Picking Favorites

I really like a lot of my students this year, and so it's hard to pick a favorite. Part of it is not wanting to single out a favorite. Is it the girl who can hardly sit through her Do Now because she's so anxious to show me the latest simile she's found in her  book? Or the boy who always says with a smile, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Gray" every afternoon when he leaves my room? Or the pudgy, elfish blonde boy the girls call "Lil' D" and who told me, "I really like this tutoring stuff, Mrs. Gray"? There are some great kids in the sixth grade. 

I had to go with a gut feeling, though. And there's no doubt there. When I see her in the hallway, I can't help but smile. When Mr. Gioia and I talk about her, I adopt a gentle tone. Marie. Cue John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy" but sing "Beautiful Marie." Marie's a SPED student who really haunted me at the beginning of the year. She shuffled done the hallway and would come in with her head down, eyes on the floor, and she would barely make eye contact with anyone. Forget about getting a peep from her. I described her as having the look of a wounded animal. When you asked her a question, she would just look up at you with a sideways glance and then avert her eyes back at her page. 

I remember the first day she raised her hand to answer a question in class; I delightedly called on her. I was worried that she would get the answer wrong and then would never raise her hand again, but she got it right! Then she kept on raising her hand throughout class. When the buses left, I told Mr. Gioia about Marie's triumphant debut in class, and he said the same thing had happened in his class! "Wow, Marie had a great day!" we exclaimed. Marie kept on having great days, and now every day is a great day for Marie. She gives a shy smile whenever I greet her at the door, and the wounded look in her eyes has become a sparkle of wonder. I love giving her praise because for Marie it seems that her lightbulb moment comes the instant you tell her she has gotten the question right, that she has done an excellent job, that she understands. She tells you the answer timidly but steadily, and I am so proud of her progress. She does as well as most of the regular ed students and better than many.

I know all this sounds really cheesy, but this girl fills me with genuine joy.  Sweet Marie. 

Poem

monday comes too soon

sunrise in the rear mirror

wake me up in may

Pets mark the spot

 We came to Holly Springs with one dog. Add a cat, lose the cat. Add a dog. Add a cat. Now they number three. Follow me now through a year in the life of my pets.

September 2010: More Mississippi than we could have ever imagined

November 2010: Dog foliage

December 2010: The lurker

December 2010: Two wise pets

January 2011: Eppie the Snowspectre

January 2011: "What an inferior oaf."

February 2011: Tracks

March 2011: Sir Fenian Dondero, Lord of Earth and Sky

March 2011: New dog on the scene

April 2011: "One last look before I go."

April 2011: Squinty-eyed passengers

September 2011: Double stuffed Oreo

September 2011: It's clear who's the dominant one in this house.

September 2011: This reminds me of birds in flight. 

September 2011: Dog, y'all.

Teaching, Take Two

The only thing that was the same about the teacher who showed up for her second year was the dress. A slick black and white geometric pattern, a stripe of color in a wide belt circling the waist. Last year I chose a bright pop of green; this year the belt was a seasoned, more diluted red. Professional, put-together, fresh, just enough of a statement to say to those kids, “Hey, I got it going on. I know how it is. You better listen carefully.” It will forever be my first day of school dress, stamped in my mind as much as the photo of myself on the first day of kindergarten. 

The woman who stepped into the dress this year, though, could not have felt more different than the one last year. A year ago my stomach was in knots the whole eve of the start of school. I groped into bed at midnight because of a horribly timed lack of toner that drove me to Oxford for a replacement cartridge. I had a few toss-turn hours of "sleep." At 4 a.m. I gave up on rest because of the wringing in my gut and my sticky clamminess. I got stomach sick. Lloyd made me force down breakfast. I put on the dress to make myself feel more polished and confident than I actually was. I don’t know who I was trying to convince more that I could play the part--myself or the kids. 

The day itself last year was a smashing success. Everything went as planned; kids were compliant and didn’t try me once in any kind of memorable way. The best part was walking into the cafeteria for morning duty and feeling a huge grin take over my face. I may have even chuckled. Kids. I would be teaching kids. Children. Small children.   Sixth graders seemed smaller than I had remembered. Then again, I had probably been imagining some oversized mutations of the towering, broad, shadowy figures of my 11th and 12th grade summer school class.  No. These were little humans who were for the most part under 100 pounds. They had their first-day-of-school haircuts and new shoes! Some were smiling. Others were unsure and shy, living inside themselves. I would be teaching these angels. “Yes, I am Mrs. Gray. Oh, you’re in my homeroom? Wonderful!” What am I doing? I’m supposed to be intimidating. Wipe that smile off your face. 

This year when I saw those little monsters from last year I still burned with rage as I prodded them onto their buses. “Mrs. Gray, you miss us?? These kids good as our class?? I wish I was in your class!” Tight smile. “Oh, teehee, I--you’re going to love seventh grade! Especially Ms. Buccilla!” 

Internal rage and putting on a face that was not my own pretty much sums up my first year. This year I was joyous on the first day! Hardly nervous. I got a full night of forgetful sleep. Oh, I can’t wait to see the lambs! Marc Farmer is right; they are lambs! And I am here to teach them! They will respect me and come to love me, and I will teach them how to write! My room is beautiful and organized; wow, is it really the first day? I feel like I already know these children, and they haven’t even entered the building yet. 

Whole Brain Teaching has entered the building. “Class, I have five beautiful rules in this room. Rule 1: Follow directions quickly. Rule 2: Raise your hand for permission to speak. Rule 3: Raise your hand for permission to leave your seat. Rule 4: Make smart choices. Rule 5: Keep your dear teacher happy!” I got them to chant my rules and to do silly gestures to go with them! Not only did I smile regularly and often on the first day, but I also made a fool of myself, and the kids did, too. I encouraged them to do so. They even (gasp) laughed! And so did I! Oh yeah, I’m living in teacher heaven. That’s right. You heard me. You may be thinking, “Wow, Mrs. Gray, I’d love to see your room in October! Or better yet, February!” Yes, I’m pretty anxious to see how it looks then, too. But don’t worry, it’s not a hunky-dory free-for-all. I dish out the consequences. I have the most beautiful, silent, attentive lunch line I’ve seen yet this year. And most of our walk happens outdoors across a parking lot with no line for guidance! No one can pass my line without complimenting it. I call parents. 

What’s so different? Well, now I don’t try to make my room a silent, sterile asylum of learning. I’ve recognized that sixth graders have a difficult time sitting still and a nigh impossible time keeping their mouths shut for 50 minutes. So I funnel their movement and talking into where I want them to use it: as part of my instruction. Sounds so obvious, right? We do a lot of call-and-response, chanting, and they get to move their limbs to mimic my purposeful gestures. 

Now when I give out consequences, it doesn’t feel like me versus the student. It feels like the class and I are together trying to get everyone on the same page. It’s not personal. We just have an agenda, and you’re interrupting it. As Marc Farmer says, “If you’re not in here for business, you have no business being here.” Get with the program. 

I feel like I have much better rapport with the kids than I did this time last year. Part of it is Whole Brain Teaching. Part of it is not being afraid to show them who I am, to blend my teacher self with my “real” self. I didn’t know how to do that last year because my teacher self was so far removed from who I am. I feel that the students really want to please me and listen to me more than they did last year. Yeah, yeah, it’s the honeymoon period, the put on our Sunday face period. But I don’t think it’s just that. I gotta feeling. 

Letter to the First Years

First Year Letter 1
May 27, 2011 Written in my classroom while my students took their final exam

Dear First Years,

You have a wild ride ahead of you. Before I started the Teacher Corps, I talked to teachers in the program who told me, "There's really no way for you to understand what this will be like until you experience it for yourself." Virginia Woolf's character Clarissa Dalloway says that "Love makes you solitary." I have found that teaching makes you solitary. It is an intense experience that you can describe to others all you want (and more than they want), but there is no way to infuse in them the feelings you have experienced in your classroom. It's a lonely journey. No matter how many supportive people you have in your life and at your school, you are the one who has to walk into that classroom alone every morning.

You spend your day talking more than you probably ever have in your life and repeating yourself over and over again. You are constantly surrounded by beings--oodles of kids, teachers, administrators--each one with a different kind of "talk."

You get used to a constant hum of noise and movement. Your eyes scan the room constantly like a predator's. Knees tapping, pencils balancing, hands rifling through bags, heads turning, papers falling, backpacks zipping, chip bags rustling. CAN I HAVE AN ERASER HE TAPPED ME ON THE BACK CAN YOU TELL HIM TO GET HIS FEET OFF MY DESK CAN I GO TO THE BATHROOM DO WE HAVE TO WRITE THE QUESTION WHAT TIME DO WE GET OUT OF HERE UGHHHH SOMEONE FARTED WHAT PAGE IS IT ON CAN I GO TO THE BATHROOM IT'S HOT IN HERE I DON'T HAVE ANY PAPER YOU FEELIN' IT TOMORROW'S MY BIRTHDAY HE JUST SAID THE B WORD ARE YOU AND MR. GIOIA COUSINS MY LEAD BROKE CAN I GO ASK MR. WILLIAMS A QUESTION WHAT'S THIS WHITE STUFF ON MY DESK CAN YOU TELL HIM TO STOP LOOKING AT ME KEYANA'S TALKING ARE YOU ON FACEBOOK CAN I GO TO THE BATHROOM IT'S COLD IN HERE THAT WASN'T ME SOMEONE WROTE IN YOUR BOOK CAN YOU SPRAY SOME FRESHENER DO YOU BELIEVE IN A BLACK JESUS CAN I STEP OUT CAN I THROW THIS AWAY I NEED SOME TISSUE THEY KEEP CALLING MY NAME CAN I EMPTY MY SHARPENER CAN YOU STAPLE THIS I'M ABOUT TO USE IT ON MYSELF HE MADE ME RIP MY PAPER HOW OLD ARE YOU JAMES HAS FOOD IT'S HOT IN HERE CAN I GO TO THE BATHROOM.

You become robotic. sit down. put that away. no you may not. warning. sit down. raise your hand. stop talking. that's off-topic. yes. face the front. get to work. copy assignment. no. sit down. no. no. put that on my desk. no. talk to me after class. read the directions. stop talking. go quickly. sit down. no. step outside. warning. raise your hand. you have after-school behavior training. no. sit down. i will be calling your house tonight. sit down. yes. do that after class. sit up. that's off-topic. wait ten minutes. open your book. no bathroom. put your feet on the floor. read the directions. no. seriously? you're late. sit down. you know better. who has my sharpener? turn around. it's just a roach; calm down. that's off-topic. sit down. read the directions. get back to work. pick up your head. no. yes. take your hood off. is that appropriate school language? take the yellow vest. no bathroom. Yet at the end of the day you feel like you haven't communicated anything. You're overtalked and undercommunicated.

You will yell even if you're not the type to yell. You will become irrationally angry at children. You will say mean, true, snarky things to kids at times just to have some sort of power and victory. You will be happy when certain kids don't come to school. You will become detached and not care if you find a note on your floor at the end of the day that says, "ms gray is a bitch. she can suck my dick."

I'm not sure if this is the letter you need to read, but it's the letter I needed to write.

First Year Letter 2
June 6, 2011

Dear First Years,

I'm not retracting my first letter, but my head is much quieter at this point, and I wanted to write you a letter from where I'm sitting now.
I look out at a room full of empty desks pushed together against the wall. It felt like this day would never come. Kids have left for the summer, my lights are off, the hall is quiet, and only Bob Dylan entreats me to listen.
I'm not sure if my students will come back next year remembering anything I taught them. I don't know if I made any difference in a child's life. I don't miss my students. I don't know if my school is a better place because I'm here, and I don't think my absence after my second year will be deeply felt in the grand scheme of things. I'm just a blip in the history of this school and my community. I'm just passing through.
The one most changed here is me. I'm not even sure if I like the changes. My kids' voices will not leave my head.
Forgive me. This letter is not going much better than the last... I'm still sorting through everything I experienced this year. I don't want to be cynical. I don't want to discourage you. You need your enthusiasm, hope, and freshness. You know it will be difficult and heartbreaking. You've heard it countless times in the past week. You know you will fail on many occasions. They've told you that, too. You'll receive more advice this summer than you will be able to process.
Just know that I am here for you and want to give you as much support as I can. Don't worry; the affirming voices of your students sneak in, too. One keeps flowing in and out of my thoughts as I write this. At the end of the year, a girl came up to me and smiled. "Mrs. Gray, you know you my teacher, right? You my teacher."
I don't know if I've changed any kid's life, but I do know that for a few, I've made at least one year of their life a little better.

A fine time for improvements

Most of the teacher skills I want to work on during summer school involve the implementation of procedures. I let many of my procedures slip over the school year, and I want them to become so routine for my students next year that they don't even have to think about them after the first few weeks. Really this is a list for improvements I want to make in my classroom next year but might as well start at summer school.

1. Class dismissal - I will not dismiss your row until EVERYONE is seated and silent. If you get up before I dismiss your row, you really will be the last one to leave.

2. Lunch line - I fantasize about having a silent, single-file lunch line with no gaps. Ahh…it will happen.

3. Consequence documentation - I want to have a better system for tracking why a student gets a consequence. So much happens during the day that by the time I sit down to call a parent, I often can't remember why that child got behavior training or copy assignments three days in a row.

4. Posture - No sideways seating in my room. Your knees will be under your desk. Why does it have to be this way? For several reasons but primarily because I like looking out at a room of students sitting the proper way in their desks. If I like it, that's how it will be in my room.

5. No you may not go to the bathroom. Ever. End of story.

6. I will accept no disrespect.

7. I won't let students get away with doing the minimum amount of work possible. Push them. Don't overlook laziness.

I basically want to nail them for everything. I want to allow zero exceptions to my rules. I have a year's worth of frustrations and failings behind me. I'm coming back to Holly High with a vengeance. The teacher entering Holly High this summer is very different than the one that taught 11th/12th grade English last summer.

Instructional skills to work on:

1. Leave time for a closure.

2. The kids should be doing much more work than I am during class. I tend to expend too much energy and to talk way too much.

All this is great in theory, but I know I'm going to be really exhausted by the time summer school rolls around. I'll leave my school and start summer school the next day. It's difficult to make myself care about summer school. The only thing that motivates me is wanting to set a good example for the first years.

Welcome to the future

Dear Second-Years, 

You have arrived. I must say that I am a bit jealous of you. How many times have I fast-forwarded in my mind to next year when I will be standing in your shoes? By that time, I think I will be able to call my experience "rewarding." A little bit into the school year, I began to think of a "rewarding experience" as one that can be downright miserable when you're going through it, but after it's done you can look back on it and feel like you did right in some way. 

I’ve had many countdowns this year. The number of days before Fall Break, Christmas Break, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, Spring Break, Easter, SUMMER. The weekly count to Friday. The hourly count to the end of the school day. I’m greedy for hours and days out of school, and I find myself wishing away time. This is a strange feeling for someone like me who is a moment savorer. I’m not accustomed to pushing, hauling, cajoling, charging myself through the present so I can just make it to the next evening at home or the next weekend. I’m not used to living for the future. In the past nine weeks, however, I've somehow lived myself back into the present. These things have struck me recently: the joy of being on my back porch in the afternoons with blooming roses, the small pleasure in driving to school when it is light outside, the relief in surrendering to my bed at the end of the day, the acceptance (finally) of keeping a regular bedtime, my ability to leave stressful days with little emotional wear, the moments when I am able to let down my guard and laugh with my students. These things keep me in the present.

I remember meeting some of you for the first time last summer at Northgate. We were gathering for an Old Venice excursion. Something about all of you made me feel very young, and it had nothing to do with age. I was a bit awestruck by your classroom stories and the mental image of you in command of a classroom. Even if you did it poorly, it didn’t matter to me; you were there, and you had those battles. You had kids verbally spit in your face, and you dealt with it. You found your way through a curriculum. You knew the names and faces of, say, 130 children, and you knew how to talk like them. How well you knew how to talk like them impressed me the most. It seemed like so much stood between what you were and what I needed to become. 

This weekend you graduate, and I become a second-year. So much stands between who I was last summer and who I am now. 

It’s funny how our lives have converged briefly in this strange place for a common purpose. Most of us will probably never talk again, but we share this intense and intimate experience.

Elise, one thing that really stands in my mind from last summer is hearing you and Annah talk about your students. As a newcomer to teacher talk, I was amazed by how much they drove your conversations. But it was more than mere teacher talk. I saw your genuine investment in your students. I admired how much you cared for them and how well you seemed to know their interests and motivations. I wonder which students I will obsess over once the school year ends. Of course I was also wowed by your ideas for engaging kids in the classroom and your helpful, specific advice. Thank you.

Second years, I respect the work you have done, and I wish you well on whatever adventure grips you next. 

Peace, 

Catherine

"In Christ's name, we play"

I'm taking a few of my students to summer camp in July.  Yes, I'm voluntarily choosing to spend six out of about thirty free summer days with my students. Currently three are on board for a full or partial scholarship, and I'm working on a fourth. This isn't an academic camp. It is a messy, sweaty, paint-covered, oar-rowing, rope-swinging, lunch song singing, fire-building, prayerful, mosquito-bitten camp. That's exactly where I want to take four of my creative, outgoing students who are generally under appreciated by their peers. I've spent all year insisting that they stay on topic and sit quietly in their seats unless I call on them or give them permission to stand. Now I want to see them smear food on each others' faces and march on tables. I want to see them rolling around in a mud pit playing tug-of-war. I really want to see them dancing and being as loud and WEIRD as their hearts desire. I want to see them talking to other kids who also speculate whether the skunk ape is really real.

My camp students are so excited. Pretty much daily all of them will ask me a question about camp or just exclaim knowingly, "I'm so excited about this summer!" They are excited by the prospect of staying in real camp cabins with bunk beds "like in the movies." They are especially interested in and excited about the ropes course. They open their eyes widely when I tell them that, no, they won't be able to use a phone or mp3 player for six days. The respite from technology is a sacrifice they will share with other campers.

Camp Bratton-Green is a place very dear to my husband's heart and, more recently, to mine. Lloyd has attended the camp since he was a third grader and has worked there since high school, spending two college summers on the Permanent Staff as the head of Nature programming. I went there on several middle school retreats and still remember dancing to "Leaving on a Jet Plane" in the rec hall with my sixth-grade crush at a school dance. Eleven years later I mailed weekly or bi-weekly letters to Lloyd there as he worked on the Permanent Staff. A year after that Lloyd asked me to marry him there during a talent show while we were staffing a high school winter session. Seven months after that we got married there in a chapel that shares grounds and ties with the camp. Lloyd cites Camp Bratton-Green as his favorite place on earth.

Staring contests, catching carpenter ants for ant fondue, sixth grade boys dressing in drag, eating ice cream off the table with no hands or utensils, night hikes with people dressed up as monsters and jumping out at kids, lunchtime speed singing competitions--these are all things I want my kids to see and participate in. They need to. Their lives depend on it. I must do this for their future.

Here are some engagement shot glimpses of camp (in a much more serene state than when campers are present):

CHANGE -- YES WE CAN

What will I change next year? It seems like every day I think of a way I could be just a bit better at what I do. The challenge is finding the time, energy, and most efficient method to do so. 

Discipline can be a big headache for me to consider, the thing that really gets me down. I spend many planning period hours troubleshooting or venting about discipline. While my classroom is under better control for the most part than it was last semester, there is still much to be desired. I plan on using much of the same system I use now but just being able to enforce consequences more effectively, firmly, and with greater confidence from the very start and through the long fall stretch. This plan may sound ambiguous, and it's perhaps a bit unlikely that I'll just suddenly be a more effective disciplinarian. However, I do think that starting out at the beginning of the year used to the sheer NOISE of sixth graders--all their grunts and complaints and crazed paranoia that every person around them is out to get them--will make me more capable to actually anticipate and deal swiftly with their issues. They are quite a needy group. How many times in a day do I hear "Can you tell him to stop looking at me?" "Can you tell him to stop tapping his foot?" "Can you tell her to stop blowing her nose?" I live in a world of "can you tell her" and "can you tell him" squealing eruptions, and it has changed the rhythm of my heart. Seriously. Medically. Emotionally. I hope that some day the rhythm of my heart corrects itself, but I don't  count on it happening in the next year. 

Key student behaviors to absolutely positively shoot down from the beginning include: talking back when getting a consequence, commenting on other students' consequences, calling out a response for another student who is taking too long to answer, ATTITUDE. Those are a few that immediately come to mind. 

I didn't start this post wanting to talk about discipline, however. Two paragraphs ago I planned to say, "Discipline can be a big headache for me to consider, and I hate it. But when I think of ideas for planning a rigorous, stream-lined, structured, meaningful curriculum for next year, I get excited. Discipline sucks energy from my soul. Imagining students workshopping their writing replenishes." That's how the discipline conversation works, though. Once it starts, it's hard to kill the beast. What I really want to change, what makes me glow and skip is imagining being able to implement a weekly routine next year. 

Monday: Focused freewrite. We preview and read an excellent passage together and discuss it for about 10 minutes before they do a focused freewrite on a specific topic from the passage. We've done this this semester with "Hair," "Where I Buy Candy," "Bullying," and "Sunday Mornings," just to name a few. Most of the students love it and actually write non-stop with little break for a solid 10 minutes. 

Tuesday: Grammar and Mechanics Lesson. We'll do guided notes, guided, and independent practice. Pretty standard stuff. End with an MCT2 practice question on the topic we're covering.

Wednesday: Differentiated instruction day. Most of the time this will manifest as pair work based on Tuesday's lesson. I do really want to try out a class blog, however, where students can post assignment responses and read and respond on each others' work. I envision this happening on Wednesdays. 

Thursday: Workshop of Monday's writing. We'll apply whatever grammar or mechanics concepts we learned that week to the freewrite they did on Monday. 

Friday: Glorious assessments day. Show me what 'ya got. Hallelujah. This is school-wide. 

I've started implementing this schedule somewhat this semester, and I'm starting to get in a real groove. I love being able to have a template for my week and not feeling like I'm starting from scratch with a new plan every week. I think the students like it, too. 

Why should I join MTC? (Ramblings)

OK, I've been sitting here for about 15 minutes staring at the words "You should join MTC because:" with a neat "1." awaiting a reason. I think the neatness is the problem. It's not a clean, easy thing for me to box and categorize. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m not used to watching TV, and I’m currently being drawn in by “Storage Wars” on A&E while at my brother’s house. 

Either way, I’ll try to be more casual and reckless with my musings. 

You should join MTC because:

...you like adventure and want to do something that will challenge you and alter you in possibly unpredictable ways. Sounds pretty fluffy and heartwarming. 

...you are interested in the field of education or are considering being a teacher. On the other hand, it’s a pretty brutal way to be introduced to the world of teaching. On your third hand, once you’ve taught in one of these schools, you can probably teach anywhere, right? On the fourth hand, do I feel qualified to teach anywhere else?

...you want to dig down deep into your self-resources and see whatchya got. You’ll have some pretty stern conversations with yourself at some times, and other times you’ll be your own consoler. You’ll need to pull out the best of yourself, redefine what the best of yourself is, and be able to see the worst. 

...you love Mississippi. This probably is not your reason. But for me, I felt the unending need of my  home state and did not want to just move on to my bigger, better life outside of Mississippi. I wanted to feel like I was giving back to a place that has given me much and shaped who I am. 

...you feel passionate about public education. You’re committed to demanding something more for our children. The catch is, you won’t know many times if you’re helping or if the fact that you’re there even matters. It might not. You know the drill, though; there are at least a few kids who will look up to you, who will learn from you, who will show their appreciation. 

...you want to realize your smallness and insignificance in the grand scheme of things. This sounds bad, but it’s actually comforting to realize that while you may not be helping in a grand way, you can’t really mess things up that much. 

These are all pretty emotional reasons, all about a certain personal pull or larger mission. They’re not necessarily practical reasons to join, but you know the poster book draw: Join the Mississippi Teacher Corps. Get a Master’s degree and a free laptop. Teach  kids. 

A few of my favorite things in Holly Springs

I consider myself a Mississippian. I've been in the Magnolia State since sixth grade, and I've had struggles with this place, but it is undeniably home. I'm married to someone steeped in Mississippi by about 10 more layers. We like to joke, however, that Holly Springs is "more Mississippi than we've ever known." We've come to relish in our life in Holly Springs. Of course, it doesn't hurt that it's our first year of marriage. Here are a few of our favorite Holly Springs comforts and adventures:

1. Thursday nights at Michael's Country & Creole
Michael's is the Holly Springs MTC crowd watering hole on Thursday nights. It is food for the Corps and the core. We are regaled with Louisiana-country cuisine and talk of weekend plans.
There is really no going wrong when ordering from their menu. My staple is the shrimp and crawfish etouffée, but the gumbo comes close behind. The sandwiches are delicious, especially the salmon with red onion relish and the pork tenderloin, and the fries on the side are more than plentiful. As far as appetizers go, the spinach and artichoke dip and the salmon flatbread are our favorites. They are easily reheated at home without compromising quality. The wine and cheese dressing complements both salads and onion rings. The portions at Michael's are almost twice as large as a single meal, and pretty much everything is under $10, much of the menu under $8.

2. Afternoon ice cream cones at Tyson's Drug Company
The Holly Springs square is not bustling. It's no Oxford. A regular stop on the square, however, is Tyson's Drugs, which was established in 18-something. On a school day afternoon, there is nothing more delight-inducing than walking up to the old-fashioned pharmacy counter and ordering a cone of black walnut ice cream for about $1.75. Well, maybe a strawberry cone or butter pecan may be better depending on the day and your mood. We then sit outside on a bench and watch passerby or take a little stroll around the square.

3. Walks at Hillcrest Cemetery

There are some pretty impressive graves at Hillcrest and a section of Confederate soldier graves. Several Confederate generals, congressmen, and senators were buried there, including the first black citizen to be elected to the U.S. Senate. It's quite a beautiful place and features the most popular sledding hill in days of snow. 

4. Playing in the fields at Marshall Academy

We like to rub shoulders with our private school neighbors by playing with our dog in their practice fields and playground.

5. Scoping out antebellum homes for sale

We've made a sport of house hunting. We usually take a Sunday drive after church, and this often turns into peeking in the windows and backyards of vacant old homes for sale.

6. Sunday dinners at Annie's Restaurant
Fried chicken. Tender baked chicken. Sweet potatoes, greens, dressing, butter beans, gravy, corn bread, pecan pie, peach cobbler. Enough said.

Other favorites: Victor's Pizza, Philips Grocery
No-no's: Graceland Too

Mrs. Gray, in the eyes of a student...

A Day in the Life

5:00 a.m. Alarm clock sounds. Husband tries to do 20 push-ups by the time I turn off the alarm. This is not the land of "snooze." No no no. If I gave myself the option to think twice about getting up, it would not be happening. I try to not trip over a dog, cat, or human before reaching the alarm clock in the dark.

5:10 a.m.-6:30 a.m. Shower, yoga, lounge, eat breakfast. I like some quiet time in my morning. I like my day to be bookended by something that resembles human life so that I don't wake up working and go to bed working. In the morning I shower and drink some coffee on the couch while reading Tupelo's Daily Journal or Internet roughage. These days I usually check the weather to see if there's any chance of snow. Some of my co-workers have started calling me their meteorologist because they know if they catch me at the copier in the morning, I will be able to give them a report of today's predictions. I've also added about 15-minutes of yoga to my morning routine in the past week. Before I leave the house, Lloyd and I have breakfast together at the table.

6:35 a.m. - Leave the house and begin the north-ward trek. It's about 18 miles to Byhalia from Holly Springs. At the beginning of the year when I had a functioning CD player, I would usually sing along to some mix of Lady Gaga, Arcade Fire, and Neutral Milk Hotel. Channeling the maniacal diva and painful anthems of growing up were pep-up talks to myself in August. Now I listen to WEVL 89.9 out of Memphis.

6:55 a.m. - Arrive at school. Battle the copy machine and take my post in the cafeteria for duty. Make kids take off hoods and hats and try to elicit "Good morning"s from students in a world of nods and "What's up."

7:30 a.m. - Homeroom. Sustained silent reading time. Sometimes this is the best part of my day. A sea full of quietly reading sixth-graders: beautiful.

8:05 a.m. - First period. This is like my honors class. They are my editors and my reference point for the day. They help me correct mistakes and loopholes in my lesson. I can often gauge how the rest of the day will go based on what happens first period.

9:05 a.m. - Planning period! Time for lunch with Mr. Gioia and making amendments to my lesson if necessary. This hour is also known as pointless meetings time and subbing for other teachers.

10:05-1:05 I'll just lump third and fourth period together. I'm in the thick of things. This is the toughest time of my day. Kids are frenzied and hyped-up in the hour leading up to and the two hours after lunch. What ever happened to post-lunch sleepiness? For me, it's like each of my students grows another head and two more arms after lunch. Post-lunch farting also becomes a significant issue in fourth period. (Sixth grade, go figure).

1:10-3:00 Glory glory hallelujah! The homestretch of my day is fifth and sixth period. I get a little bit lighter in mood and crack some jokes with students at this time of day. My homestretch kids see a much weirder me than my morning and lunch kids.

3:00-3:30 Class is over, and babysitting begins. I hold second load bus students this semester. If kids are in their seats and the room is relatively quiet, we're good. I put on BBC's Life, and students become mesmerized by a screen.

I usually get home around 4:30 after assessing classroom damage from the day and packing up. My home afternoons consist of some variation of ice cream at Tyson's Drug Store on the square in Holly Springs, petting a cat and dog, speaking in strange voices, talking to Lloyd, and e-mailing/Facebooking. Around 5:30 it's time to start working again. I flush out my lesson for the next day, call parents, and grade. I take a dinner break, and then work ends at 9:00 or so. Then it's time to dance and jump around the house.

9:30 p.m. - I write for 10-minutes in a journal and then Lloyd and I say Compline, ending our day peacefully and with prayerful focus. Then I crash.

What kept me here through dark months

I have never seriously considered quitting the program. I've thought, "Wow, this really sucks. Do I really have to do this another year?" I've thought, "I am not naturally engineered for this kind of stress and turbulence. I do not like this pace of life one bit." I've thought, "I'll put in these two years. After that, no question, I'm out. This is in no way sustainable for me." I've thought, "If there were any way for the way I feel now to have been implanted in me at the time I decided to join MTC, I would not have decided to do this." 

Why did I never consider quitting? These factors come to mind. 

1. Commitment to community - I have a lot of respect and faith in what my school and administration are doing. I do feel like like we are a team and like progress is being made at my school. I feel like MTC is a key player in that change. I knew that the conditions at my school did not compare to the scale of stuff that happens in the Delta, and my generally having a distaste for what I was doing and the considerable stresses involved were not enough of a reason to quit.  I knew going in that this would be tough. Many MTC folks said there was really no way to describe how difficult it would be. I took listened and decided to commit anyway.  I felt no considerable threat to my sanity and well-being, so I knew I could stick it out. 

2. MTC camaraderie in my school - This ties in to commitment to community, but having several other current and former MTC teachers at my school makes me feel fortified. Even if I do not communicate with most of them at length daily or even weekly, just seeing each other in the hallway or lunchroom while shuffling boisterous kids to lunch and out to the buses makes a big difference. Sharing knowing, empathetic glances with other teachers on a parallel mission during the day is comforting and helps foster loyalty to my school. I can't imagine being in a school on my own without other MTC teachers. Beyond the casual daily encounters with other MTC teachers at school, being able to collaborate with another first-year on grade-level business is invaluable. Matthew and I suffered through summer school together in the same classroom, and now we continue to troubleshoot together. Having a partnership has been immensely helpful pragmatically and spiritually.

3. Saturday reunions - Although Saturday classes are generally unwelcome, I feel like Saturdays generally give me a new boost for teaching. They make me reflect on why I came here in the first place, and I usually leave with those reasons renewed in a way. While a lot of Saturday is a vent session, I am often able to see a school problem I've been having with fresh eyes. 

I know I haven't offered any suggestions here for what MTC can do to improve. I've just been trying to unlock what has kept me here. One suggestion that comes to mind is not adding obligations and responsibilities to a class mid-year. We experience so much change and inconsistency in our work that I have found I cling to stability and knowing what to expect in other areas of life more than I ever have. While I was not opposed to call logs, I feel like that would have been better implemented with the next class and that it caused much anger and frustration among first-years. 

Turn this into a life that we can live

I'm becoming human again. Slowly. It starts with ten minutes each day devoted to writing. Add a little space for stillness in saying compline before bed each night with my husband. Mix in a neighborhood walk every other day or so. Even, dare I say, plan a weeknight dinner with friends. 


It's happening. Humanness returns. Little bits of self shine through even while I am teaching. It's becoming easier to see this time as plain ol' life rather than some sort of strange, glimmering torture I have committed myself to for two years. Each day is still a testament to the servitude of teaching, but it does not require forsaking all else. It does not leech energy from every corner of my selfhood. 


I've passed the threshold. I will survive. Scratch that. I will thrive. Let it not be said that I came here to wither. Let it not be said that I came here to surrender. Let it not be said that I came here with dreams and left with fears. 


This time is a heavy gift. I am a different person in many ways than I was in May. It was inevitable. My directness of communication at school has flowed into the way I communicate with family and friends. I'm not afraid to deliver words that I know people will not want to hear. I am more appreciative than I ever was before for the unconditional love of family and friends and the comforts of home. We were without heat and warm water at different times over the winter, and Lloyd and I became so grateful for those things afterward, keeping some of my students in mind who have neither heat nor warm water. 


Teaching could be an exercise in temporal acceptance. Oh, my husband has chipped nearly every one of our dishes in the sink? Not a big deal. I'm at home with someone who loves me, and no one is asking for a pencil sharpener or lead. Oh, we got locked out of our house at 11:00 p.m. on a Saturday night and have to break a window to get in? Not a problem. Nothing can mar the sweetness of Saturday, a day when no one will be saying, "Can you tell him to stop tapping his foot on my desk?" 


At times I have said that I never want to work again after these two years, that I have put in my working time. I have thought that I would make an excellent professional crafter. I could crochet and knit, quilt and make cards with sewn-on fabric and buttons and ribbons. They would involve a lot of bird and cotton boll images and things in the shape of Mississippi. I could make candles and mixed media clay sculptures. This would be a peaceful life. 


I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that home may never be such a place of sweet refuge and glorious play as it is now. I may never care less about broken dishes or smashed windows because I can't really afford to worry about these things right now. There's too much else to worry about. Ah, what am I saying? I'll always play. This time is just refining my play. 

Sometimes it is a wonderful life

Written 12-11-10: 

It was like all of Holly Springs decided to turn Christmas on at the same time. One school night Lloyd and I drove down Chulahoma Street and saw more wreaths and lights in succession than I can remember seeing in a long time. In past neighborhoods where I've lived, decorating was staggered from house to house, but here it seemed continuous and coordinated. 

Maybe it's because it's my first married (merry-ed) Christmas or maybe it's the stark contrast between stress and spirit, but Holly Springs is really the perfect place for the holidays. I became so overjoyed by the lights and the spirit of the town that we drove through the square and decided to go sit in the light-strewn, decorated gazebo on the square. 

Of course it couldn't be a Holly Springs Christmas without noticing that the city had strung the lights the wrong way in half of the gazebo such that there was no outlet within five feet of the plug. I guess they just called it a day and went home. I also plugged in one unlit strand. And the lights that they had taken so much care to string like a canopy from the top most point of the courthouse were also left dark! But Holly Springs cheered me more than it Grinched me. 

I went to a Christmas tree farm for the first time to pick and cut down a tree. It was a small farm with some true Charlie Brown varieties, but the air was crisp and the cider was steaming. Perfect. It also would not be a small-town Mississippi teacher's Christmas without seeing one of my students wandering around in front of a trailer on a country road on my way back from the farm. 

Having a tree in my living room sparkling with my late grandmother's lights and handmade family ornaments casts a much brighter light on my weeknights. It doesn't even matter how many ornaments our cat, Fenian, attempts (and usually succeeds) to swat down or how many chocolate truffles our dog, Eppie, tries to sneak. 

I think it's comforting to see that life goes on as usual for the rest of the world around me. It's convinced me that my life goes on untouched by school in ways, too. Seasons come and go, and "this too shall pass." For now, Of course, the imminence of a true break certainly helps bring the cheer.