Be Good To Your People

Hey remember that time I blogged? For the other first year teachers out there, you know this is a luxury -- having enough time to write a blog post? Yeah, that's cute. Better yet -- having the energy? Girrrl Please.

Somehow though, I find myself writing tonight.

Writing because sometimes I feel like I can't breathe.
Writing because today, I can breathe.
Writing because everyday public school classrooms lose teachers for a myriad of reasons
(none of which exist in isolation).

My daily routine involves many controversial issues, most of which evvvvrybody and their mother has an opinion about. Here's some terms just to get us started:
Teach For America, public schools, better yet -- NEWARK PUBLIC SCHOOLS, Special Education.

In every circle in education, there's is politicking. Around every corner someone is judging a teacher or an administrator (or a corps member).

But wait... I found a few exceptions. Right in the heart of NPS I have this unspeakable privilege. I have a cohort of supporters-- my administrative team, fellow Barringer staff and finally...the world's best MTLD -- who really and truly have my back. Let me tell you that the only reason I am still breathing (let alone teaching) is because of these people. Unfortunately, not everyone has this support and as a result, not everyone lasts.

I have seen some TFA staff and NPS staff fail to support their teachers. This is both heart-breaking and disconcerting when you consider all that is asked of our teachers and (often) how little is given to support them. Tonight though, instead of pointing out the flaws that exist in this system as a whole, I would like to highlight the beauty that is my support system. I will call it...


Reasons I am Still Alive after my First Quarter in Newark Public Schools as a TFA Corps Member

1) MY PRINCIPAL... this shout out could be it's own blog post. Scratch that. Novel. Let's just go with the most recent thing for brevity's sake. After a confrontation with another staff member that had me incredibly upset, I took a few moments in an attempt to compose myself before re-entering the classroom. From (literally) the other end of the hallway my principal sees me. She asks if I am ok a few times as she walks toward me. She then proceeds to bring me into her office and asks me what happened. She then collects the other person, said person's supervisor and returns with them to resolve the issue immediately. For anyone reading this who does not work in a public school -- let me just tell you, this woman is insanely busy. She is constantly pulled in every direction but still she makes time to assure that both her students and teachers feel safe and respected in our school.

Oh yeah, and my principal is co-teaching one of my classes with me because I was struggling. So, yeah...
THAT IS UNHEARD OF!

2) My VP, Child Studies Team (the best learning consultant eva), Social Workers, administrative team and fellow Barringer teachers... again if I listed every example we'd be here all night, but just know that EVERY SINGLE DAY one (or all) of these people support me in some way. Sometimes it's a smile. Sometimes (ok let's be honest every day) it's a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes it's lesson plan suggestions or materials. Sometimes it's a vital piece of information about navigating NPS shenanigans. Sometimes, it's as simple as a sympathetic look.

3) My MTLD... whether it's lessons, some positive (and potentially overly idealistic) feedback, a quick convo to hash out a particularly good or bad day or that ever present smile. In my book, this lady is the best part of TFA. If it weren't for her I'd already be bitter and cynical... ok I'd be more bitter and cynical. One person can only do so much. But seriously, she is the real deal. Authentic as they come and I need that in my life.

4) Finally, these kids.
Oh dear lord these kids. They exhaust me. They confuse me. They surprise me in bad ways. But you know what else? They surprise me in goods ways too. They make me laugh. And dear lord to I love them.


So when it's all said and done, this work is about people.

It's not about politics or organizations. The only thing that will get a teacher through this craziness is solid and supportive relationships.

So be good to your people.

Peeling Eggs

She could peel anything. Potatoes, boiled eggs, carrots – you name it.

Come Thanksgiving she was firmly planted at the edge of the table, removing skins and shells. Revealing the interior and not just with the food. She found a way to pare away deceits and fabrications, expectations and heart ache. When a problem was laid before her, be it stubborn vegetables or marital decisions, nothing was ever as difficult as it seemed.

She simplified. Understated. Promised change and hope.

I got one good lesson in before she died. Peeling eggs – it can only be done right if they are boiled properly. An improperly boiled egg would still taste good, but it won't look pretty unless it's done right from the get go.

Step One: Place uncooked eggs in a pan of cold water.

Step Two: Bring the contents to a boil, then immediately remove from heat.

Step Three: Set aside eggs, still in hot water for at least twenty minutes.

Step Four: Submerge eggs in cold water several times, then refrigerate.

Helpful Hint: Older eggs peel easier.

Dandelion Summer

(A picture book in the makings)

     On the last day of summer, Charlotte and Louis went for a bike ride. They rode their bikes together everyday that summer. This was the last day before Charlotte and Louis would start kindergarten. They were both nervous, so they needed a day of sun and fun. Off they went on a grand adventure. They pedaled and pedaled. They went faster and faster. Past the willow tree they went. Past the frogs who “ribbited” a hello. Past the creek and the railroad tracks. They kept pedaling and pedaling. They went faster and faster. Finally, they reached the spot that Louis picked out to show Charlotte. A perfect spot to spend their last day of summer. There was a hill full of...

     Dandelions!

     Louis got off his bike and ran up and over the hill. He kicked at the dandelion seeds and laughed as they floated up, up and away. Charlotte picked two dandelions and skipped over to Louis. She handed one to him and told him to make a wish. Charlotte huffed one big huff. Then, off floated all her dandelion seeds like little umbrellas in the sky. Louis puffed one big puff. All his seeds flew away but one. He tried again. Charlotte told Louis the seed must be scared. Louis agreed but he said the seed had to fly away. How else would it become a big, yellow dandelion? “It's true,” Charlotte thought, “change can be good.” She leaned over the last lonely seed. She breathed in deep, then let out one long stream of air. Off the seed flew, up into the sky, until it faded into the clouds and out of sight. Charlotte decided she was ready to go home. So one more time, they pedaled and pedaled. They went faster and faster, until they arrived home. Now, Charlotte was ready for the first day at her new school.

Letters to Ghosts

Inky blood fills the paper
with the unspoken
apologies, confessions,
silent misgivings
and lost hopes.

I reread your letters,
reread ... reread
looking for something
that I might have missed.

I trace the curve of your script,
my finger follows the trail
and lingers,
waiting,

waiting
for more.

Instead this must be enough,
your spirit spilled on paper
suspended in time
marked with earth.

Transient Eyes

Dense air hangs, waits
to unleash a torrent, winter clings
to the heart of those dark clouds,
chilling all that passes through
falling.

Deep rumbles shake
loose the waiting winds while
a grey sky flickers with
flashes of color and scent
dissolving.

A dim purple smell,
billowed pastel blooms,
wither and fall lightly
make way for the crisp and
bursting.


Lush grasses, interrupted
by bashful violets and waves
of proud swaying goldenrod until
they reach their fullness, now
fading.

Glowing dusk slips behind the hills,
caressing each blade and limb
as it goes, foretelling another,
more beautiful flourish
approaching.

One still and solemn
breath before the winding exhale,
now the time is long past for
change steps softly,
transforming.

Parasols of Memory

Transient eyes no longer see
the wisps of white that float along.
Miniature parasols of memory.

Fully blown seeds soar free
to awaken following a scope yearlong.
Transient eyes no longer see

the two figures visible only faintly,
hoping to prolong
miniature parasols of memory.

Sharing what they knew to be
moments in a reflection lifelong,
transient eyes no longer see.

Away the cold winds carry
a forgotten sigh, a silent song.
Miniature parasols of memory

The images now only foggy
that lived in reminiscence, so strong
Transient eyes no longer see
miniature parasols of memory.

Your One Wild and Precious Life

Here, Mary Oliver's words haunt and inspire me:
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"

Every breath, every moment is singular.
This terrifies me. This amazes me.
My soul stands in awe.
Why was I afforded this gift?
This spark of life. This unending love.
I am forever grateful.
I am forever indebted.

I strive to be worthy.
To live fully.
To love deeply.
To take every chance.
To relish my one wild and precious life.

This moment will never come again.
It is here, begging to be lived.

Here, Mary Oliver's words simply inspire me:
"When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement."