else to have this happen? What do I do now?" The thing is, I've been in difficult situations before.  The difference is that in the past, I've at least had some inkling of what to do to make it better or to get out of it.  

Not now.  I have no clue what I'm supposed to do, and no one else does either.  It's not something that anyone has an easy answer to, or else they'd have shared it with me a long time ago.

Ms. F appeared at my door, concern on her face.  "Who did this?"  

"I-I-I d-don't knowww!" 

"Go into my room.  Sit at my desk."  Ms. F gathered my students and ushered them into her classroom.  Now 40 pairs of eyes looked at me as I pathetically hiccuped in the corner. Ms. F walked in and calmly delivered a sermon on how teachers were people just like them--people with emotions.  She explained that I wasn't a weak person, I was just a person who cared about them--evidenced by the fact I hadn't jumped ship after something like that.  She then told my class that they'd be eating with hers while I "collected my thoughts." 

"You know," she told me when we were back in my room.  "RMS is a tough place, even if you're not a first year teacher.  Keep your chin up.  You'll get up tomorrow and be stronger for this.  Just know: when you're through here, you'll be able to teach anyone.  And I mean anyone."

I knew she was right, sort of.  But that didn't stop me from spending my entire "collecting my thoughts" time sitting in the corner, hugging my knees, and crying noisily.

I also knew this was going to be hard.  I just don't think I knew what "hard" meant yet.  I haven't ever really had it "hard." I've been blessed with blue skies and smooth sails for most of my life.  It's easy to trust God during those times.  It's also easy to forget your need for Him then, too.  I've seldom been more keenly aware of my depravity than these days.  Even though I'm supposedly doing this job to serve those in need, most of my thoughts concerning my job are self-centered.  I can't do what I need to do with these students on a day-t0-day basis.  Nor can I find it in myself to love these kids who've grown up trying to protect themselves by acting completely unlovable.  

Thank you so much for all of you who've already told me you are praying for me and for my kids.  Know that you are a powerful part of this, right alongside me.

"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect."