Happy St. Pat’s

It is my half-birthday. I have always kind of thought it was cool that all those Irish people (and wannabes) celebrated my half-birthday.

Kidding aside, I hope you all wore your green. You know, any teacher who doesn’t wear green on St. Patrick’s day is asking for it.

I have the worst bunch of ADD-addled, noisy kids I’ve had all year this quarter. I had to call about eight parents today. For those not in the know, that’s a ridiculously high number. From ONE class, no less. Anyway, let’s hope the parents will follow through and yank a knot in the tails of those little demons children.

On the plus side, Friday, I have a job interview! It was funny. I checked my e-mail after my 8th grade class left, thinking, oh please let there be some good luck, some good news for me on St. Patrick’s Day. And there was an e-mail from the department head at one of the schools I’d applied to. I’m going to try to make another job fair on Friday, too.

Anne always shares the coolest links. I followed one about the history of St. Patrick’s Day that was really cool. Enjoy the last hour and a half of this holiday. Erin go bragh, ya’ll.

Home

I went home yesterday. Well, I guess technically not my real home. I wonder if I’ve ever had one of those? When someone asks me where I’m from, I am always really puzzled about how to answer. I have always moved around so much. But the place that feels most like home to me is Athens, Georgia. And I went there yesterday. I played hooky from work so I could go to a job fair. I think it was very productive. I talked to representatives from lots of school systems. I got information about lots of upcoming job fairs. I got lots of applications and gave my résumés out to several people. I overheard an ignorant girl hand her own résumé to someone and pronounce, “Here’s my re-ZOOM.” *Cough* Okay. Prospective teacher and all… One principal was excited to hear I’m certified to teach gifted and asked if I would be available to interview next week, but we did not set a firm time. I sent him a follow-up e-mail a couple of hours ago to underscore my interest.

I did some asking around and found out our drama teacher is feeling very unhappy. The principal doesn’t want her to teach gifted, though she’s certified, but will also not allow a transfer. Drama lady has to sign a contract by the end of the week before all the other job fairs. She feels stuck, and she’s looking. She wished me well in my own job search. I just wish the job search was over already. I want to be back in high school. I… really miss it.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

My husband’s not-quite Barry White operatic tenor voice as he dressed this morning: “Love is in the air… Everywhere I look around… Love is in the air… Every sight and every sound…”

You don’t need to correct me and tell me Barry White didn’t do that song. The artist does sound like him, though, so there.

I have a new definition of “difficult” to add to the dictionary. Teaching 6th graders about editorial cartoons. First of all, they don’t understand caricature, so you have to explain what that is. Second, they don’t understand symbolism, so you have to explain that. Third, they don’t follow the news, so you have to explain that. They are looking at cartoons with people they can’t recognize and jokes they don’t get. I wanted to bang my head on the wall. The following is a real discussion we had about the following cartoon, recollected to the best of my memory from yesterday’s 6th grade Journalism class:

Me: “Okay, now look at this cartoon and compare it to the picture on the front page of the paper.”

Students: “It’s the same guy.”

Me: “Okay, now when we looked at that last cartoon about John Kerry, we talked about what Kerry and Bush each did during Vietnam. This cartoon says that we can prove George Bush served in the military because in 1972 the Alabama National Guard’s debt exploded and they invaded Mississippi.”

Students: Blank looks.

Me: “What are some things people are criticizing Bush for right now?”

Students: Blank looks.

Me: “Well, one thing is that our own national debt has exploded while Bush has become president.”

Student: [incredulous] “Who do we owe money to?”

Me: “Well, it is complicated, but basically to companies and banks and other countries.”

Students: “Why?”

Me: “The government is spending more money than they’re taking in, so they have to borrow.”

Student: “Why don’t we just print more money?”

Me: “Well, you have to have a certain amount. If you print too much money, it isn’t worth anything. If you don’t print enough, the value of the money is inflated. Anyway, let’s get back to the cartoon. Another thing Bush is criticized for is invading Iraq. We still can’t find the Weapons of Mass Destruction, and that’s why Bush said we should fight Iraq — to find those weapons and stop Saddam from using them. So if Bush is being criticized for these two things, what do you think this cartoon means?”

Students: Blank looks.

Me: “Think about it. If right now our national debt has exploded and Bush is accused of invading Iraq for no reason, and if in 1972 the Alabama National Guard’s debt exploded and they invaded Mississippi for no reason…”

Students: More blank looks.

Me: “Since these similar things happen each time Bush gets involved in something, it’s proof that he had a hand in both. It’s proof he served in the military. See? It’s a joke. The Alabama National Guard didn’t really have a debt…”

A hand shoots into the air.

Me: “Yes?”

Student: “So, they didn’t really invade Mississippi?”

Thunk. That’s the sound of me banging my head on the wall.

Anyway, reading Cranky Dragon’s latest entry made me finally want to join BookCrossing. I’ve been reading about her fun with it for a long time now, and was interested in the concept, but for some reason, just never clicked the link or really thought about it. I don’t know why. One Christmas, the local Barnes and Noble had one of those gift tag trees up — you know the ones. You are supposed to take a tag off the tree and buy a book for a needy child. I really don’t know how many books I bought that Christmas. I have often praised Chik-Fil-A to others, because they’re the only fast food restaurant I know of that often gives out books as prizes with kids’ meals. I know what happens to kids who grow up without any real books around the house. They struggle all through school. I have always been one to promote literacy at every turn. Why I didn’t join BookCrossing long ago, I can’t explain. But better late than never. And now you go join, and tell them I sent you.

Overheard

Some students were passing my classroom during my planning. I was working on grades on my computer, and they didn’t realize I was in there (you can’t see me when I sit behind my computer). I heard one say to the other, “You have Ms. Huff?”

“Yeah.”

“For Journalism?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard she’s mean.”

Good. That’s the sort of reputation you want to have as a middle school teacher. I, on the other hand, think I’m way too nice.

I can only say thank God it’s Friday at last. I am so tired. Our whole house being sick has taken its toll. Plus, I didn’t stay home from work (staying home when you’re a teacher only means more work — it certainly doesn’t help me relax to think of how awful the kids might be behaving).

I had a very profound idea for writing this morning and promptly forgot it.

Did I say I was tired? I did? Oh. Well. I am.

I am also extremely dull today.

When we were driving home this evening, I was watching the trees speeding by my window. Tall, black, spindly pines, all huddled closely together, drying in the gray late afternoon light. And I thought to myself that I could go into those trees, like Thoreau, and just live apart from society for a while. Well, not so much like Thoreau. After all, he went to town a whole lot, and he had more help than he lets on. But you get the idea. I’m not one for roughing it, so I probably wouldn’t last. But sometimes, it seems like it would be great to get away from bills, cars, city lights, and the fast pace of life and just be in the woods. I used to feel God in the woods. Now I’m scared of the Blair Witch.

Duh

I like inspiring young minds to learn (yeah, right). Teaching is one of those things that I keep coming back to. Even though I bolt down school lunch in 20 minutes each day, hold it in when I gotta go because I can’t leave 28 kids unsupervised, and spend way too much time planning/grading papers, it’s still one of those things I guess I’m meant to do. Sometimes, I’d like to be a “normal” person, sitting in a cube, reading diaries and blogs when I should be working, going out to lunch… But alas, that is not my lot in life. However, my hubby found me a priceless link: How to Get a Book Deal with Your Blog. Okay, publishers. I’m available. I’ll even quit teaching to pontificate and whine for obscene amounts of money. I await your response.

Enough

Okay, I’ve officially had it teaching middle school. The kids are squirrely, but I can deal with that. I don’t care for 6th grade “high-spiritedness,” but the 7th and 8th graders I can handle okay. And no, I guess that hasn’t always been the case, but it is something I fixed. It isn’t really the kids. It’s everything I need to do. I don’t have a homeroom this year, but the mountain of work I had when I did could rival K-2. No, I am seriously being scrutinized. Being under the microscope causes anyone stress. I’m no different. I am a good teacher. I know this. Should I be teaching middle school? I don’t think so. I don’t think this is where my strengths lie. Every blasted thing I do is examined, picked apart, and found lacking. I really feel like improvements I’ve made are just not important. I feel as though I’m being treated unfairly.

I’m the first to take blame, even unmerited, when I screw up. Maybe not 100% of the time, but who does? I have OCD, however, and one of the aspects of OCD that cripples me is perfectionism. If I am not perfect, I don’t want to be. I don’t demand perfection from others, but I expect it from myself. And I just can’t seem to do this job perfectly.

I don’t want to teach here anymore. I want to go back to teaching high school. Maybe even in a private school. My current school feels more and more… wrong for me.

Mourning the Death of a Career

I’ve been feeling very disgusted about my job search. I’m a college graduate. I graduated magna cum laude from a large university. I should be able to pick and choose. And I actually found myself seriously considering putting in an application as a waitress at a pizza joint. Seriously. What bugs me too is that I feel pressed for time. I need to find one soon, or we’ll be in financial trouble. And I simply haven’t had time to look like I really need to.

This time of year, well, it was always a new start. That’s what my old job gave me – teaching high school English, I mean. I got new students. I got a chance to do better. And part of me mourned not getting to do that this year. Not getting the do-over. The chance to be better. I have dreamed of school, students, and my old faculty peers every night for weeks now. Yes, I wanted to quit, but this has been harder than I thought. I am mourning the loss of my old job. Dana was right. She said in my guest book that once you’re an English teacher, you always will be one. So now I guess I feel a bit purposeless. Sort of drifting. I don’t know. I want to reiterate that I did really want to quit. I did really want to move on and do something else. But I’m disappointed. At times, that job was great. Like when student R. asked me to be her mentor even though I was no longer her teacher – just because she liked me best. Like when students really got interested in what we were learning. Like when students said they liked a book we were reading. J., who was a pain in the ass and every teacher I know hated teaching him, devoured The Great Gatsby over a weekend. He loved it more than he would ever let on. It wouldn’t be cool to reveal that, you know. And I never got to teach some of the literature that I really wanted to – British Literature. It is well-known among English teachers that teaching British Lit. is the prize. Every English teacher I have known decided to teach English out of a love for British Lit. I’m such a King Arthur nut – I would have loved the opportunity to really do King Arthur up right. So this has been bittersweet – watching my daughter start school, buying her school supplies, meeting her teachers. After all, I am not starting school, no one bought supplies for my class, and I didn’t meet any parents. Not that I was particularly a fan of doing so, but I digress.

So am I depressed? A bit. I’m mourning my old career. It will lessen over time. If only I could find a good job, I would know I made the right decision. If only.

The Truth Comes Out… Oh, the Shame!

Okay, I am seriously pissed.  I have this wonderful bathtub – the tub I have raved about endlessly in this diary – and I can’t take a hot bath in it.  I have the water turned up as hot as it will go.  The water is only “warm.”  So I decide to get into the closet where the hot water heater is located.  This closet is locked.  My house key fits the lock, but the lock won’t turn.  I AM LOCKED OUT OF MY OWN HOT WATER HEATER!  What do they think I am going to do?  So I took a bath in three inches of tepid water.  Now I am cold and cranky.

After much consideration, I have decided to come out of the closet.  Maybe I feel safer now that I’ve moved – I don’t know.  I… am… a… former… high school… ENGLISH TEACHER!  Wow, I just feel relieved that it is out there now.  I had been worried my former students would come upon my diary and guess my identity, but then I thought screw it.  First of all, I don’t teach anywhere anymore, so they can bite me.  What are they going to do?  Second, they’re a bunch of lame-ass kids if they spend all their time on the Internet gossiping about their former English teacher’s diary.  Not talking about something that has been such a huge part of my life has been very hard, especially considering how open I’ve been about most everything else in this diary.

Remember those old Calgon commercials?  Prozac, take me away!  I am going to put on my happy helmet (a wink and a nod to Valerian) dammit, and I’m going to write about whatever I want.

You’re sitting there wondering about your old teachers now, aren’t you?

Why’d I quit?  Because kids today shoot their peers and their teachers.  Because kids today go crying to Mommy if you give them homework.  God forbid you require them to do a research paper that includes BOOKS so they can’t just turn in something they copied and pasted from the Internet!  It just wasn’t what I thought it would be.  I give my respect to those teachers out there that are still slogging away.  In some ways, I envy them.  I feel like I failed – I couldn’t handle it.

The school year has started again, and I’m not there.  And they hired a complete goober to replace me.  There are new pencils, paper, and notebooks.  And I’m not there.  There are new freshmen, scared and unsure, sitting in the desks in the classroom that used to be mine.  Now it belongs to the goober.  So part of me is mourning the loss now that the school year has started again.  I was so glad to leave, but I suppose that quitting this job was a bit like divorce.  Divorce is something you decide is best.  Maybe you even want to do it, like I did.  But it still hurts, and leaving behind the marriage you worked on for so long still feels a bit like failing.  So I failed at teaching.  For three years, I was a good teacher.  The fourth year, I had the worst students I’d ever had, I got divorced, I got unexpectedly pregnant, I got remarried, and I had no support from my family.

I surfed around a couple of the websites of my former students tonight.  Why did I do it?  Nostalgia?  I was a bit fearful I’d see something ugly about me – graffiti rumors painted across the web.  Did you hear what she did?  Have you read the stuff she’s written?  I taught at a school planted firmly in the Bible Belt, a place where everyone went to church on Sunday (most likely a Southern Baptist one) and if you didn’t, you were weird.  Yeah, lots of my students professed to be Christians.  They also systematically cheated on tests throughout the school, were cruel to their teachers and each other, lied, stole, had sex with each other (sometimes even at school), and squealed to their parents or the principal whenever they didn’t get their way.   Yeah, I guess I’m bitter.  Bite me.  You would be too.

Nobody likes me; everybody hates me.  Guess I’ll go eat worms.