My husband and my two dogs have gone to Chicago for the weekend. My husband and his dad are going to the Northwestern game together, and I'm terrible jealous. The worst part is not that I'm missing the game, the worst part is how quiet my small home is without my family. I have never lived alone, and now I know why. I have two televisions on just to make it feel like I have more people here!
I thought that my weekend would be peaceful. I have a long list of homework that needs to be done. There are dishes to put away, laundry to do, but none of it feels right without one of my corgis being too close to my feet. My queen bed feels too big to sleep on, so I plan to sleep on my couch. My dinner that I cooked was too large, so I guess I have lunch for tomorrow. At least I have this blog to distract me for a few minutes...
Perhaps it is sad that I'm so uncomfortable being alone, but I think it shows how important family is to me. So while I sit here in the too quiet stillness, I'll just remember that they will be back in a few days. Too soon, they will be annoying me again!
Friday, November 12, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Vote!
Tuesday night was a fantastic experience. My professor and I went to West Liberty and helped our students from our English education program vote for the first time. We were able to help five people, who had never voted before, exercise their rights as American citizens. Seeing how exited they all were to be able to vote, to share their voice as citizens, was inspiring.
Most of us are handed the right to vote. I was born in America. I grew up expecting to vote. All I had to do when I turned eighteen was show up, and I got to vote. I didn’t need to prove that I knew how the government worked, or that I knew who the Majority Leader of the House of Representatives was, or that I knew who took over when the Vice-President could no longer lead the country. Our country believes that because I was born here, I naturally have the right to vote even if I don’t know a single part of our government.
For immigrants, the road to voting is much longer and more difficult. To gain citizenship, immigrants must take a test that covers everything from naming a State Senator, to knowing the role of the Supreme Court, to explaining the difference between the executive and judicial branches of our government. I would wager that 90% of our voters would not be able to answer these questions. That is why I have so much respect for the students in our program.
They come every Thursday night after working all day and going home to make dinner for their families. The students come when they are tired, when they are sick, just to work on their English skills and gain their citizenship. The work that they put into becoming citizens is astounding. That is why Tuesday night was so special: they had earned the right to walk in and put their years of waiting and work behind them by casting their first vote as Americans.
I was so proud of them. We all walked in as a group, and I’m glad I was there to support them. I saw how nervous they were; many of them had brought every piece of paper they had that proved their citizenship so that they could not be turned away. I saw the pride in one student’s face as he showed me his voter registration card he received in the mail after passing his citizenship test. His eyes were intense, but his smile was wide as he pointed to the physical proof that he would be able to vote for the first time. Years of practice with English, months of memorizing names and parts of the government, and hours of anticipation all came together in just a few moments as they stepped behind the American Flag curtain that covered their voting booths.
As each student walked out, we cheered as a group. It wasn’t about what party was being voted for; it was about the reality that citizenship was in their hands. There may be people who will always look at them as outsiders or foreigners; all of the practice and hard work in the world cannot change everyone’s mind. But my students walked out of that building proud, realizing that they ARE citizens, and seeing that their hard work paid off.
Most of us are handed the right to vote. I was born in America. I grew up expecting to vote. All I had to do when I turned eighteen was show up, and I got to vote. I didn’t need to prove that I knew how the government worked, or that I knew who the Majority Leader of the House of Representatives was, or that I knew who took over when the Vice-President could no longer lead the country. Our country believes that because I was born here, I naturally have the right to vote even if I don’t know a single part of our government.
For immigrants, the road to voting is much longer and more difficult. To gain citizenship, immigrants must take a test that covers everything from naming a State Senator, to knowing the role of the Supreme Court, to explaining the difference between the executive and judicial branches of our government. I would wager that 90% of our voters would not be able to answer these questions. That is why I have so much respect for the students in our program.
They come every Thursday night after working all day and going home to make dinner for their families. The students come when they are tired, when they are sick, just to work on their English skills and gain their citizenship. The work that they put into becoming citizens is astounding. That is why Tuesday night was so special: they had earned the right to walk in and put their years of waiting and work behind them by casting their first vote as Americans.
I was so proud of them. We all walked in as a group, and I’m glad I was there to support them. I saw how nervous they were; many of them had brought every piece of paper they had that proved their citizenship so that they could not be turned away. I saw the pride in one student’s face as he showed me his voter registration card he received in the mail after passing his citizenship test. His eyes were intense, but his smile was wide as he pointed to the physical proof that he would be able to vote for the first time. Years of practice with English, months of memorizing names and parts of the government, and hours of anticipation all came together in just a few moments as they stepped behind the American Flag curtain that covered their voting booths.
As each student walked out, we cheered as a group. It wasn’t about what party was being voted for; it was about the reality that citizenship was in their hands. There may be people who will always look at them as outsiders or foreigners; all of the practice and hard work in the world cannot change everyone’s mind. But my students walked out of that building proud, realizing that they ARE citizens, and seeing that their hard work paid off.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Working with Buddies
As I was discussing with Bonnie during our break last week, I really love having buddy letters as part of my classes. It is so easy to become lost in the theory and the texts that we are presented with. Sometimes I need a reminder that the entire purpose for my education is to educate students. But the buddy letters can bring more than a connection to students: it takes me back to the mindset of being a student.
My favorite letters that I've received this semester was two weeks ago. My student's class was lucky enough to get a grant that brought laptops into their classroom. The students were really excited, but the administration failed to have the proper internet setup. The students can't save their items, they have no way to use the computers for research, and it is impossible to print from them. Such a wonderful opportunity was given to the students, but the lack of communication created a huge dilemma.
We need to remember as teachers that when we act for students, we need to be ready for their reactions. The students in the classroom with the laptops are so frustrated that they don't even want to use them anymore. Middle school students have a short temper and an even shorter attention span. We need to keep our promises and keep them excited in our classrooms. I hope that I always remember that if I make a promise or have a great idea, I need to follow through for my students.
My favorite letters that I've received this semester was two weeks ago. My student's class was lucky enough to get a grant that brought laptops into their classroom. The students were really excited, but the administration failed to have the proper internet setup. The students can't save their items, they have no way to use the computers for research, and it is impossible to print from them. Such a wonderful opportunity was given to the students, but the lack of communication created a huge dilemma.
We need to remember as teachers that when we act for students, we need to be ready for their reactions. The students in the classroom with the laptops are so frustrated that they don't even want to use them anymore. Middle school students have a short temper and an even shorter attention span. We need to keep our promises and keep them excited in our classrooms. I hope that I always remember that if I make a promise or have a great idea, I need to follow through for my students.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Fears About My Memoir
I have been very lucky in having a writing group that is not judgmental or really "workshoppy" in the mean way. My memoir topic is very personal and very close to my heart. Writing out the experiences I went through with my grandma's death this summer took a lot of work, a lot of strength, and a big leap.
The problem is, I have a lot of fear surrounding my choice to write about such a sensitive subject. I'm too scared to show my family. I'm scared that Grandma wouldn't have wanted so much shared about her life. I'm scared that I wasn't able to show her for the amazing, loyal, caring person she was.
I think I was ready to type it out, but now I feel like I can't get it back. I'm not a very emotional person, especially with others. The majority of my feelings remained locked inside or written on the pages of my journal. The interesting part about when I began typing it, I started and didn't stop for over an hour hour. When I was done, I had almost ten pages (double spaced). I guess that if I had so much inside of me, it was time to let it out.
The problem is, I have a lot of fear surrounding my choice to write about such a sensitive subject. I'm too scared to show my family. I'm scared that Grandma wouldn't have wanted so much shared about her life. I'm scared that I wasn't able to show her for the amazing, loyal, caring person she was.
I think I was ready to type it out, but now I feel like I can't get it back. I'm not a very emotional person, especially with others. The majority of my feelings remained locked inside or written on the pages of my journal. The interesting part about when I began typing it, I started and didn't stop for over an hour hour. When I was done, I had almost ten pages (double spaced). I guess that if I had so much inside of me, it was time to let it out.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
six words about my week
Misunderstandings create tears. I'm the shoulder.
I love this exercise! It is so much more fun than writing a lengthy poem or a drawn out explanation about my week at work. I could have detailed the gossip, given you the shouts and the anger, but instead I left you thinking for yourself about what the actual "misunderstandings" were. Isn't that more fun?
It freed me from the guilt of sharing the details of my co-workers personal feelings. It freed me from the fear of giving you the wrong impression of people. I promise you the phone calls and texts could have created quite an interesting narrative, but I think the sentence above is much more poetic, much more enticing.
I'm going to use this with my students. The task is flexible. I can have them do this instead of turning in an outline with their thesis listed at the top. I can have them create them for other papers that they are reading during workshop so the author can see if their view is coming across. As teachers, we need ideas to pull out whenever the class needs a little spice. The six word summary is officially in my bag o' tricks.
THANKS HEMINGWAY!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Speak
I just finished the novel Speak and recommend it highly for those of you that have not read it. There is an art teacher in the novel who changes the way that Melinda (the main character) feels about communication and expression. The teacher has each student pull a topic from a globe and they have the entire year to sculpt, paint, draw, or use any other creative outlet to express what the topic is to them. Melinda draws the word "tree" and creates image after image after image of different types of trees until she finally comes up with a simple, slightly imperfect tree that encompasses what she wanted to create.
How do we give our students the ability to try and fail and try and fail and try again until they are happy with their creation, all the while not judging their failures but their effort? How can we give A's without the perfect "A work" to back our decision? I want my students to feel like they can take risks and not be punished for them. But how do I prove to administrators and parents that this IS learning?
How do we give our students the ability to try and fail and try and fail and try again until they are happy with their creation, all the while not judging their failures but their effort? How can we give A's without the perfect "A work" to back our decision? I want my students to feel like they can take risks and not be punished for them. But how do I prove to administrators and parents that this IS learning?
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Remembering My Roots
I read Jackie's blog and it helped me to remember how much I loved writing when I was younger. My dad owns a monument shop and every weekend I went with him while he sandblasted headstones and grave markers to different cemeteries throughout Iowa. While he worked hard for our family, I wandered the paths of stone to find a place to settle and read or write.
The one constant about cemeteries is that they are peacefully quiet. As long as a walked far enough away to lose the sound of my father's work I could lose myself in the silence. I'm not sure if it was the quiet or the constant reminder of all the lives that had existed before me, but cemeteries were always a place that inspired me to write. There is a calmness and a clarity that comes to me when I'm there. My words flowed a little more freely, my poetry came together a little more easily, and I didn't question every word that was going into my stories. I wish I still had those notebooks that I took with me. It would be wonderful to see my writing when it was less inhibited than it is when I'm writing for a grade.
With my memoir I'm trying to lose those conventional thoughts that have been bashed into my brain throughout school. I'm trying not to worry about leading the reader, but instead letting the story lead me. I just recently axed my first memoir idea and started over. Let us all hope that my writing takes me to a new place, that is truly me, and is inspired like the poems and stories I wrote in those cemeteries so many years ago.
The one constant about cemeteries is that they are peacefully quiet. As long as a walked far enough away to lose the sound of my father's work I could lose myself in the silence. I'm not sure if it was the quiet or the constant reminder of all the lives that had existed before me, but cemeteries were always a place that inspired me to write. There is a calmness and a clarity that comes to me when I'm there. My words flowed a little more freely, my poetry came together a little more easily, and I didn't question every word that was going into my stories. I wish I still had those notebooks that I took with me. It would be wonderful to see my writing when it was less inhibited than it is when I'm writing for a grade.
With my memoir I'm trying to lose those conventional thoughts that have been bashed into my brain throughout school. I'm trying not to worry about leading the reader, but instead letting the story lead me. I just recently axed my first memoir idea and started over. Let us all hope that my writing takes me to a new place, that is truly me, and is inspired like the poems and stories I wrote in those cemeteries so many years ago.
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