And the depths get lower

...and I thought it couldn't get worse.

I remember sitting in the library, crying over how terribly inconsequential I felt. Students would come and go, pay little to no attention to me, and I felt like I was serving no purpose.

So here I am in first grade -- the teacher. Have things gotten better? Absolutely not. It's so strange that I really thought things could not get any worse than they were -- and here we are, worse.

The most comment I get is, "But they're only first graders!" True, these students are physically about seven or eight years old, but they've been molded and disfigured by some force within their environment. They do not know social norms, mores, or basic human principles. Fighting, screaming, kicking and yelling are accepted.

And the fighting! I really do not know what to do about all the fighting. Literally (and I know a lot of people misuse the word literally, but in all honesty) I cannot get out four words without being interrupted by fighting or some sort of emotional outburst. I'm at a complete loss as to what to do.

I know that I cannot be yet another authority figure to abandon these kids, but they seriously do not know the damage they do. I can only hope that time will erode these rebellious spirits and leave me with a shred of my sanity.

Winter Passing

Today was the first day that winter truly felt over. Sure the weather has been steadily climbing, but the precipitation that fell all day today was, thankfully, not white and fluffy.

I remember about a year ago when this whole teaching thing began to become a reality, most people scoffed at a Texas boy like me surviving through a midwestern winter. To a degree, yes, it was cold. Yes the snow was a huge setback. Yes the world was a frozen tundra. But I made it. Despite the crippling temperatures there were more pressing issues at hand.

I feel spring is an appropriate time for me to be transitioning to 1st grade -- the metaphors are almost too obvious. That being said nervous is probably too reductive a word to explain what I'm feeling at this point.

I'm also thinking about all the challenges I've faced thusfar, many of which I've chronicled on this blog. I wonder what has brought me this far. I'd like to think that it's courage, bravery, or some other descriptor found on Hallmark card -- or, and this has been nagging me, is it fear. I don't think of myself as an especially courageous or brave person.

Fear aside, I look at the 1st grade class where I will be spending the last 3 months of this school year and I'm filled with something else. As cheesy as it sounds, especially in this post-Obama clime, I'm filled with hope. Hope that I really can make a difference.

Sp-R-ing

Springtime typically signifies resurgence, renewal, life beginning. Certianly there has been change. After many, many months spent in the library as a glorified babysitter, I've finally gotten word that I'm moving to First grade. Just like a primary student, I'm filled with hope, fear, and anxiety. Though I know mostly what to expect, I'm not expecting to know everything. Students that are currently difficult will most likely continue to be as such. I know that this was probably the position that I was meant to be in, a little voice continues to question my ability.

It's also the week of standarized testing here in Illinois and I've discovered that many students do not know how to bubble in testing sheets -- I've also discovered that it's a difficult thing to teach in the ten seconds before a test is slated to begin.

I feel like my life is still coasting down a hill of ambivalence. Each day is a challenge, often frought with tears and anger, but the day seems to end at 2:45. I come every day expecting trouble and am usually met with it.

Three months.