More Musings about Teaching....Hold On

     It's Friday morning. Again.... This keeps happening. Over and over and over. With "Friday" comes a stream of feelings, memories or a quandary as to just what to do. That's one of the blessings of teaching at the college level. I may or may not have classes on a Friday. This semester, I don't. But even if I did, students come in for class for an hour or so, and they leave. Most class periods are great; students are engaged and I'm in my element.

       Teaching elementary, I was at the mercy of a seven or eight (or more) hour day for five days a week with about thirty students in one space.  It was even frowned upon for teachers to take a bathroom break (although we were afforded a thirty minute prep period most days in which I did little prep, and more prop). I could call the parent of a child in the evening, just to inform the parent of this youngster's behavior that day. You can imagine the child's behavior had not been helpful or pleasant. The next day, all was solved. The child who had left class the day before arrived an angel the next morning. That lasted awhile. The parent's response upon receiving my call was one that spawned relief for me, "I'll handle that. You won't have any more problems, and if you do, call me." Done. Back to the present...

     So, it is Friday. I have no elementary students present for a spelling test:
               "execute; spell 'execute'; the word is 'execute'; 
               'the student will execute his plans to build a project for science. 
               The word is 'execute'."

      Instead, I can bask in the amazing repartee of yesterday's class; students were so engaged in our topic with regard to diversity, tolerance, inclusivity and upon what premises, beliefs or basis such ideas were based. Except for the occasional assistance to stay on track, my students perpetuated a well articulated and interesting discussion. No spelling to check.

      Well, it's still Friday. Maybe grade papers? We'll see. 

Enjoy this clip - it fits a Friday and life in general. Have a great weekend. Hold On! I'll come back to this clip in a future blog. It has been an amazing catharsis for me. 

Students, teach your teachers well...

 

     So, who knew? Who knew that as a teacher, I am the one who would receive quite an education from my students? I continue to receive education, awareness and new ideas from my students. How easy it is to forget that I am not twenty-three anymore; passing mirrors is a rather poignant and unforgiving reminder. Yet, these young minds, still focused on the future, their careers, defining who they are or who they think they should be...offer so much insight.
   
     My grade school teachers were all women, still in dresses and heels, big button earrings, and immovable hair. I loved them dearly. We learned to walk in straight lines, quietly; wash our hands thoroughly and take a most appropriate sip of water from the water fountain - one we all shared - do kids still do that? Hand-sanitizer? It would have sounded more like an operating room apparatus to us at the time. We played in the dirt. We listened to records. There was no air conditioning in the classrooms. Red was the ONLY color for grading papers. Everyone was a Christian. We prayed in class. A filmstrip was a major treat as was sitting all together in one huge class to watch some public television station show on science - all in black and white. But, it was cool. Yep, cool. Do my students say, "Cool"? I'm not sure.

     So, back to the point. My students, thirty years younger than I am, are the products of the computer age, the age of speed, technology, information in an instant, gratification in an instant; research across the world in seconds with citations provided or generated without an English Handbook. In last night's class, my students used, with absolute ease, video clips from the Internet; and a presentation app that allowed the student to manipulate information around the screen, bouncing from lists of material to photos to video clips, all within one application. I was amazed and challenged.

     Would I have selected such clips? Used such an application? I didn't know about the application at all. Thanks to these students. You make me ask questions, now that I am the older one. Do I want to use film strips, chalkboards, mimeographed materials, cassette recordings and transparencies? They are comfortable. I know them like old friends who haven't dusted themselves in years, but courtesy forbids such observance or mention.

     Last night's session was a kind slap in the face. Teaching students isn't just my knowing the "material." It is knowing my students as they are today. Their world is quite different from the one in which I started my journey. Maybe it's time to file away my map and use that GPS app. Thanks, class.

Brains and Eggs

     When I was a little kid, Mom would make breakfast for us which usually included basic Southern fare: eggs, cat-head biscuits and gravy, bacon or sausage, toast maybe or grits. We had oatmeal on occasion complete with a crust of sugar on top, melting butter and milk surrounding the warm mush like a moat with droplets of butter floating in it. By the way, stirring it all up wasn't the right way to eat this. Eat it as it is, like taking bites off a sculpture, waiting for it to crumble just like the walls of grain would break open for streams of butter and milk.

     Some mornings, scrambled eggs came to the table and as I ate, there would be a chewy bite nested in the yellow mound. Momma fixed it, so it had to be okay. Well, I'll be darned if she hadn't put pork brains in the eggs! Yep! Pork brains. So, maybe those eggs did "come" to the table, *hooves and all. Still, it didn't occur to me that such fare was anything but normal. So, eat your brains and eggs, right down to the last neuron.

     As far as I know, you can still buy pork brains, small chunks in a milky "sauce?" Locked up in a small tin can on your grocer's shelf, they come all ready for your favorite recipe. Now, I'm going to have to go look for myself and see if such is still around. If I find them, I'll let you know. I imagine I'll buy a can of the little oinkers, but not for eating. No, this will be for show and tell, especially when teaching. It's nice to be old enough now that culture has continued to evolve, revolve, dissolve and the "young'uns" aren't afforded some of the experiences of former generations.

     So, what's the point? The point is that when we become aware of something that has always been accepted as truth, or the way things are or what's normal, such awareness can be quite the epiphany or it may be just a moment to dismiss, without guilt, eating pork brains.

Have you been eating pork brains?

Just some food for thought. :)

Timothy


*"hoofs" is also an accepted plural form of "hoof" -  couldn't help it.

Vocabularic Vomit

"Be nice." What is nice?
"Play nice." Play what and what if playing this "it" doesn't involve "nice"? 
"Don't you act ugly. I better not hear about it!"
          How do you "act" ugly? Either you are or are not, right? And if "you" hear about it, how does   that change anything; am I not or was I not still ugly?
"Act nice." Isn't acting make believe, not true, not reality, pretending? 
"Where is that thoughtful boy I always knew?" Should I know this boy? How well did you really know him? 
"You're gonna' hurt his feelings."  
          How should I know how someone feels? How does someone hurt feelings? Are they damaged? Do these feelings no longer function? 
"Now, was that nice?"
          First, like I asked earlier, what is "nice"? Once you tell me what "nice" is, then I can tell you if "it" was nice or not, and does that matter, or are we still trying to not break someone's feelings? 
"You know better than that."
          I know better? How can one know better? And what is the "that"?  Maybe I can know more or differently, but to know better...yes, I get it; I know better because the grand "you" said that a certain word or action was wrong, and "to know better" just means I should have made another choice. I get it. Damn, I get it. (Oops, I done went and cussed.)

I'm in a quandary.

       Communication should be easy. One person says a word, "tree." "Tree" is understood. Communication has always seemed a simple process. I have made it through life with my communication skills and style(s) for well over fifty years. But now, maybe because of fifty years of communicating, watching its impact or lack thereof in life, I grow weary of the Escheresque landscape I'm finding human discourse to be. That is not to say such a landscape is a "bad" thing, but coming to the realization that how I have interacted can be called into....and Has been called into question creates some angst, yet angst nicely fitted with possibilities for tickling change.

     I am weighted with voices and messages from parents, churches, southern traditions and values, friends, professional training, academics, learned emotional responses, hyper-vigilance, fears of consequences, counselors, books, ministers, a multiplicity of cultures. 

     Picture a massive funnel, tin (like Tin Man's hat), huge at one end, and ear- hole small at the other - inserted into my aural cavity - since let's say, oh...............day one! (I suspect it may be survival gear provided upon entry into this sphere.) 

    Sadly, I fear my funnel has rusted through the years, becoming happily lodged - stuck to my flesh, speaking all of its truths to me for such a long time. Imagine the wax build up. Well, happy day. The rust is no longer strong enough to hold the funnel together; like so many words, it has begun to lose its integrity, so it has begun to crack and flake off; fewer voices come in, wax is falling out in wordy chunks, like a vocabularic vomit, yet with more relief than nausea. What an incredibly loud silence. 

Someone whispers a word to me. 

I respond in a crotch kicked scream, "Stop yelling!" 

    My hearing is coming back, hearing my own voice, not all those others. Writing is safe speech.  It's written. I know who wrote it. Some will like it. Some will not. So?

A phrase regurgitates itself, "You better write nice." 

No, I will not write nice. I will write. Just write. Just me. Just now. 

He has his own face.

     

A commercial I saw years ago, a school's marching band was parading down the field in lock step, in one direction - all except one band member. He was going in the opposite direction - quite happily. He simply couldn't understand how everyone else had gotten the routine wrong but him. I like that idea. Does following the crowd mean I am right or true or acceptable or conventional? Maybe. But, there are others who are perfectly comfortable marching according to their own routine.    

Some people silently catch my attention. I am not approached or engaged in conversation necessarily for this to happen. It may be his or her voice, looks, stride, gestures...sometimes I don't know what it is that catches my attention, but my attention is indeed caught. There is presence. Self. A truth there. A fullness or exposure of character. I find great joy in such moments. Possibly this individual is able to express in a way I want to express myself, yet I fear to do so. What if someone is looking or laughs or misunderstands or even worse, ignores me! 

     Today's blog is brought to you by the presence of just such a person, one of my former students. Since day one of being in my class, he struck me as being so fully himself without excuse or apology or apparent need to follow social convention. This is not to say he was in anyway inappropriate (indeed, another topic for another day). 

     I thought to myself, he "has his own face." This is an expression I learned years ago from a dear friend and companion. One would think we all have our very own faces, but how often are we copying a face we have seen? T.V. tells us what our face should look like on the outside; some how, "If I look this way, then he/she will show up in my life and I will be happy forever." Right. Sure. Okay, let's go with that. Back away slowly.

     My suspicion, however, is that having one's own face is to be true to self without fear of repercussion or reprimand from the world that surrounds us. I don't know if my student was born with such a sense of presence, or grew up in a home in which such was validated. I don't know if his very "own face" is an intended face to hide yet another "face." ( fodder for yet another blog)  Maybe it is my perception of him in comparison with others or more likely with myself. Either way, "his own face" was pure joy to engage  in conversation and academic pursuits. 

     Such could be but perception, my own - either of myself or of others. Yet, the idea of "having my own face" intrigues and excites me. What would it be like? Do I already have it? Does this mean I must change my present face in order to have my own face? Follow a trend? Can a trend be who I am? Scary. Should I  dye my hair? Maybe having my own face begins by having my own self - inside. The face will follow with time. However, asking the question is a start. So, what might I do tomorrow or even now to reveal "my own face"?

These thoughts bring to mind one of my favorite poems, so I share it with you here:

I'm Nobody! Who are you?

Are you - Nobody - too?

Then there's a pair of us!

Don't tell! they'd advertise - you know!

How dreary - to be - Somebody!

How public - like a Frog - 

To tell one's name - the livelong June - 

to an admiring Bog!     

Emily Dickinson (1861)

      Dickinson, E. (2012). Emily Dickinson 1830-1886. In N. Baym (Ed.), The Norton Anthology of American Literature 1820 - 1865 (Eighth ed., Vol. B, pp. 1659 - 1704). New York: Norton.

Embracing shadow, difference, living loudly...

     It's Saturday in May, and the weather is well....cold? Who knew? Whatever the reason, it certainly makes a person stop to think and possibly realize that not everything lasts forever, or things do change, and we can get used to differences or change our perceptions of those differences. 

     Differences can create discomfort or possibly intrigue. I'm not real sure what creates "that" difference even, although possibly it is the threat of insecurity. Such bodes the question, "What is security?" and why does lack thereof create such angst in us? What part of our humanity or is it our humanity itself that is threatened? Does such question my existence or worth possibly? If what I have always trusted turns out to be a distant shadow of a finger puppet, then what do I do? Guess start to love finger puppets more, or maybe shadows. 

     Shadows are intriguing, aren't they? Shadow's need light to exist. Shadows need light to exist. That was worth repeating. So, light creates shadows? Isn't light that which symbolizes good and truth and full exposure? Maybe shadows aren't bad, just dark. Just dark. Sometimes we don't want to be seen, so dark is good. Light can make us vulnerable, so we hide. Is your darkness my darkness or your light my light? 

     I have learned of late that greeting my shadow, my shadows, can be a good thing. My shadow self teaches me a lot about who I am. I find I'm not perfect - go figure. I find I'm getting older, white hair slowly integrating itself it this once black mane, and I do face mortality. 

     I find that my truth and my thoughts and opinions don't match those of everyone else, and that expressing such, while frightful, perplexing, and aggravating at first, brings me into light - my light, and thus my own sense of security. Truth does set me free. So, maybe less shadow boxing and more shadow hugging? Hope your shadow keeps you warm today.  

     When it comes to shadow, and embracing it, awareness of my shadow is a must. I share with you a recent find on YouTube - an incredible jewel of truth and exposition of dark that absolutely brings  shadow and light together, dancing through struggle, pain, joy, insecurity and to safety.  

Brightly, Brightly and with Great Beauty: Worthy to live?

Brightly, Brightly and with Great Beauty: Worthy to live?:      On my Facebook page, I have posted numerous links regarding animal cruelty which is rampant and to find such cruelty within a block o...

Brightly, Brightly and with Great Beauty: For Sandy

Brightly, Brightly and with Great Beauty: For Sandy:          A flutter, an instant, a moment, a whisp...embrace if you are aware they are there or maybe that is awareness in the moment.     ...

For Sandy

         A flutter, an instant, a moment, a whisp...embrace if you are aware they are there or maybe that is awareness in the moment.

        They present themselves in such unexpected ways and in the most ordinary ways so as to belie their very existence:

a passing look, a wink
a single word, spoken from brimming soul
a sip, just one - coffee please: two creams and one sugar
a quiet moment of peace
a yip from a puppy's dream
a note suspended, anticipating the next pitch, teasing - caresses, dissipates
a throat knot, feelings deeper than I recognize
a bite of a sugar cookie, gotta' be home made
a fragrance transporting to firsts...to innocence
a hug, lasting longer but not intended so
a hidden goodbye
a silent tear, not shared
lovely ghosts these

For Sandy - May the angels carry you to paradise, may they speed you on your way. 

Love you bunches... 

Little brother here...