Reflections on a Gift of Community

Tonight I attended my last English Methods II class--the last class for my undergraduate degree. For two years now I have had the privilege of learning and growing alongside the lovely people in this photo. 

That's our fearless leader at front and center. From that first feather circle in Literature for Young Adults, Dr. Cramer has worked to make this group more than a class or cohort by instead encouraging community. She did this by modeling the strategies our textbooks tell us to use in build community in our own classrooms, proving these methods work, convincing us of the benefits, and forming a bond that will last long after graduation. This little community in turn will expand to encompass the larger community of educators we are joining and in turn link the communities in which we will serve. 

Community, service, love: these are the reasons I decided to become a teacher. I thought I thoroughly understood these things four years ago. I thought I was ready to teach the rest of the world, too. The people in this photo opened my eyes to the fact that I had (and still have) so much more to learn. Then--slowly, gently, patiently--they began to teach me. Other than Dr. Cramer, I don't know that any of them knew they were teaching me, but they were, they do still, and I hope they always will. 

Tomorrow is my last official day of student teaching at my placement school, although I may just finish out the week there. I am grateful for all that my mentor teacher has taught me and for how she and her colleagues have welcomed me into their school. I will miss their stories and their wisdom even though my next school community will have its own share of these things. 

Most of all, I will miss the students because I know it is less likely that I will see them again, and they, too, have taught me. I will miss the students that all teachers miss because they are pleasant and hard working and kind. I will miss E, who reminds me of myself as a sophomore, and I will miss V who is an absolute spitfire and awesome in every way I never will be. I will miss K who is just beginning to emerge and P who by turns shocked then worried, then amazed me with startling depth and newfound confidence. I will miss the lazy charmer who always made me laugh even while frustrating me. I will miss J who has worked so hard to overcome such tremendous obstacles and who always greets me with a fist bump and talks to me about reggae. I will miss the immigrant and ELL students who prove every day that the stereotypes are wrong and that this country is strengthened by diversity. I will miss the fiery debates between Y and E and their contributions to my vocabulary and especially the memory of "Where I'm From" and "I am from la chancla."

Some of these students will haunt me, and I will probably always search for their faces in supermarkets and on crowded streets. I will see J's soft brown eyes looking up at me sleepily, brimming with intelligence and potential and an overwhelming ennui. I will recognize the defiant posture of that girl who always arrived late and left early and wonder if, given time, I could have softened her further, peeled back those layers, dug in to find the wound and help her repair it. There are so many more that will haunt me. They will not be the reason I burn out but the reason I strive to do better, hoping somehow to reach others like them. I probably will never know how any of my students from this year choose to write their life stories, but I hope I that I have impressed upon at least some of them that it is indeed their choice. 

I close out my year of student teaching with a full heart, reluctantly saying goodbye to some and grateful to know that others will continue to be part of my life and my community. You all have enriched my life and taught me so much, and I am eternally grateful.

The Waiting

Tonight as I sit my desk trying for the umpteenth time trying to decide what to write about for my last blog post as a student teacher, too many thoughts and feelings crowd together. They flood my eyes, spilling out, and splashing down onto my keyboard. They are so tangled that I can't begin to separate them into something that makes sense. The only clarity comes from a record playing on repeat in the recesses of my brain: Tom Petty singing "The Waiting." 

Music marks my life more than minutes, and Tom Petty's voice is one that often sings to me in my dark and difficult hours. Hearing that familiar tune reminded me of how Tom Petty has been there for me before. I recalled writing about "The Waiting" before on my (no longer public) old blog, so I dug up that post and reread it. And it helped some, so I am reposting it here as a reminder to me and anyone else it may comfort. (I'm sure I will write a blog post that actually counts by 11:59 p.m. Wednesday!)

This is how life is. "The Waiting" always comes back around. Don't lose heart, don't give up, and don't forget there are still things to be done and life to live even while you are waiting.

(Post from 8/9/10)
Lately I've been a little low. Overwhelmed with thoughts trying to work their way out of my brain and onto paper (or monitor as is more common these days). Depressed about things I can't write about here and things I could write about that are crowded out by those other things.

I know what I need to do. I keep hearing it in the words of one of the coaches at the local high school. "Git yer mahnd raght!" Dang, I wish I had a video of Coach Ast saying that--or just Caleb doing his Coach Ast impression. But anyway. It's getting there. There's been vast improvement over the weekend. Maybe I'll write about that, but, honestly, it doesn't sound too promising. Or interesting.

One of the things that often helps me is music--so long as it's the right music. The wrong music can just pull me down deeper. It doesn't necessarily have to be upbeat or have lyrics that are entirely positive. If the lyrics hint at some of the same things I'm feeling, sometimes that's enough.
The Waiting

On Saturday I was cleaning the house while listening to the radio when this song came on. Although the verses are in the context of a romantic relationship, it was the chorus that hit home for me. Waiting seems to be my life these days. And I have to agree, it is the hardest part.

It was interesting also to see this clip about how Tom Petty came to write The Waiting. Sometimes even rock stars get stuck and spend some time waiting before that little bit of a tune stuck in their heads becomes a hit.

So, it was The Waiting that got me hooked on a Tom Petty theme for this Musical Monday, and I found that there were a handful of his other songs that fit pretty well for me right now.
Runnin' Down a Dream

The Waiting is always easier when you know what dream you're running down. The real challenge is when your working on a mystery, the vague outline of a dream you can't quite pin down. That's when you have to remember there ain't no easy way out, stand your ground, and say, "I Won't Back Down."

Once you've learned to stand your ground, it's time to move on to other skills, like
Learning to Fly

I've heard it said that landing is the hardest part of flying a plane. (Heh, not just coming down. Gravity will take care of that, but landing safely is another matter.) I don't know if that's true from the pilot's perspective, but being able to land safely, whether at the planned time and place or setting down in an emergency, is this passenger's biggest concern. Have I mentioned before that I prefer ground travel? Preferably with me at the wheel? I don't like that feeling of not being in control. It's also hard to maintain that sense of control if you don't know where you're heading.
Well some say life will beat you down
Break your heart, steal your crown
So I've started out, for God knows where
I guess I'll know when I get there.

A little shift in perspective can help with that.
Stories We Could Tell

So if you're on the road tracking down here every night
And you're singin' for a livin' 'neath the brightly colored lights
And if you ever wonder why you ride this carousel
You did it for the stories you could tell
And oh the stories we could tell

I bet you have some stories to tell, too. I know I do. Here's to running down your dreams, standing your ground, learning to fly, and all those stories you could and will tell. I hope it makes the waiting easier.