My next unit for my 9th grade students is This Boy's Life. A memoir by Tobias Wolff that follows a young man through his adolescence in the late 50's and early 60's. I am obsessed with this unit. My first five weeks have been comparable to the recent scene with my nephew at the dentist's office. My students are the reluctant child with fears and unclarity being dragged towards literature (x-ray machines and chairs with large lights and instruments of torture). I am the dentist...looming large overhead, shining light into their weak literacy and prodding into their writing deficits. Their lack of rigor, homework, and mental challenge in past English classes is as obvious as the softening enamel of a cavity. Fillings are needed. Painful but necessary.
My lollipop is their improved reading and writing skills. Most don't want it.
I am struggling with my job lately. My 170 students are typical 14 year olds...complete with attitudes, reluctance to work, preference for texting and myspace and facebook. Every day my mind churns and swirls with potential hooks and lessons and ways to bring them hungry to the feast of words and language that satiate my belly.
So this next unit is my focus...my pet project. Hours pouring over the memoir, the key quotes, the "fun" projects that will connect my students to this era of Americana when fathers knew best and everyone had happy days loving Lucy. All of these shows will splash during class to entice. My mother is making cd's of 50's and 60's music to play at the beginning and end of each lesson. Movies such as, The Wanderers, American Graffiti, La Bamba, and This Boy's Life will add to the historical context of the experience.
Can I find my rhythm again as a teacher? Can I serve these students with integrity and still salvage my personal life balance? Is it possible to leave work and the 170 personalities of my scholars in the classroom each night and weekend...without the need for a daily rant and then subsequent hours of tweaking lessons for the next day? Losing the mere three hours each night with Daniel (who just finished his 2nd week at work) to the computer, textbook, and grammar websites.
Daniel must be tired of hearing me talk about education. I would normally turn to my colleagues. Voicing my concerns with fellow teachers at lunch and saving more pleasant topics for home. But I'm at a new school. Eating every day alone. Adjusting my presentations after each period to maximize their efficacy. Lorraine did help dry my tears the other day with some great advice but it has been five years since I taught this grade level. I fear I am not doing it well.
But "Here Comes the Sun" is playing. Negativity is a habit. Too much focus on the daily "thisclasssucks,f_ckthis, thisisboring,Ihatethisclass" instead of the interested eyes and bright smiles of a few faces that sit in my classroom. Hands that extend towards mine with eagerness and respect. Laughter that spills when my geeky grammar jokes fly.
I am turning over a new leaf. The old leaf is still just on the other side. Semi-transparent and sharing the same veins...but I'm turning. This is the only life I believe I'll live. Before me lies a day that shall never repeat. A chance to show more kindness, patience, and appreciation for what I have, what I've known, and where I'll be.
Today, I shall write letters to a few friends. Ever since my sister-in-law, Kathy, sent me an article about how the time on the internet can affect the quality of relationships, I've been trying to reach out more in a personal fashion to those I love. A facebook post cannot ever equate to a voice on the phone. An email can never replace a letter sitting in your mailbox. A snapfish photo album will never thrill the way glossy prints feel in your hands.
I'm going to preheat the oven. A salmon-feta strada is soaking in the fridge (thanks for the recipe, Claire). Daniel (currently taking notes at his first sailing course) will come home in a few hours to the aroma of eggs, cheese, veggies, and salmon baking in a casserole dish (thanks, Janette). Fresh basil and parsley atop. A glass of chilled wine. A smiling wife.
Can you beat that? Eggs, cheese, wine, and wife.