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.