Monday, December 22, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
...and everything was fine
It was the start of a frigid, icy day. It seems as though all the air had frozen in the middle of the night and was deposited on my fair city.
Of course, I was running late. Not to mention I had fallen asleep at 9 the night prior meaning I had gotten absolutely no work done. I woke up, stumbled around a drafty house and ambled to work.
It started out as a typical chaotic run-around. I ran around making transparency agendas and bullshit worksheets. The ball started rolling and roll it did. I was run over by each and every class. Despite the fact that the most unruly kids weren't present, classes were still out of control. I spent several moments gazing out the window, eyes welling up in tears, yearning to break free.
The final class was a double period of the most disrespectful, rude, lazy kids. It seemed that their sole purpose in life was to drive me mad. Everything became some sort of negotiation. I clasped my hands on my head and prayed the clock would tick a little faster. I sent them out, forgoing a formal lining up procedure, my head spinning from the stench of 10-year olds and under-achievement.
I felt defeated.
And then a little boy from the second grade class came in.
"Hi Mr. Lim" and he wrapped his tiny arms around my torso.
And everything was fine.
Of course, I was running late. Not to mention I had fallen asleep at 9 the night prior meaning I had gotten absolutely no work done. I woke up, stumbled around a drafty house and ambled to work.
It started out as a typical chaotic run-around. I ran around making transparency agendas and bullshit worksheets. The ball started rolling and roll it did. I was run over by each and every class. Despite the fact that the most unruly kids weren't present, classes were still out of control. I spent several moments gazing out the window, eyes welling up in tears, yearning to break free.
The final class was a double period of the most disrespectful, rude, lazy kids. It seemed that their sole purpose in life was to drive me mad. Everything became some sort of negotiation. I clasped my hands on my head and prayed the clock would tick a little faster. I sent them out, forgoing a formal lining up procedure, my head spinning from the stench of 10-year olds and under-achievement.
I felt defeated.
And then a little boy from the second grade class came in.
"Hi Mr. Lim" and he wrapped his tiny arms around my torso.
And everything was fine.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
I quit
Those two words run through my head every single minute of every single class. Would it be giving in? Of course. Would I be happier? Probably. Unfortunately there's also a little thing called fiscal responsibility which tugs at my lingering thoughts of freedom.
As little Javante was sashaying his little 4th grade 'tude all around the classroom, I thought to myself, this would be the perfect time to quit. But my resignation had to be dramatic. I couldn't just waste it on the little beasts in class. Who, then? My principal most likely wasn't going to be in her office and even then I really didn't want to rub it in her face -- she wasn't the reason for my unhappiness. What would be optimal is if I could scream, I quit to each and every class that has made my life a living hell for the past four months.
"Good morning class 311, I quit, have a great rest of your day"
"Good afternoon class 211, I quit, have a great evening"
No matter how it goes, though, I'd always want to do it better which, ultimately, might be why I'm not quitting. I would never be able to get it right and it will never live up to my expectations.
Besides, nothing would torture them more than having me show up to work every day.
As little Javante was sashaying his little 4th grade 'tude all around the classroom, I thought to myself, this would be the perfect time to quit. But my resignation had to be dramatic. I couldn't just waste it on the little beasts in class. Who, then? My principal most likely wasn't going to be in her office and even then I really didn't want to rub it in her face -- she wasn't the reason for my unhappiness. What would be optimal is if I could scream, I quit to each and every class that has made my life a living hell for the past four months.
"Good morning class 311, I quit, have a great rest of your day"
"Good afternoon class 211, I quit, have a great evening"
No matter how it goes, though, I'd always want to do it better which, ultimately, might be why I'm not quitting. I would never be able to get it right and it will never live up to my expectations.
Besides, nothing would torture them more than having me show up to work every day.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
F-U-G
One of the interesting things about working with little kids is that though they know a lot of things they probably shouldn't, there are many things of which they still are unfamiliar with.
It's hard not to giggle when a student puts together f-u-g as a nonsense word and is blissfully unaware that in two years time they will be using that same word to refer to his or her peers. Working with the first graders is truly bipolar. Sure, when you have them one on one or even one on two or three it's fine and one's education training is being put to use. Put them together for story time and all hell breaks loose.
I've often wondered, on countless hours of frustration, why children just cannot sit still and behave for an extended period of time. When they feed off the energy of their peers, the turn into mass hysteria packed into little 12-year old bodies. I don't know if it was my parents, my school or just the way I was, but I could not fathom ever acting out. I'm wondering if I was in the minority there. Are most kids rambunctious, semi-moral beings that desire to act out? Are they merely a product of the community from which they came?
It's such a shame that at first grade, they're already on the path to becoming nightmares. I can't help but feel powerless to curb this direction, but f-u-g, at least they can insult each other with the correct short 'u' sound.
It's hard not to giggle when a student puts together f-u-g as a nonsense word and is blissfully unaware that in two years time they will be using that same word to refer to his or her peers. Working with the first graders is truly bipolar. Sure, when you have them one on one or even one on two or three it's fine and one's education training is being put to use. Put them together for story time and all hell breaks loose.
I've often wondered, on countless hours of frustration, why children just cannot sit still and behave for an extended period of time. When they feed off the energy of their peers, the turn into mass hysteria packed into little 12-year old bodies. I don't know if it was my parents, my school or just the way I was, but I could not fathom ever acting out. I'm wondering if I was in the minority there. Are most kids rambunctious, semi-moral beings that desire to act out? Are they merely a product of the community from which they came?
It's such a shame that at first grade, they're already on the path to becoming nightmares. I can't help but feel powerless to curb this direction, but f-u-g, at least they can insult each other with the correct short 'u' sound.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Christmastime is most definitely NOT here
WLIT the light, aka the station that usually plays Delilah, has now been transformed into the all Christmas network. Sure you have your mix of Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas and N'SYNC's Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, but also Mel Torme schmaltzfests that elicits images of an LCD fire burning through the night.
It most definitely is not Christmas. My halloween jack 'o' lantern is still freshly decaying on my stoop. My pumpkin fragranced wall-plugin is firmly jacked into the kitchen socket. Leaves still cling to the frigid limbs of trees lining my street.
What happened to fall? It seems like it was just a small pitstop from sweltering heat to holly jolly. At risk of sounding like a whiny anti-commercialist, seasons are now dictated by the biggest financial returns -- which makes sense considering our economy shares much in common with that last trembling leaf, hanging precariously, ready to plummet.
That being said, it did begin to snow here in Chicago. It caught me very much off guard. I froze in my tracks unsure if I should dash out to my car or back into the house for a jacket. I discovered, however, that it didn't really matter when making the short trip to KFC down the street.
But to the weather, the world and life, I say bring it on, bitch. I'm going to keep going, keep moving forward and nothing, not snow or a bunch of snot-nosed little brats will make me cave.
It most definitely is not Christmas. My halloween jack 'o' lantern is still freshly decaying on my stoop. My pumpkin fragranced wall-plugin is firmly jacked into the kitchen socket. Leaves still cling to the frigid limbs of trees lining my street.
What happened to fall? It seems like it was just a small pitstop from sweltering heat to holly jolly. At risk of sounding like a whiny anti-commercialist, seasons are now dictated by the biggest financial returns -- which makes sense considering our economy shares much in common with that last trembling leaf, hanging precariously, ready to plummet.
That being said, it did begin to snow here in Chicago. It caught me very much off guard. I froze in my tracks unsure if I should dash out to my car or back into the house for a jacket. I discovered, however, that it didn't really matter when making the short trip to KFC down the street.
But to the weather, the world and life, I say bring it on, bitch. I'm going to keep going, keep moving forward and nothing, not snow or a bunch of snot-nosed little brats will make me cave.
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