sunday motivation (because tomorrow, of course, is monday)

click it. do it. peer pressure.

i be trippin so hard i didn't go to work today

i just reread my past few entries. noticed three things:

1. this blog has more ups and downs than a roller coaster.

2. i am so melodramatic sometimes. (my sisters are shouting "DUH." at the computer screen right now)

3. (and this is the worst) oh gosh. i've turned into one of those ohthishasbeensuchahorribledayi'mgoingtogohomeandblogaboutit! types.

forgive me.

Nothing like opening a text book at the end of the day to find yourself crudely drawn in a sexual position with the caption "SUCK IT, GIRL!"

Come to think of it, there's also nothing like starting the day to find that someone has located your lotion, taken it and spewed it all over the back of the room for fun.

Nothing like realizing that at the end of the day, no matter how hard your work or how patient you are, you won't gain an ounce of respect from the people you do it all for. That you're not going to change the lack of respect and integrity that has plagued a culture for generations. That you absolutely can't force anyone to value something, even if that something is the best thing for them. That tomorrow, you can be absolutely 100% certain you will be disrespected on a personal level. Just like you were today. And yesterday. And the day before.

I'm not speaking about race. I'm not speaking about socioeconomic status. I'm speaking about a self-repeating culture. A pervading mindset that explains why many of the parents of these kids schedule conferences not to collaborate on a plan to help him succeed in the future, but with a list of grievances with the school/administration/teachers to explain why their kid is in trouble in the first place.

HELLO. It's not my fault. IT'S YOURS. And maybe it's not yours entirely. But it's DEFINITELY not mine.

I hate this job.

I want to punch whoever drew that picture in the face repeatedly.

I know we're talking about middle-schoolers. Stupid, hormonal middle-school boys. But those are the people I interact with more than anyone else. So I feel violated. I feel cheapened. I feel like there is no value in what I'm investing my time, heart and energy into. I don't want to go back.

But I will. There's no promise that tomorrow will be better, but there's a promise that this ends in four months. And that somehow the Lord is working in those dark, sinister hallways of RMS. I know because I'm in those same hallways, and He's in me.

BAKED.

Learned a new one today. "Baked." "Work" is less than "Flame" is less than "Bake." All of them mean to make fun of someone. Today during third block, that's all they wanted to do. Again. I quelled it 'til HAC (outside) time, where I employed a little selective hearing. Here some snippets I "didn't hear."

Quabi [as he peers into the dumpster outside the lunchroom]: "Malik! You need to come here! Yo house gettin' robbed!!"

Malik [as he stares at Quabi's pimpled brow]: "Yeah but tell me how yo forehead's got AIDS?"

Quabi [inspecting the pleats in Malik's pants]: "Same reason you wearin' yo dad's church slacks to SCHOOL!"

Chy [the Asian, as he ponders Quabi's lazy eye]: "Quabi's eye like a security camera. It only blink like once a month!"

Quabi: "Yeah an' I got a hangnail; you gonna give me a manicure?"

I couldn't help it. I was rolling. I guess it doesn't translate as humorously in print, but trust. Maybe I should feel guilty for laughing at their expense...but these kids are hilarious. It's one of the perks of my jobs; they're nothing if not entertaining.

Then: "MS. M! We see you laughin'...over there in them busted up BOOTS!"

"Honey, if you have a problem with my boots you're gonna have to take it up with your Daddy; he's the one that bought them for me!"

"OH SHE TRYNNA FLAAAMMMMEEEE!!! MS. M TRYNNA WORK!!!"

Later we were back in class listening to Pandora while doing our review packet. Usher's "Burn" came on and by the middle of the first verse, all pencils were down and 28 boys' voices belted out in unison. I looked at them for a second, thought about getting on to them, then passionately joined in the chorus, "But you know that's it's over, we knew it was through, let it burn...let it burn...gotta let it burn..."

Slow Jams and...Salmon

Je'Cory: "I wonder what is white people's holidays like anyways, Ms. M. Y'all listen to slow jams? I bet y'all like eat calamaris or salmon [pronounced SAL-mon] and stuff. And y'all act all proper and stuff wit' yo pinkies out."

Me: "Umm--"

Je'Cory: "An' if y'all eat chicken, it's all grilled. I bet you ain't never eaten a fried chicken before in yo life!"

Me: "Je'Cory. I'm from Alabama. The dirty dirty south. And we don't eat chicken UNLESS it's fried. I guarantee my grandmother could beat yours in a collard greens, fried chicken and pinto beans cook-off."

Je'Cory: "Oh wow. We got more in common than I thought! Maybe we related...what's yo grandma's name?"

gut check

Khalil got back today. He's been suspended for ten days because he stole money out of Mrs. C's wallet. When he got caught, he merely said, "Ain't no need to lie about anything. Yeah, I took it to buy some kush."

He comes to school high a lot and says some pretty crazy stuff. I generally like him, but he can either be wonderful or terrible (remember this?).

"Really?" I greeted him. "Ten dollars from an old lady to buy weed? When does that turn into $100 from someone else, then $1000 from some cash register?"

I paused, not really sure whether to elaborate. What exactly does one say here? I did have one thought that had been nagging me since I'd found out what he'd done. "Tell me something, Khalil. And I want you to answer me honestly. Honestly. No BS. If I had left my wallet on my desk, would you have taken from me?"

"No."

"Promise?"

He nodded emphatically. "Promise."

I don't know if I believe him, but I guess it's irrelevant. I would never, EVER bring my wallet inside RMS!

thanks, bruh-bruh.

My favorite thing ever is when my boys get protective of me. It doesn't happen very often, I assure you. Most of the time they're way more eager to cause me pain than save me from it. But there are always a few moments when someone will say or do something toward me that makes them bristle, and I think it's the cutest thing ever.

One of my classes spends 90% of the time "working" each other. For those of you who don't know, to "work" someone is to make fun of him relentlessly. When taken to the next level, it is called "flaming" someone. The topics they exhaust every time include but are not limited to footwear, mamas, clothes, oddly-shaped or sized body parts (heads, ears, feet) and lack of success with females.

Occasionally, someone will cautiously throw a boot joke my way in the midst of a flaming session. For some reason, the fact that I wear boots a lot is a popular topic of conversation among them. I guess from that paired with my accent they assume I ride horses and lasso cows after school. Anyways, this is as far as they've ever come to "working" me.

Today I yelled at this class for playing too much, then told a few of them they'd be sitting with me during gym time instead of playing basketball. Needless to say, those few were pissed. When we got to lunch, the flaming session I'd stopped in class immediately resumed. Jokes were thrown back and forth between the boys. After a few minutes, someone got my attention.

"Ms. M!! Ramone jus' worked yo boots! He trynna flame!!"

Immediately, two of the boys who had just been furious with me for having to sit out during gym started scolding Ramone. "BRUH. You better NOT be trynna work her! I'll come across the table atchu in a hot minute!"

"Yeah, you work her and you finna get flamed SO BAD by all of us!"

Another: "Yeah, bruh. I ain't never worked a lady and I ain't finna start now."

Ramone threw his hands up. "I wasn't! I wasn't going to! I swear!"

I smiled to myself. Apparently their frustration with me didn't negate their loyalty to me!

It's definitely an uphill battle with those kids; holding on to the little things like that is crucial to my sanity! Speaking of which, thank you so so much for reading and leaving your thoughts here. Those of you who helped narrow down which stories to submit and everyone who leaves encouraging words: you make my day! Really, truly. It is so fun to hear that people I've never even met and people all the way across the ocean (hey Callie!) are keeping up with these stories and these crazy boys!

Happy MLK day, homies.

Blessed Assurance

I have less than a semester left to go at RMS. That is, unless God still wants me there. If He does, he's gonna have to make it loud and clear (aka slamming every other door in my face...HARD).

I know you're not supposed to put all of your eggs in one basket, but I've basically done just that and applied to only one program at one school. I debated whether or not to post this on here, because if I don't get in...well, I guess you're going to know. An exercise in humility, perhaps.

The program I've applied to is a creative writing fellowship at Vanderbilt (Sarah and Jen, begin my Nashville housing search with fingers crossed). Every applicant who is accepted receives full tuition plus a stipend. Can you believe that? You actually get paid to attend a top-credited program and learn how to better yourself at something you love to do anyway?? I won't find out until April, so until then my future will be very uncertain.

I hate uncertainty, and a lot of times I am fool to think that I'm singular in my uncertainty. I look around at a lot of my college friends--married, settled into long-term careers, living in houses that they own. While I know that this isn't the life God has for me right now, sometimes I can't help but envy their...routine. Routine isn't even the right word here. I envy that they lay their heads down at night without wondering where they'll be in six months, who'll they'll be with, what they'll be doing. Deep down, though, I know that all of us are afraid of uncertainty, and that uncertainty doesn't go away when you have a house in your name. Or a different last name, for that matter. Things can change in an instant, and nothing is certain, save for the Lord we put our faith in. Isn't it so comforting to know that everything is already decided by a loving God who has our best interests in mind? I can't imagine making these decisions without that reassurance.

With all that being said, here is my letter of intent that I submitted to Vanderbilt yesterday. I wasn't sure what to write, because it's hard to put into words what I hope to get out of an experience I've never had before. I'm an English major, so I can weave the BS into an intricate tapestry, but in the end I decided to go with the absolute truth. It took me about ten minutes to write and I can honestly say it was from my heart. If it doesn't work out, I'll have no regrets about what I've submitted. Hope this Sunday you are resting in the blessed assurance that you are taken care of by someone who loves you more than you'll know on this earth!

Letter of Intent

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I’ve always hated that question, as well as its successors: “What will you be doing after graduation?” “So you’re almost done with your contract--what’s next?”

In kindergarten, “I don’t know” was an acceptable response, as was “astronaut” and “dinosaur.” Now that I’m 25, the same answer carries with it a certain stigma. Saying it makes me seem short-sighted and flighty. “I don’t know,” I demur, voice laden with guilt. I quickly follow it with some sort of defense. “It’s just seems selfish to think about my future when the responsibility my young students’ futures hangs on my shoulders!”

Unlike my parents’ and grandparents’ generation, mine seems to be consumed with finding a career that really drives them. Something they’re passionate about, something that has meaning and makes a difference. It’s a lot of pressure, and I still don’t know how that translates into a career path for me.

However, you’re not reading to find out what I don’t know, so let me tell you what I do know. I know that the written word has always inspired me. When I was in elementary school, I read so often that I began to silently narrate my daily routines as if they were part of a novel, “…She slowly put her homework in her folder, absent-mindedly smoothing out the creases as she thought about the day ahead.” In high school, when my friends were complaining about having to read Catcher in the Rye, I’d already finished and gone to the library to check out Franny and Zooey. The first time I read Shakespeare, tears rolled down my cheeks and fell onto the open pages; I had never heard anything so beautiful in my life. What other silent thing can excite every emotion in a man? I’ve laughed at Huckleberry Finn, cried for Tom Robinson and hurt for Hester Prynne. My heart rejoices when I read “Pied Beauty” by Gerard Manley Hopkins, and the only man I’ve ever truly fallen in love with is Mr. Darcy.

What power these words carry with them, and what power those hold who can master them. I think about my students, 14 years old and barely literate. Their ability to read well and write well could save them from their bleak futures. Their words would soar above the projects and lift them out of there, for they have far more stories to tell than I. What other silent thing can turn a tragic reality into something achingly beautiful?

So why am I applying to your Creative Writing program? I, too, would like to brandish my pen and bring grown men to tears. I’d like to write a story and make people laugh. I’d like to write something that inspires, excites and amuses, and I’d like to go to Vanderbilt to learn how. I believe your program is a perfect fit for me; looking at the coursework, I think that I would be stretched as a writer and emerge more comfortable with a variety of styles within the genre. The workshops master the delicate balance between time spent refining students’ own work and studying examples of great literature. This is important to me, because I think that both are vital to the development of the craft. Maybe you can even help me pen an eloquent response to the question, “What are you going to do after graduation?”

Blast from the Past

In fourth block today, my door swung open. For the kazillionth time. When you have a roomful of boys with the attention span of a Jack Russell Terrier, the door opening is a huge deal. Like, monumental. Any semblance of order you are working your ASS off to retain is shattered in an instant.

"WHAT!?!?!?!?!?!?" I screamed. For the kazillionth time.

I immediately ate my words, for who appeared at the door? Rosie, Will and Kia! My sweet boys!

Funny, "sweet" wouldn't be the word I used for them last year, but somehow I walked away with nothing but affection for them. They've gotten so big! Well, except for Kia. Kia was 6'4" last year, so I guess there's not much growin' left in him. I threw my arms around them and completely forgot I was teaching for a second. I wanted to know how high school was, what they were up to, if they were doing well and staying out of trouble and making good grades, they wanted to tell me how many girls they had following them around.

"Ms. M!! You shoulda seen us up in Mrs. T's room! She teach all girls, and dem girls was wilin' OUT when we walked in there! You woulda thought there was a Lady Gaga concert or sumthin' when we came through that door, dey was screamin' so much! We like celebrities!"

They spoke to my class and told them how much more responsibility you had to have in high school. "And when you get sent out, you don't just go to the next classroom, you get like 3 days OSS! I just got out of a final where I had to write a 5 page essay and answer 150 questions. Dey ain't playin' around in high school!"

I brimmed with pride when I introduced them to Ms. Z and Will confidently stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Z!" Little men. We got our picture made, and I keep looking at it and smiling. They're towering over me and grinning and I look so...white...in it. I believe those boys will always hold a special place in my heart, even more so than this years'. They put me through hell and back, but they taught me so so much.

I told them how I was applying for school and how I had to have 25 pages worth of writing samples. "Guess what I wrote about?"

"Us!?"

"Yup. So if I don't get in, I'm going to blame it on you."

"Well," Will said, "if we ain't entertaining, I don't know what is!"

Couldn't have said it better myself.

what the what

"What goes in must come out." I lean over Cameron's desk, elaborating on the Law of Conservation. He needs help with balancing equations.

"YESS!" He holds up a strand of hair that has fallen from my head and landed on his paper. "GOT ONE."

Jakai and I watch with amusement/concern as he holds it under his nose, closes his eyes and inhales deeply.

"BRUH." Jakai says, putting his face in his hands. "You is WEIRD. Dat's stalker ish right there, real talk."

"You need to get checked out," I tell him. "Or tested for...something."

Cameron grins and apologizes profusely. "Ok, ok back to dis chemistry science."

"Well, if you have two atoms of hydrogen on the reactants side, then y--"

"Hey but forreal you got a Ziploc I can have?" The hair still dangles from his left hand.

SNOMG.

Like the rest of the south, we had lots of snowz.

So much snow, in fact, that I have yet to go in to work this week.

I feel like I'm in college again. All I've done is sit on the couch, take wintry walks to bookstores and coffee shops, cook, bake, read and watch TV for the past three days. It's funny how much your outlook can improve with a little surprise break! Is it weird that I'm almost looking forward to school starting back tomorrow after a two hour delay?

Ok, maybe "looking forward to" was a bit of a stretch. But I'm definitely not dreading it! Here are a few pictures of the past few lazy days. Apparently, I'm obsessed with my dog.

The pretty glassy trees.
After the snow iced over, E decided that walking on it was like "walking on creme brulee." It looks like marshmallow cream. Or fondant icing. Maybe I'm just hungry...
This. Right here. Is our. Swag.
Snuggling with B$ on the couch.
Snow gazing.
Snow nose.

your help, si'l vous plait!

Ok, besides shamelessly begging for prayers, I don't really ask for anything here. UNTIL NOW. Don't worry, I won't make a habit of it. People read blogs when they're on their couch feeling sluggish, not when they want to actually do something.

But.

I am completing an application that requires 25 pages worth of writing samples and I was thinking of including some of my blog. If you could let me know what story sticks out in your mind, I would kiss your face. And before you say "Meth Santa," I've already included that one. I'd like to submit something that talks about my kids.

'Preciate ya. Love.

On Mass and Tennis

Lesson on Law of Conservation of Matter intro:

"So, conservation....who's heard of that word before?"

...silence.

"Conserve. What does it mean to conserve something?"

...silence.

"Okay, we've heard that word before, though. Where have you heard 'conserve'?"

Leontay's hand shoots up in the air. "OH! Oh yeah I heard dat."

"Where have you heard that, Leontay?"

"In tennis."

I rack my brain. "Tennis?"

"Yeah, you know you conserve da ball?"

Woww. I definitely LOLed, if you will.

My boys all rotate to the same four teachers together, and I'm pleased to hear that they are second best-behaved in my classroom. That's behind Mr. E, who has those kids on LOCK. I walk by his room and they are angels. That's because he will go OFF on those kids and isn't afraid to say anything to them. He'll cuss them AND their mommas out before they can even muster a disrespectful look; it is hilarious. If they say something rude to him, they get it back times four. And they love him. He is an amazing teacher with an amazing talent for working with these kids. His methods aren't exactly kosher, but RMS isn't exactly a kosher school. He holds extremely high expectations for his students--academically and behaviorally--and rips them a new one if those expectations aren't met.

Now it doesn't quite work that way for me. The boys don't flip desks and throw books in my class like they do for Mr. F and Mr. S (this year, anyways), but it's not because I can holler at them and actually intimidate them. I have just enough "white girl crazy" (as they call it) to get by. They don't sit in reverence like they do in math class, but they come in and stay in their seats for the most part. They don't all blatantly talk over instruction (most days, anyways). I can sass them right back if they choose to go that route. Unlike some teachers at our school, I don't have the authority to bark orders at them and expect them to comply. Not trying to pull this card, but being 24, female and white automatically forces me to find other methods. I go to my boys' basketball games and joke around with them at lunch. I ask them about their sisters and make fun of the way they act around the girls. They generally like me, and this is crucial to getting them to do what I want. And you know what? Though my class is by no means where it needs to be, not once this year have I given a direct order and a student blatantly told me "NO."

I've gotten them to write two page behavioral essays and stand in the back of class for an entire two and a half hours. They don't like it, and they don't do it happily, but they do it.

The difficult thing is to balance gaining your students' favor with having a clear line between teacher and friend. I learned a lot from last year and most of it centers around "DON'T LET THEM GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING." By anything, I do mean anything. This year, I'm a stickler for stuff I actually don't care a bit about just because if you let one thing slip it's all shot to hell.

Case in point: Last year, the LEAST of my problems was the dude slouching in the back of class. This year, I preach an annoying sermon if anyone even begins to put his head down. I consider it the biggest compliment when they sigh, roll their eyes and say "Mann, she just like Mr. E wit dat!"

Yesterday after a passionate lecture, I lined my biggest class (30) up for lunch. They actually seemed a little intimidated as they silently (yes silently) lined up and filed down the hall. An old black woman with a visitor's badge watched with eyes wide. "All boys?! Not a single girl??"

"Yes ma'am," I replied as the boys continued to come out of the door.

"And dey keep comin'! Chile, Imma pray for you when I get home."

"Please do!" I smiled as I shut my door and proudly looked down at my line. You could hear a pin drop.

I still have days where I can barely get through a lesson. I have days where I want to cry. I have days where I feel like all I'm getting in return for my work is disrespect and detachment. But at the end of the day, I know it could always be worse!

Back to reality, WHOOP, there goes gravity

Did I just quote Eminem?

Yes I did.

School started back today!!!!! I was so excited! I mean, it was okay being home and sleeping late and eating delicious home-cooked meals and hanging out with family (and Katie) and celebrating the advent of Christ for two solid weeks, but enough is ENOUGH! I've got young students to inspire, people! Time to hop up out the bed, get my swag on and feed those hungry minds!

Did I just simultaneously quote Soulja Boy and Willow Smith?

Yes I did.

Back to the grind. And if I thought for a moment that I would come back to some subdued students tired from the break, I was dead wrong. All pistons firing, here!

Duh.

I got to see so many people over the break who let me know they were keeping up with my blog--some I didn't even know were following. I can't tell you how many encouraging words and promised prayers I received. What a wonderful Christmas present! God truly performed miracles last year, and your prayers were very much a part of that. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

This evening, I find myself doling out advice to parents. And for what? I know nothing about parenting. Despite the past year and a half, I still know verry little about what goes on in the mind of a fourteen-year-old boy (thank God). And yet here I am, offering words of wisdom(?) and consolation to their parents like I know what I'm doing.

It started when I called home for one particular student. He's an A student, respectful and mild-mannered. However, the past few weeks he's been slacking and talking over instruction 50% of the time. His dad came in for a conference at the beginning of the year and encouraged us to not let up on him; he wanted more for his son than just being an A student, he wanted him to exceed all expectations.

What a good Dad. I wish more of my kids had men like him in their lives. I called this man tonight and let him know what I was seeing.

"I just don't know..." his voice cracked. "I just don't know why. I try to tell him, try to let him know the alternative to reaching your potential. You end up where I am. Not that I'm in an awful place, I'm just not where I'd like to be, you know? I was always a straight-A student, but I didn't do as well as I could have, and now...well now...I just want more for him, you know. I'm sorry I'm getting emotional; I just don't know what to do with him. I don't know what it is."

My heart broke. "Sir, you have a good son. He's constantly around kids who don't have expectations to meet. You expect great things from your son, and he knows it. He just needs to be reminded of that sometimes so he can get back on track. You're right to be upset when he's not meeting those expectations and to continue to crack down on him and hold on to those expectations. I'm not worried about your son turning out all right; he's got you."

"Well, I'm not sure what we're going to do here. I'm going to call his grandfather and get some advice too."

I started. It hit me that this man was probably not even a decade older than me. I pictured myself having a middle-school son who was acting up in school. I'd probably be calling Mom and Dad too.

"I'll let you know what we decide to do with him, and I might ask for your help too."

"Anything I can do," I quickly responded. Though, again, I'm no Dr. Phil. I have experience in rearing golden retrievers...?

How is it I'm in this position where so much authority and responsibility rest on my shoulders? It is both incredibly scary and incredibly humbling to know I was chosen to be in this place at this time. Not by my merit, but by His alone.

Happy New Year's! Only one more semester to go!