Correspondence

Correspondence:

Dear Mr. G,
The reason why I'm acting the way I'm acting is because my aunt died and I guess you don't know how it feel to loose someone real special that you really liked and that was your only aunt that stayed down here. I don't have no family down here at all nobody but my mother, sisters, brothers and grandmother. and my Brother is leaving tomorrow to go to Iraq to fight for his country. But like I said theirs nobody that can solve that problem but the man above and thats GOD
Yours Truely,
AB

Dear Mr. G,
How have you been. fine I hope. now that I realize that she's gone to a better place it really don't bother me anymore but my brother is safe because he's only over there for two months but I won't say nothing gone happen to him cause going to Iraq is dangerous but I think he will make it through but I really thank you for the talk you gave me and I really over comed it cause it Don't bother me anymore but I think I can be an honor student now cause all the stress and pain is all gone away and I'm gone pass the state test cause I believe in myself and I know you believe in me too so wish good luck upon me Okay
your friend,
AB

the devil

So, I was a witness at my second hearing of the year today. I won't get into what brought me and this particular student to the hearing, but my principal was recommending one year out of school. These hearings always start late, which puts parents in a spectacular mood, since they usually rushed to leave work early and then sit in the waiting room for 20 minutes. Another well-designed feature of the such hearings is that the witness, that is, the teacher who wrote the referral that led to this point, must sit in the waiting room with the student and parent during this time. I have been in some awkward situations, but this ranks among the most awkward.

Today, though, I came prepared, with a book of Billy Collins tucked into my jacket pocket. I knew I'd have to wait, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to really get into much of a conversation in the waiting room. I walked in, put my helmet down, said a muted hello to the student and her mother, and proceeded to immerse myself in my poems. Despite Mr. Collins' undoubted skill with everyday words, I could not help but eavesdrop on their conversation. It isn't really eavesdropping, anyway, if it is said at a volume and proximity such that it would
be impossible to not hear. The entire conversation was immensely interesting from many perspectives from the individual - the is where she gets it - to the sociological - Ruby Payne-esque insights. Yet perhaps the most interesting observation occurred when the principal walked in. She was on the phone (she's always busy and works extremely hard) and walked through the waiting area still on the phone.
"That that principal?"
"Yea Ma, that's Ms. Blank"
"That woman didn't even speak."
"You go in there and..."
"Shut up. I ain't gonna say nothing. I'm just gonn' go in there an' look crazy. Ain't sayin' nothing. That woman the devil. Come in here don't even speak. These people, get up in these high positions..."
"Can lose it just as quick"
"Sure can. Ooh that woman the devil."

Lessons:
Start things on time.
Always smile and say hello.

1984

During homeroom, one girl passes another a picture. Somehow, the picture has a birthday on it.
"Guh, you man be born in 1984. He be old."
"He ain't ugly."
"And you ain't nothing but sixteen."
"Oh no guh, I am seventeen. I'm grown."

So wrong.

Spaghetti

The times had an interesting article today about monetary incentives for student achievement.

"Abigail said she would use it to pay for 'a car, a house and college,' apparently unaware that the roughly $100 she’s earned this school year might not stretch that far. Another little girl said she would use the money simply for food. When asked to elaborate, she answered quietly, 'Spaghetti.'"

Spring Break

For Spring Break, I will be regrouping. I have gotten behind on everything, predictably, and so I am taking that time to regroup and reform for the final push. As much as I really would like to use that time to get out of the Delta, I'll be gone soon enough, and so I should really take that time to get something together to get myself and the kids through until the end of the year. Once we get back, I'll have two months left. With all the highs and the lows I've had teaching, I'm hitting a pretty low low right now. My kids are totally disrespectful, don't listen, never stop talking and, what's worse, don't learn anything.

For our research project, I remember that LS asked most of her district leadership (principal, assistant principal, superintendent, etc) how they defined strength, and each said "the ability to endure." This is not a definition I agree with. When one is faced with a challange, strength is the ability to confront that challange and create positive change, not simply to endure it and whether the storm, but to conquer it. Yet I find myself struggling immensely now just to endure these last months. At least I should sacrifice my spring break to try to bring some semblance of order to things for these final couple of months.

I can't believe that in just over two months, I'll be watching the seniors walk across the stage and on to whatever comes next for them, then walking back to Leland and leaving this place. There are some things I've come to love about the place itself. The sunsets are nearly always spectacular, and the night sky is great for watching stars. You can play soccer through January and February. There can ever be a bit of quaint mixed with the sad and bizarre in these small towns, and beauty, where it exists, will shine brightly from the chaos.

I'll miss the kids, and their eternal hopefullness. Their energy and curiousity. They are so resiliant, they bounce back from nearly anything, smile under a weight that would have crushed me long ago.

I won't miss watching them suffer. The kids who show me the gaping abscesses in their teeth, who break down in tears, who tell me about their fathers in prison or their own cancer. The kids who get shot. The kids, just babies themselves, having multiple babies while still in high school. It is too much for me to take in, too much for me to handle. I can hardly exist in the face of all of this, and I admit, it's getting to me. It's getting to me more than it should. I can't fix it. I can't even keep one classroom under control. I can't fix it, any of it, not even one tiny corner of it. And I'm starting to give up hope for this place. Hope that there will be jobs, hope that there could be a strong education system. Hope for integrated public schools. Hope for strong families and values. I'm running out of hope, in fact, I've lost it already. I reserve a little hope - for Nate. For Marquitta. For Floyd. For Charles. For Keyera. For Greg. For KT. But it costs so much to hope, and every time your hope slips and falls, you wonder if it will get up again, or if this will be the final blow that kills it off.

So I'll spend my spring break here in Mississippi, soaking up the last of this world that I'm abandoning, trying to leave something positive for the kids. I might take a couple days and do a little camping - that would be nice. But for the most part, I'll be here, grading papers, planning, calling parents. Maybe I'll take off for a couple of early morning drives through the delta. The fog over the fields can be beautiful.