Partly Sunny

The weather is changing and the difference is palpable. Everyday I dreaded the coming storm -- Hurricane Randall, Tropical Depression Faith, and the Tsunami that was Room 103. There seemed to be an ominous cloud that hung over the day but now, the air is clear.

I sit here and I reflect about the days gone by. The shitstorm that was teaching 1st grade. It seemed strange to walk to halls knowing the year was over. I don't think there has been a time in my life that I have ever cried more or experience such anxiety.

I'll keep this post short -- there is probably more to come. I really don't know how to articulate my thoughts and feelings at this point -- I'm just glad its nearly over.

Bring on the sun.

So Yesterday

I remember yesterday thinking to myself, "Today is a pretty good day." Looking back at my notes, however, there were fights, choas and general malaise rampant throught the day. Still, though, I considered it good. Today, things were fine. Fine in the sense that I'm not pondering defenestration and all of my limbs are intact.

After today, there are 14 days left of this school year. It's hard to conceive of, really. I feel as if I've aged 30 years within the past month and a half. I'm cranky, tired, and crave the early bird special at Golden Corral -- the latter of which has been bubbling under the surface since mid-October.

But alas, I yearn for sleep that I cannot receive. My body is in a constant state of tension and cannot relax. Thus is the life of a teacher.

I'm trying trying trying to celebrate my successes and, really, there are many. So many small moments of success seem buried under a monumental amount of shit. 14 days -- 14 days and counting.

Fun in the Sun

The countdown continues to click click click one day closer to June 12th. The days have crested and fallen as they have throughout the year.

As the school year comes to a close I reflect on what has transpired over the past 8 months -- with one still to go. I feel things have changed in my life so much -- little of which for the better. I've learned a lot about who I am and the world around me -- the limits to which humans can be pushed to but still soldier on. I've come to find that strength can take many different forms and originates from a lot of different places. For some, strength comes in the pursuit of an ideal -- for others, it comes from the fear of something else.

With a little over a month left until the final bell rings, I still face innumerable challenges. I anticipate sitting on the floor at 2:45 crying uncontrollably. It's strange thinking about what I've been through yet even stranger thinking about what's to come.

All I can do is hope for the best. All I'm left with, each and every day, is hope and when that runs out, there will be nothing left.

Allies and Enemies

Spring Break is over. Four very crushing words. Summer is almost here. Amends are made.

I'm surprised that it's mid-April and the weather still clings to the 30s. Thankfully the snow is melted (for now), but the frigid air lingers from the winter. My mind once drifts to what I have previously said about vacations and the purpose they serve: To give one time to breathe, but also to remind one to be thankful for the life they have.

Over spring break I took a much needed trip to New York. As lost and confused as I was in the city, it felt quite familiar. The sights and sounds, aromas and memories were stirred up and truly felt like I had just been there days before I had arrived. Despite the respite, I was eager to get back home to Chicago, to true familiarity.

So now I'm back. It's Sunday, which means Monday looms just around the corner. In less than 24 hours I will be surrounded by the chaos and furor as if no time has passed - ah sweet familiarity.

Time, it seems, is our closest ally and our dearest enemy. It continues to push forward, with the past in its wake and the future on its horizon. It brings us closer to relief yet further from comfort. Even now as I set my sights upon the 8 weeks until summer, I know that even that will have an expiration date, like milk sitting in the fridge, waiting to be used. But like the old adage says, when life hands you almost-expired milk, make a green-garlic and parmesan cheese souffle.

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.