Sometimes Cliches Feel Good

It's sad really... the things we take for granted. But before I get there...

I woke up yesterday morning to stinging eyes and a blurry halo wrapped around the screen of my phone. Any level of light created an intense burning and watering, so I clumsily fumbled for my glasses and tried to focus on my own bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Hoping the sting would wear off, I ratcheted the shower on, closed my eyes, and let the water stream over my face. Unfortunately it didn't help, but with the lights dimmed and my eyes squinting, I managed to get myself looking presentable.

As I got to school, tears welled uncontrollably, but I shamelessly took my duty post in the main hallway, ready to greet every little face. Despite my efforts, the bright lights became nearly unbearable (and I became self-conscious), so I sought relief just inside the darkened gym.

To my extreme dismay, one of my coworkers was standing there as well... talking to my assistant principal.

"Morning," I said as I pretended to look for a student, a meager attempt to hide my eyes.

"What's wrong with you?" asked my coworker.

"Uhhh... I don't know. Some... eye... thing...."

Now the principal chimed in. "Are you crying?"

"Oh no! Definitely not." I managed an awkward chuckle. "I don't know... they're just stinging." This was humiliating.

"I think you should go get that checked out. You do not look good. We'll work on getting a sub."

"No no... It'll wear off."

"Don't worry about it."

I politely nodded and told them I'd go prepare things so I could leave. I took a route that allowed me to avoid student contact, but soon they came funneling in for homeroom. Of course there were comments. Some seemed concerned. More seemed intrigued... probably hoping there was some juicy reason I may have been crying. I should've made up a fantastic story but I didn't have the energy.

While I wouldn't have admitted it then, the substitute brought with him a huge wave of relief. I picked up my bag, bid my students farewell, and quickly made my way out.

~

Later yesterday evening, when my $100 eye drops began to take effect, I started thinking about how little I really appreciate my sense of sight. It's something I don't think about, yet it's certainly the one sense I would prefer to keep if I had to choose.

I started thinking about the things I see every day, some of which I've come to loathe. Brake lights on the way to work. School buses making frequent stops on the two lane country road I take to school. Eyes rolling in response to my so-called nerdy tendencies. Shirts untucked, shoes untied, pants unbelted, and hair unkempt. I loathe my bedside clock that seems to scream at me in the waning hours of the night, "It's time to go to sleep! You're going to hate me even more in the morning!" I loathe the blue cloth seats in my new hybrid and that zit on my chin that just won't go away. I hate the sight of run-on sentences and sloppy handwriting and misused homophones. I hate the look of my glasses - the ones that solidified my "nerdy rep" today... but how dare I turn my nose up at the very thing that helps me see all those things I'm blessed to see?

Like a light bulb moment in a twelve-year-old's eyes. Or my little sister's smile on Christmas morning. I understand that these things sound nauseatingly cliche. I suppose they're nauseatingly cliche until you can't see them anymore. I suppose I could complain about an eye infection that will be gone by tomorrow. But instead I think I'll choose to be thankful for it... because while I spent most of yesterday keeping my eyes tightly closed, maybe it was meant to open them to some of the things I've been taking for granted. (How's that for a cliche?)

Is We Poor?

It was one of those moments. You know, the ones you immediately want back?  I was standing at the front of my classroom, arms folded, right leg curled behind me, foot propped against the wall - frozen.

We were talking about The Hunger Games and how we might draw parallels between that society and ours. I explained that, in the book, the residents of the wealthier districts have been raised to succeed. Their whole lives they've been trained and prepared to win, and while the poorer districts are expected to compete with them, it's unfair because they haven't had the same opportunities. They have had to spend their lives struggling to survive rather than preparing to excel.

I paused for a moment to allow the concept to simmer. I watched their faces to see if any light bulbs turned on. A hand shot up in the air.

"Ms. B..." she seemed afraid to proceed. "Is we poor?"

That's when I froze. My face must have revealed some distress because she immediately corrected herself in an apologetic tone... "Are we poor?" I barely noticed.


Of course you're poor. We're in Northern Mississippi. In fact we're in one of the poorest counties in Northern Mississippi - the poorest state in America. Dammit. How did I not see this coming?

I pursed my lips and pondered how to respond. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know..." another one chimed in. "We go to public school?"

"I went to a public school. Do you think I'm poor?"

"Psh. We know you ain't poor, Ms. B." Okay, there was my second misstep. 


"So then that can't be an indicator. Why else would you think you're poor?"


No response. I carried on. Carefully but not really taking enough time to consider my words. I was being suffocated by the awkwardness of the moment. My palms began to sweat. I unfolded my arms and stood erect - a definite contrast from my previously relaxed body language.

"Poor looks different to everybody. It's all relative. Someone who lives in a city might look at us and immediately think we're poor because we live in the country. But we can look at Memphis and think the exact opposite. You're all here with clothing on your backs, books in your hands, and houses to go home to. I don't think that's poor."

The truth was that I had already told them they were at a disadvantage. I told them that The Hunger Games districts were just like our states - the poorer ones always have been and always will be at a disadvantage. The truth was that even though I had gone to a public school, I was obviously much better prepared to battle my peers from other states - especially Mississippi. I was contradicting myself and praying they wouldn't notice. How unfair.

I wanted the moment back. I immediately knew what I should have said, but it would now seem disingenuous if I backtracked and rephrased. I should have told them that poor was a state of mind. I should have told them that in so many ways they were so much richer than my own public school classmates. I should have told them that 'rich' and 'poor' have so many meanings, the least of which having anything to do with money. As was later pointed out to me by a coworker, I should have told them about the devastating poverty I saw in India - toddlers crawling on street corners, digging for food in heaps of trash.

I said none of this. I did nothing to enlighten my students. I absolutely and utterly blew a teachable moment. Those are the moments we live for as teachers. The moments when we get to stray from the plan and really connect with our kids. And that's my problem really... I can easily plan another way to recreate that discussion and say what I want to say. But will it seem forced and thus fall on deaf ears? Probably.

Color

He said, "A black man would never do that... that's a white man thing."

I cocked my head, unsure as to whether a grin was soon to appear on his face, indicating that this was a joke. The grin never came.

"Excuse me?" I said in my least aggressive tone, a grin now on my face.

"No offense, Coach... I just know I would never do something that low-down, and neither would any other black man. That's a white man thing."

"How can you say that? That's racist."

"I'm not trying to be racist now... it's just the truth."

"You're making a blanket statement about two whole races. You can't do that!"

We went back and forth for a while as we stood at our usual positions in the cafeteria. I am the lone female and the lone caucasian in our little group which consists of the Athletic Director, one of my own MTC classmates, and the school janitor.

I looked to the other two for some support, but of course I got none. I was outnumbered and battling a man who was our boss. But I trudged on.

"You're not personally offending me. It just frustrates me to know that if I had said that statement in reverse, you would have been downright livid."

"No I wouldn't," he said. "I thought we were closer than that."

"Well then you're a rare bird down here," I laughed.

At that our conversation went in a different direction. We began talking, ironically, in more generalities. We talked about Southerners versus Northerners. Blacks versus whites. And how race relations and tensions are so much different "down here." By the time my class was ready to leave the lunchroom, we had reached less hostile ground and parted ways smiling as usual. I was still perturbed.

~

When my class got to the part of our journey where we walk through the gym, I heard one of my students poke fun at a kindergartener who was participating in PE.

"Haha that white girl just fell!"

I stopped dead in my tracks, jerked my head in her direction, and paused waiting for the right words. She immediately cowered.

"What does her race have to do with it?" My voice was stern.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"Answer my question."

"Nothing," she said as she looked at her feet.

~

I sat through two basketball games and nearly all four quarters of the third before I said a single word to the referees - an impressive feat considering how poorly they'd been doing their job. We were in a hostile gym at our rival Holly Springs. With 12 seconds left, one of our boys made a 3-pointer to put us within two points. The head coach immediately called and received a timeout, but I watched the clock wind down five more seconds before it actually stopped. As I looked to the referee to see if he noticed, I caught him signaling to the clock operator that the previous shot had actually been a two. Our fans went wild in protest.

At this point I couldn't help myself. As our team was huddled around, strategizing on how to get a steal and a quick two... ok, now a three due to the poor call, I walked over to the ref.

"Sir, there should be an extra 5 seconds left on the clock."

"Sit down!" he yelled.

"Wow... no need to be disrespectful. I'm just trying to have a conversation. They didn't stop the clock when you blew your whistle."

"You ain't even a coach! Sit your ass down!"

"I'm the assistant coach. Don't talk to me like that," I was unable to control the anger in my voice.

As I turned to walk back towards the bench, I heard his whistle and a roar from the crowd. I swiveled on my heel in time to see him form an animated "T" with his hands. I was astonished. I looked at him, jaw dropped. He simply smiled at me, then turned and cited "unsportsmanlike conduct" to the bookkeeper. 

Needless to say, that was the nail in our coffin. We had no chance to score 4 points in 5 seconds. I felt terrible.

After the game, one of our head coach's friends walked up to me and asked what happened. As I told him, he just kept shaking his head. 

"These refs really don't like you, B"

"Ha... I've noticed. It's just sad because that hurt no one but the kids..."

"You know what their problem is, don't you?

I was afraid to hear it... this couldn't possibly come up three times in one day.

"You're white. Not only that... you're young, not from around here, and white. You ain't never gonna win that battle."

~

Driving home from the game, my hands shook in anger, embarrassment, and indignant disbelief. I've noticed the racial tension down here before. I noticed as early as the fall semester of my freshman year when a fellow athlete refused to stop calling me "white girl." In the years since then, I've grown to accept my position as an outsider who "just doesn't understand" the way things work down here. I've done my best to break down the ugly walls that cripple my students' interactions and friendships, but today I began to wonder if I was a fool for thinking I could. I wondered if I was a fool for thinking people had stopped viewing me a privileged white Northerner - a name given to me by a fellow teacher. I mentally slapped myself across the face. It was half-scold, half-wake up call. Nothing has changed. I was foolish to think it had. And sadly, it makes me question some of my student relationships. When they've grown up in this environment, can I really get mad at the occasional racist comment? Do I have any right?

People Are Good

As I sat and read, I felt my usually open heart begin to morph into something ugly and hostile. I punched the mouse as it hovered over the "reply" icon and began furiously typing. I listed the history of the situation. I reminded the person on the other end that I had in fact never asked for the car which was given as a graduation present. I recounted how I've said thank you and tried to return it several times, and that I begged him not to take out a loan at the end of the lease... a loan that put the car so upside down that it could never recover. I ranted about how unfair it is that the situation, while I had done nothing to ask for or cause it, was now falling into my lap the night before I was supposed to return to Mississippi. I explained that I could neither afford the exorbitant payment of $350 per month, nor was I in a position to return the car and buy myself a new one. In response to his final line, the line that cut through me, evoking feelings all too familiar and long repressed, I agreed that it would be better if we no longer communicated. 

No closing, no name, just a blinking cursor and emptiness. A bitter end to a fifteen year relationship.

I didn't send it.

I've learned before that acting jaded and cynical for the sake of proving a point does nothing but make things worse. I've come to pride myself in my ability to minimize tough situations and the people who cause them, so I decided to sleep on it, to give my more reasonable side a chance.

I woke up this morning with new found conviction. I knew that if I lived on a tight budget and found the right deal, I could make it work, return the car, and get a new one. I could rid myself of the negativity and never look back. Of course I can't afford a different car. Of course it's not an ideal time. I wanted to get back two days before going back to school, catch up on work, laundry, sleep... I wanted to save as much money as I could this semester - before I become potentially jobless in May. But what would life be if everything went the way we wanted?

I spent the day battling snow, icy roads, and slimy car salesmen. I was praying that one of them would understand my situation and give me a good deal. No such luck. 

By 5:00 we were running out of time, so we decided to suspend our search and resume in the morning. Besides, we had plans to exchange Christmas gifts with a friend. As I sat in the passenger seat on the way to our friend's house, I rested my chin in the palm of my hand, stared out the window, and fought back tears, totally defeated. I wasn't in the mood to give someone a Christmas gift. I wanted to go home, curl into a ball, and wake up tomorrow ready to return to Mississippi. So much for ridding myself of negativity. 

When the car search came up in conversation, I explained evenly that I just couldn't pull the trigger on anything I'd found. "It's a big decision," I said. "I'm sure I'll find something if I'm supposed to. It will all work out."

"Yes it will," she said as she winked. 

Immediately she got up to walk into her bedroom. When she emerged a minute later, she held out her fist and insisted that I take the money she held in her hand.

Of course I refused. I refused and refused and refused some more. 

"I'm not like that," I explained. "I can afford it, I just didn't find anything today!"

"I didn't ask you if you could afford it. I know you can. But I want to do this. Don't ruin my blessing. One day I may not be able to do things like this."

I couldn't hold it back. Tears welled up in my eyes. The emotion of the last 24 hours had caught up to me and as I smiled through the tears, continuing to shake my head, she stuffed the money in my pocket. 

"Don't insult me," she said. "I want you to be safe. I want you to have something nice. You deserve it. Just take the money, dammit!"

We went back and forth for several more minutes. Eventually I realized it was a battle I wasn't going to win.

"Forget about it," she said. "I want you to take it and never think about it again. This is my blessing."

To say that I felt foolish would be an understatement. I had dreaded going over there. I had been throwing myself a silent pity party in the car, forgetting my ambition from this morning, forgetting the power of my own strength, but more importantly forgetting the power of people, the power of this world. 

Our friend has no idea how much she did for me tonight. She did more than provide a down payment and peace of mind. She cancelled out my own cynicism and threw any excuse to be jaded out the window. But more importantly she renewed my faith in people, in the innate and irrefutable goodness of people. 

New Beginnings

A couple weeks before winter break, I entered my room after school to find a neatly folded sheet of paper on my otherwise tidy desk. Bleeding through the notebook paper I could see "Ms. B" written in cursive with fine point Sharpie. Immediately intrigued, I unfolded and began reading. Here is what it said:

Ms. B,
I really enjoy reading your website every week. It's really good. I like how you make your reader feel like we're there because that's what we're working on in class with our senses and stuff. Please don't be mad that we found it. The only reason we knew you had a website was because we heard about it from another 7th grade friend.

I really think you did the right thing with A and C's note. I hope you don't figure out who this is by the handwriting like you did with theirs. But I think you're right about Mississippi and the sex education stuff. It would be great if we had more teachers who cared like that.

Love,
Your seventh grade student

PS. Please don't be mad.

In going back now, I suppose I can find a way to be flattered. In reading it for the first time though, fear crept into every corner of my body. My legs began to go numb the way they do when you narrowly avoid a car wreck. My moist finger tips stuck to the paper as I sat down in my chair, eyes still glued to the words. I wasn't sure at first if the note was serious or not. It almost seemed sarcastic, and considering my less than flattering analysis of my administration in said "website," I was mortified - even scared for my job. I began thinking of how reckless it had been for me to put such things out for public consumption. Of course my students found it. All you have to do is Google my name and up pops Teacher Corps and a link to my blog. If seventh graders were reading it, was my administration?

I got up to begin straightening desks. My hands shook as I erased the board and swept the floor. My heart was racing to the point that even those menial tasks made me winded. I must have looked disturbed because when my friend Mr. Gioia walked in he immediately asked what was wrong. I handed him the note and as he read, he smiled.

"This is adorable!"

"What?!"

"Seriously... didn't this make you smile?"

"Uh no... it wasn't a positive blog... a kid used the word 'sex' in a note... to me... oh my God..."

Whether I agreed with him or not, his perspective began to put me at ease. I can tell you now that nothing has happened as a result of that blog (or that note), but in the weeks that followed, I couldn't bring myself to write a new one. That part of my daily (ok sometimes weekly) routine suddenly brought feelings of nausea stemming from some irrational fear that I had inadvertently attached bad karma to anything I typed... and that I may have gotten myself fired.

Now that my fear has subsided, I've regained the desire to blog. I was sad to abandon my old one. If it had been up to me, I would've kept it, but admittedly it had gotten a little old to constantly write about school - after all, it already consumes most of waking seconds. It's going to feel good to start a blog that's for me... no requirements from grad school... no worries about who will read it and what they will think. This one's for me, and hopefully the occasional reader will get, at the very least, a new perspective.

So as I ring in the new year, I've included my favorites from the old blog, while turning over a new leaf with the new one, vowing to release my daily musings and ponderings - whether they're school related or not.