Ten Years of Teaching

*So, next week I will begin my 11th year of teaching, which is really quite unfathomable to me.  I am finally starting to feel a little bit like a veteran, which up until recently was always considered a very good thing for an educator to be.  I've taught in 4 schools, 3 public and 1 private, each of which has been very different and each of which I've thoroughly enjoyed.  I've taught every type of kid imaginable, from hardened gang members to children who dwell in leafy suburbs, from future farmers to sure-to-be future Broadway stars.  I've had the privilege to instruct students of all academic levels, those who could barely read or write at all, those who have gone on to attend ivy-league universities, and all types of kids in the middle.  I've decided that I was born to be an educator, and I have no plans to ever leave a profession I take great pride in. 

Here is a little bit of my career by the numbers:

Smallest class size: 6
Largest class size: 39

Number of preps taught: 12

Number of different tests I've prepared students to take: I've lost count

Number of tests I've really enjoyed preparing students to take: 2 (IB, AP)

Number of years my salary has broken $40,000: 0  (I think lucky #11 might be the first!)

Number of years I have disliked my job: 0

I think that's the most important number of all. Here's to year #11!

*Written 7/2012, Published 2/2013

Bringing a Book to a Gun Fight

Last night two teachers from my graduate program gave a presentation on an idea that fills teachers' hearts with dread or righteous indignation, depending on their personal feelings on the matter: allowing teachers with concealed carry permits to carry handguns into school buildings for both their own protection and the protection of the student body. As I listened, I tried to set aside my own biases -- as this is a subject fraught with very strong emotion for both me and pretty much all teachers at the moment -- and listen to their passionate arguments on why we need to do more to protect students and why "no gun zones" are leaving our most vulnerable members of society prone to despicable acts of mass violence. 

While I agreed with few (probably, actually, zero) of their positions, I saw a true earnestness and, yes, bravery in their desire to protect their students with deadly force, if need be. Both teachers were young mothers of small children and proud concealed carry permit holders, and both said they would be glad to put themselves as the first line of defense against a mad gunman in a school building.

You couldn't help but admire these bold, confident women -- fiercely devoted to both their beliefs and the protection of students. In fact, I could feel myself shrinking a bit before them, my once lofty-sounding goals of instilling a love of literature and learning in kids seriously lacking in scope in comparison with the goal of defending their very lives. I have never pictured myself as a hero -- I leave that to my truly heroic brothers, who are both Lt. Colonels in the Army who have served many tours of duty in both Iraq and Afghanistan -- and now, face to face with those seemingly far braver than I, I felt woefully deficient.

When I decided to be an educator, I knew I'd have to be brave. Facing a room full of teenagers is no easy task, I assure you! I knew I'd have to be knowledgeable, to be competent, to be assertive, to be tough, to be determined, to be demanding. I knew, above all else, I'd have to be kind, caring, and empathetic. I did not know I'd have to be a good marksman, a terrorist negotiator, a stand in for trained law enforcement. I must admit, this all comes as a shock. I feel as if someone has changed the rules of the game mid-play. I feel as if this job of "teacher" is changing more rapidly than I can, or want, to change.

I feel, in short, like I brought a book to a gun fight.  

For now, thankfully, the book is still enough. When it ceases to be, I just might have to leave this fight.

Musings of a Half-Brit

When I was in second grade, I spelled the word "grey" right on my spelling test, only to get it counted wrong. "Gray," wrote the teacher in red beside her cruel x. I was utterly perplexed when I showed my mom. I mean, it said "Earl Grey" on all our tea bags, so how could this be? "Whoops, honey. That's the British spelling. The American spelling uses an a. She really should have counted it right, though, since it's actually the proper spelling," she responded. Okay. I'm paraphrasing the last sentence. I doubt she went that far, but I do remember a note of disapproval in her voice. It is the same note she uses when she speaks of corn ("it's really meant for animals, you know") and peanut butter ("not too fond of it -- it just sticks to the roof of my mouth"). (If you didn't know, peanut butter is not too common in England, which is an utter travesty, I know.)

I traveled to England a few times before the age of 6 but recall very little of those earliest visits. However, I had quaint little bits of Britain infused into much of my childhood. I didn't realize there was anything all that special about these things, however, until I talked about them to some of friends, most of whom are from the South and to whom all tea is iced and all biscuits are buttermilk (not McVitie's).

In honor of my "mum" and Julie Andrews, I've decided to list "a few of my favorite things" about growing up half British.

1. Dippy Egg w/ soldiers (or soft boiled eggs with toast strips). If you've never had a soft boiled egg, I pity you. Yes, I know the runny yolk turns off many, but if you are at all open to the idea of eating a soft yolk, then this is the perfect and most adorable way. You must get the proper egg cup, place a pile of salt on its rim, lob off the top of the egg (stopping for a moment to eat the cooked white out of the shell), then dip the toast strips in the scrumptious, buttery yolk. Add salt from pile as needed. This is the ultimate comfort food and is, to me, preferable to any southern feast of biscuits, gravy, grits, and sausage. (An "egg in a basket" is my second-favorite runny egg dish. You can get this at your local Cracker Barrel. Delish!)

2. Cakes with fruit. Okay, I'm lumping 3 things together here since my family eats several varieties of fruited cakes/pies/puddings (no, not that kind of pudding) during the holidays. Those who have married into my family know these dessert items simply as "weird British food" and go straight to the pecan pie without giving them a second thought. The rest of us Magsigs, however, are known to eat many a mince pie (though those aren't my personal favorite), slice of fruitcake (oh yes), or, best of all, serving of Christmas pudding (to die for -- and, also, who doesn't love a flaming dessert?) during the holiday season. I should also add trifle in here, a cake/custard/booze/fruit concoction that we all love but is not found so often at your typical church potluck dessert table in the South.

3. Odd words. So far I've focused on food, but of course the quirky British expressions of my mother have made their way into my lexicon and occasionally raise eyebrows when uttered to my acquaintances. No, my mom does not walk around saying "Blimey" and "Bloomin'," but she does occasionally say funny things. I'm not going to vouch that all of these are actually British in origin; they're just things I have heard often:

"You're making me cross." Incidentally, my son has picked this word up from watching Thomas, not from Grannie, and it's quite cute when he uses it.

"Yum. Those are morish." (Meaning, you want more of them.)

"Everything's lying about higglety-pigglety" (Helter Skelter)

"He's just full of beans." I had no idea what my mom meant when she started saying this

about my oldest son a couple of years ago. I think it means something to the effect of "he's driving us all crazy." Ha Ha. Fits.

"I don't know if we're dressed to go to that restaurant. It's quite posh." This helped me a lot when the Spice girls became popular.

"Tidy up." This was what we were told to do to our rooms. I'm glad, because cleaning is a lot harder than tidying.

"I'm absolutely knackered." (Really tired)

The bathroom was quite often referred to as "the loo," and, of course, the word"lovely" was used quite often.

From visits with my Grannie, I also was exposed to "I need to spend a penny" (go pee) "Struth" ("God's truth"), and, of course, "Crikey." :)

4. Hot drinks are served hot. Cold drinks are served...cool. So, if you didn't know, the Brits are not known for their love of ice in drinks. I will not pretend to know the reason for this, but I'm guessing part of it has to do with the fact that it is rarely what most southern Americans would call "hot" in the UK. You would be extremely lucky to have an entire week that is over 80 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer. In fact, an average summer temp is about 60-65 degrees. Therefore, they don't have the need to consume ice-cold beverages constantly from June through September each year like we who are accustomed to 95 degree summer days do. Probably owing to my upbringing, I also am not a fan of ice if a drink is already cool/cold and like only very light ice if it's not. I distinctly remember my mom drinking lukewarm Pepsis on several occasions, so I come by this honestly. However, I know many southerners who are true connoisseurs of ice and can tell you the restaurants/gas stations that have the "good ice" that you can fill your cup to the brim with before filling it with your fountain diet coke. I hate drinking cokes this way since they get watered down so quickly. Similarly, I find iced tea far inferior to hot tea, any time of year.

5. Sweets! I had the most fantastic experience visiting England with my mother the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college. It was the first time I'd visited any foreign country since childhood, and, as those experiences always do, the trip dazzled me. As a lifelong lover of sugar, one of the most delightful cross-cultural experiences I had was tasting all of the foreign candy bars. If you are a lover of candy, let me tell you -- England is the place to go. Since my mom always brought these treats home after her trips home, many were already familiar to me. A few of my faves are Bassett's licorice all sorts (yes, we all grew up eating and loving black licorice in my house), Cadbury's everything (they have way more varieties of Cadbury's chocolate there. Yum, Yum!), Maynard's wine gums, Smarties, Nestle Quality Street Candy and Aero Bars, and all varieties of English toffee (though Walkers may be the absolute best). One notable letdown: Frys Turkish Delight. Being an ardent Narnia fan, I was just dying to try Turkish delight when I saw it sold in markets in the UK. My mom kept telling me I'd be disappointed, and she turned out to be right. I really don't know what Edmund Pevensie was thinking getting all giddy over such a mediocre treat.

There are many other fun things about having a British "mum" (hot water bottles, hearing her sing "The White Cliffs of Dover," sneaking into my parents room to find them snickering over episodes of Benny Hill, etc.), but these are just a few of them. I must say, however, that they added a lot of colour to my childhood and made me glad to be only half a Yank.

I'm Going to Try to Start Murdering Some More Words

Oh yeah, I have a blog! This is something I remembered the other day while I was looking at my Google Chrome favorites and wondering what that link to that blog with the stupid name was.

Needless to say, I have pretty much failed at blogging, and for many reasons. I'll give you a quick run-down.

1. Children. I have two of them now. Enough said.

2. I am a teacher. No, I am not going to insert one of those "What my mom thinks I do / What society thinks I do / What I really do" pictures here, but I am going to say that being an English teacher takes up a heck of a lot of my time. Sometimes it's time spent actually grading and planning. Many other times it's spent looking at the Internet for 5 more minutes before I actually start grading and planning...only to realize that those 5 minutes have turned into an hour and, crap, it's 10:00 now, and is there really any point in trying to start doing something at 10:00? No, there is not, so I will keep looking at the Internet and feeling guilty about those papers I have to grade.

3. It takes me forever to write just about anything. Seriously, I'll frequently spend 15 minutes wording a Facebook post. I'll probably spend at least 30 minutes writing this blog entry about re-starting my blog, and it will only be a few lame paragraphs. This is because I second guess myself way too much, which is what I was getting at with my blog title and is also what brings me to my next point...

4. I have lots of things I want to say but always wimp out of saying them. Usually I just don't want to offend someone or expose too much of myself or appear to be overly annoying by even voicing my opinions out loud. I am beginning to realize a few things, though: a.) I really enjoy reading my friends' and acquaintances' blog entries and am always glad they shared, even when I don't agree with them. Maybe they'll feel the same about mine...or be polite enough to refrain from telling me if they don't. b. ) If you disagree with me often enough, you'll probably quit reading my blog. Problem solved. c. ) Blogging is narcissistic, and bloggers just have to embrace the fact that they basically believe the world deserves to hear their gems of wisdom, whether it does or not.

So...the long and short of it is that I would like to do some more writing, and I'm hoping to use this blog a little more than I have during the last 2 years, which won't be very hard since I think I've only blogged once since 2010. I'm not going to commit to much more than that because it will just give me one more thing to feel stupid/guilty about if I don't follow through.

The Ten Best Books I read in 2010

So, as I look back at 2010, it appears that I did better at some things than others. Blogging did not end up being something I was able to do with much regularity, obviously, but I was delighted to find, as I made a list of books I'd read this year, that I actually read 23. Apparently, my resolution for 2010 must have been to read more! I hope that I can continue this pace for the first 4 1/2 months of 2011, but I know my reading will come to a screeching halt right around May 15th, when baby Harrison will arrive. (Oh, yes, I should mention that we've picked a baby name: Harrison James Wilson!) Last time I gave birth, I sat with a book of David Sedaris essays beside my bed for about 6 months before I was able to get through them (for shame!). This time, I will have 2 kids to deal with, so I'm sure all I'll read for quite some time after Harrison arrives will be In Style and Entertainment Weekly. Oh well.

In the spirit of making end of the year lists and all, I've decided to name my top 10 books of 2011. Here they are:

1. Room by Emma Donoghue. I didn't plan on reading this book when I bought it. I actually bought it for a white elephant book exchange party that I ended up not being able to attend. I had heard good things, so decided I would just keep it and read it, and boy am I glad I did because I LOVED this book. The narrator, Jack, was born in an 11x11 room and lives there with his mother, who, similar to the father in Life is Beautiful, tries to make their captivity as positive as possible for the sake of her child. Their relationship is touching, and Jack's voice is as real and poignant as any I've heard in a long time.

2. One Day by David Nicholls. This book is almost every bit as fun as you've heard. I loved reading about Dexter and Emma and their long friendship-almost-romance. Emma is witty and entirely lovable, while Dexter is charming despite his many flaws. This book kept me laughing each night as I lay in bed telling myself "just 10 minutes more -- then I'll turn out the light."

3. The Help by Kathryn Stockett. Okay, so you've probably read this book by now or know at least 5 people you have. Yes, it is probably now a bit overhyped, but I truly enjoyed this book when I read it over the summer. While the character of Skeeter didn't do too much for me, Stockett's real achievements were the black maids Aibileen and Minny, whose stories were both hilarious and achingly sad. I want to teach this book as a companion piece to To Kill a Mockingbird SO BADLY.

4. Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. You'll notice in my list below that I read quite a few young adult novels this year, two of which were the first 2 Twilight novels. Well, out of the 23 books I read, Twilight sits at #22 and New Moon sits at #23. However, rest assured that I was delighted by the rest of the young adult books I read, and by none more than the first book in the Hunger Games series. I CAN'T WAIT for this to be made into a movie and hope that they pick a worthy actress to play the part of Katniss Everdeen (maybe True Grit's Hailee Steinfeld or The Social Network's Rooney Mara?)

5. I Know This Much is True by Wally Lamb. I read She's Come Undone a few years back after my friend Leslie lent it to me, and I absolutely LOVED it, so I was excited to finally buy and sink my teeth into Lamb's 900+ page story of twin brothers, one who suffers from schizophrenia. Yes, it was a long read, but a very rewarding one, and, while I think I prefer She's Come Undone, Wally Lamb is such a gifted writer that any book by him is just great.

6. The Lonely Polygamist by Brady Udall. This story of a Mormon polygamist family is easily the quirkiest book I read this year. It was lots of fun too, for the most part. Udall's gift is to endow each of his characters with a great deal of humanity even when one could easily cast off the whole lot as a bunch of insane weirdos. Golden Richards is humorous enough as the bumbling husband trying to keep his four wives and 28 children together while being tempted by infidelity, but the character who really broke my heart in this book was his son Rusty. I imagine anyone who gets into Big Love would like this book as well.

7. Little Bee by Chris Cleave. The first 2/3 of this book would probably make my top 5 for the year, but I was a bit disappointed in the way this book ended. However, the narration by the Nigerian refugee "Little Bee" was exquisite. This book reminded me a lot of the great essay "On Seeing England for the First Time" by Jamaica Kincaid. Both are great commentaries on British colonialism and include a terrific combination of humor and bitterness.

8. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. I was pleased to see this nonfiction book on a bunch of top 10 lists for the year and definitely believe it deserves a spot on mine. While it drags in places, this true account of the life of the woman whose tissue sample spawned the first line of productive cells (the He-la line of cells) was fascinating. I learned a lot about medical care during the time of segregation and medical consent laws, just for starters, and was very impressed by Skloot's diligence in getting to know the Lacks family and getting to the bottom of the story of Henrietta.

9. Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson. I read this book quite late, I'll admit. I've been meaning to read it for a few years, but was finally motivated to pick it up when I took a new job in Wilson County and found it on the 9th grade protected reading list and realized that I would actually be teaching it my honors freshmen. (This was also my motivation for reading Blood Red Horse, The Secret Life of Bees, The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, and I, Robot and for re-reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, which would have surely made my top 10 list had I not read it before, which disqualified it.) I loved it! Yes, this is the kind of book you can read in a couple of hours and isn't especially challenging, but it is very well written nonetheless and is PERFECT for ninth grade students. I got to teach it in November, and my students ate it up. We had some really good conversations about sexual violence, cliques, peer pressure, and depression, and I know it was the one book that almost all my kids actually READ and UNDERSTOOD.

10. The Swallows of Kabul by Yasmina Khadra. This story of sexual oppression in Afghanistan is just heartbreaking. I would recommend it to any who got into Khaled Hosseini's books and also enjoy a poetic touch in novels. Khadra is a beautiful writer, and, while Swallows may not have had the happy ending of, say, The Kite Runner, it feels a bit more true to life when one considers what it living under Taliban rule is really like.

Here's the complete list of what I read this year:

The Help by Kathryn Stockett -- 2009

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot -- 2010

Room by Emma Donoghue -- 2010

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins -- 2008

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins -- 2009

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins -- 2010

The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson -- 2009

I, Robot by Isaac Asimov -- 1950

I Know This Much is True by Wally Lamb -- 1998

Little Bee by Chris Cleave -- 2009

The Bedwetter by Sarah Silverman -- 2010

The Lonely Polygamist by Brady Udall -- 2010

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon by Steven King -- 1999

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer -- 2005

New Moon by Stephenie Meyer -- 2006

The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd -- 2002

The Swallows of Kabul by Yasmina Khadra -- 2005

Blood Red Horse by K.M. Grant -- 2006

Re-read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon -- 2003

One Day by David Nicholls -- 2009

Rabbit, Run by John Updike -- 1960

Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson -- 1999

Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Ann Burns -- 1984

Grannie

My Grannie, Margaret Mapey (née Stansfield) passed away on Monday, August 23rd, at the age of 84. She was my last living grandparent, my mother's mother, and she lived in Suffolk, England. Since I grew up in America, I didn't get to visit her very often; however, the few times I spent with her were wonderful adventures -- now precious memories.

My mom and I took a brief trip to England after my freshman year of college. We spent two weeks there, visiting family in Suffolk, where my mom lived for some of her childhood and young adulthood, and then spent time in London, Cambridge, Oxford, Norwich, and Stratford-on-Avon. For an eighteen year old girl who hadn't traveled to Europe since she was six, it was a dream come true!

Me in Cambridge, summer of 1998

During the spring semester of my sophomore year at Trevecca, I applied for a study-abroad scholarship through Delta airlines. The scholarship granted its winner $2,500 and free airfare anywhere in the world for "study abroad" purposes. Delta was surprisingly inclusive about what it considering "studying abroad," so, after winning the scholarship (My best friend Courtney and I were the only applicants, and we both won!), I decided to sign up through Trevecca's English department to complete an Independent Study of the Lake Poets (Wordsworth, Coleridge, etc.) and travel to the Lake District with my Grannie. I spent a few days with my Aunt Jill and Aunt Nina in London, and the rest of my month-long stay was spent with Grannie. We spent about 2 weeks at her home in Wickham Market, with day trips to Ipswitch, Southwold, Cambridge, and Aldeburgh, and frequent trips to nearby Woodbridge, where I visited with my Aunt Lesley, Uncle Mervyn, and my cousins, Chris, Ben, and Neil. The other time was spent on a marvelous trip around Northern England, Scotland, and Wales. We drove north to Yorkshire, west to the Lake District, north again for a whirlwind day in Edinburgh and Glasgow, then south and west again to Wales. We stayed at delightful Bed & Breakfasts, which are a luxury here in the U.S., but are the more affordable (and quaint!) choice for accommodations in the U.K. As you can imagine, the whole adventure was just amazing.

Grannie and I at Cromer Beach, Norfolk

I remember thinking all summer: "I will treasure this experience forever." I tried to make the most of every day, recognizing even then that Grannie was showing some signs of her age. We had a blast. I loved Grannie's sense of humor. She gave me all the gossip on her neighbors, shared drinks and pub meals with me, showed me all her old pictures, and taught me how to drive on the left. She also told me stories by the dozen -- about her years as a P.E. teacher, her childhood up north, about the time her family took in a Jewish refugee during WWII, her experience raising twin girls, and of her difficulty in nursing an ailing husband for many years.

Grannie and I, 2004

By the time I visited again in 2004, she had changed dramatically. She was much more frail and weak, and her mind had lost its sharpness and clarity. Within a year, my mom and her sister made the decision to move her into an assisted living facility. Her beautiful cottage, pictured below, was sold, and her few personal possessions were packed up and taken along with her to her new home. Her mind quickly deteriorated after that, and over the last couple of years, she had lost the ability to recognize anyone. She had a few physical problems whilst at the nursing home, but for the most part she soldiered on...until last week, when she succumbed to pneumonia. She died peacefully and without pain, which is a great blessing.

Grannie's Cottage in Wickham Market

As I was looking through old pictures the other day, I found a thank you note I had written (but apparently not mailed) when I was probably 5 or 6. I thought it would be kind of neat to post it here. I loved my Grannie very much, and, though I didn't get to see her often, I will miss her.

Letter to Grannie and Grandpa Victor

Grannie at Waldringham Sailing Club, 1998

Summerless

Ah, Summer. The time to work on your tan, read mindless novels, eat ripe fruit, sip on lemonade, and relax in the sun for 10 long weeks, right? Not if you have a small child at home and are transitioning from a school on a traditional calendar to one that uses a balanced one (which means starting school 2 weeks earlier than most).

Summer has never been my favorite season because, well, I am not a fan of 90 degree heat and sunburns, which I am very prone to. However, as a teacher (or a student, which was my experience for the 16 years before I became a teacher), you cannot help but learn to love those 10 weeks of freedom that comprise the summer holiday. You start looking forward to summer vacation as soon as spring break ends, and it is about the only thing that gets you through those atrocious final exam essays and graduation ceremonies.

Well, I have learned that the lazy days end as soon as your firstborn arrives. Last summer, my son was a 9-11 month old, and we moved, so when I wasn't packing or unpacking boxes, I was chasing after a crawler and childproofing the new house. I kept telling myself, "Don't worry. Next summer Sammy and you will have such fun. You will go to the zoo, the library, the pool, the park. It will be wonderful! It will be relaxing!" Well, every single part of my wish came true...except the last part. Sammy and I have had such fun this summer. We have gone to the zoo, the library, the pool, the park...and to Pump It Up and the Adventure Science Center and many more places. But the relaxing parts of my day only arrive when my adorable toddler is safely in his crib for nap or bed.

Summer is drawing to a close, and I am proud of myself for keeping my little man busy and entertained. We have been on the go almost every day. But I realized last week that I am tired. I just want one week of Sammy in daycare and me at home. One week to veg. out half the time and work on lesson plans the rest of the time. This is impossible, of course, because his daycare doesn't open back up until teachers report for work. So I have 5 days left of my summer "vacation," and I will keep myself energized with this one thought: Friday afternoon I have hired a sitter for four hours. I will get to have one last extremely miniature vacation before I face school once again.