User-agent: * Disallow: / I breathe, therefore I blog.: Teaching
Showing posts with label Teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Teaching. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Immortality

A former student sent me this letter. Excuse me while I cry an ugly cry. I promise you, she's a much better woman than I am.


Dear Ms. McGowan,
           
            Now that graduation is just around the corner, I have found myself reflecting more and more on my journey to the crossroads of undergraduate life and the real world. This reflection has included thinking of all those who have helped me reach this place. Out of all the many amazing people who have crossed paths with me, I have thought about you the most. Being in your class has impacted me not only throughout high school but also throughout my college career. By being your student, you prepared me to be a better writer and you have prepared me for life.
            Walking into your classroom as a freshman, I was nervous I would not do well in high school. I was shy and quiet with a paralyzing fear of speaking in class. Had I not been in your class, I would have been sure to blossom into a lovely wallflower. However, I was blessed instead with a wonderful teacher who coaxed me out of my shell. Standing in front of the class, you exuded a genuine enthusiasm that is unfortunately so lacking in the education system. You gave me a warm smile whenever I walked into class early, your eyes sparkling with a true interest in what I had to say. As the trimester progressed, I slowly gained the confidence to speak up in class. I found my voice through my pen. My writing was a means for me to put my thoughts on paper and articulate what I could not say out loud. The feedback I received from you encouraged me to work even harder. The skills and knowledge I gained in your class helped me to tackle all my high school courses with the same confidence and tenacity.
            In addition to helping me find my voice, the most important lesson you taught me was not just how to write, but what writing can achieve. Learning to make grammar and syntax my allies rather than my foes, you made me realize how useful writing is to any field. I started to believe, (and still believe to this day), that a few well-woven words can change the world. Whenever I read a good book, I began paying attention to the style and what the author was trying to achieve through it. These skills were especially handy when I began to read Kafka and Kushner in college. I was fascinated by the social and political critiques made by writers in the genres of the absurd and the surreal. You inspired me to explore not only what words can do for me but also what I can do with words.
            From what I have learned from you, I hope to enter the medical field as a psychiatrist and use the power of language to educate others on autism. I hope that whoever comes across my writing as a medical professional will be inspired to action in the same way you have inspired me. I feel blessed that you have chosen teaching as a profession because, I am sure there are many more like me who have been touched by your gentle wisdom. Although it is a curious thought, I believe that becoming a teacher is the closest one can get to immortality. From the wisdom you have imparted, I will teach my children and students the same love for language that you have instilled in me. As a teacher, you have begun a legacy and, the amazing gift you have shared with me will now be shared with many others.
            I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you have done for me. You have my utmost gratitude for the lessons you have taught me inside your classroom and out. Now that I am graduating college in June, I will embark on a new journey. Although I am scared of the unknown, I have faith that all that you have taught me will help me to persist. You are a wonderful woman, a loving mother, and a true blessing. As time leads me (both willingly and unwillingly) by hand through the labyrinth of adulthood, I will try to live by all that you have taught me. Thank you for being my teacher.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Parched.

I am a woman.mama.teacher.feminist.

These roles define me and haunt me.

They are all one and at war.

Lately I've been feeling more like a robot than an activist, and I'm thirsty for inspiration. Tonight I gulped it down.

Join me:
"B" ("If I Should Have a Daughter") by Sarah Kay
"Reinventing Feminism" by Courtney Martin
"Too Big for My Skin"by Desdamona


Sunday, October 28, 2012

It matters.

I was sitting here, with a pile of notebooks on my lap, cursing the quickness of the weekend and feeling depressed that my house is a disaster because I spent so much of the weekend grading--again. Sometimes all of the work feels fruitless.

Then I found out that at least one student is noticing. She used one of her free writes to let me know:
"I know teaching can be a difficult job, but Ms. McGowan does really great. She has a caring attitude, enthusiasm, and a love for her students and learning. It is easy for me to learn from her because she has clear written out objectives, every project is important, and she has step by step guidelines to help me through. She is always in class early and on time so that students can ask for help or advice. Ms. McGowan is a great one of a kind person that I am glad to know. She is warm, enthusiastic, and caring. I know that if I need help she will never hesitate to set aside time for me. She makes class enjoyable and encourages everyone to want to learn more. Without her class, I wouldn't be the same. I will miss her when I graduate 9th grade."

I'm writing these words down. I'm remembering them. I'm re-learning that what I do matters.

This is the best teaching year I've had in a while. I'm re-working so many of my lessons and stopping more often to make sure students get it. I'm getting better at what I do.

That feels good.

It matters.

Thursday, August 09, 2012

I don't know anything.

I'm studying for the CSET, which basically translates to "I'm learning how little I know." I guess we should all be able to easily pass this test, as it's a reflection of an elementary education, but, well, I have a lot to learn.

The history is baffling me. It's all vaguely familiar, but I'm realizing that I've never actually connected the pieces to discover the story of man. It's amazing to me how "new" Christianity is. (Christians, of course, believe that the history prior to Christ's birth points toward the birth.)

It's just amazing how big that picture is.

I'm glad my study guide has a few pages of grammar and literary devices/terms. I need to feel like I know something about Language Arts, at least. I clearly know nothing about anything else.

Back to the grind.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

It's complicated.

I've overcome the shock and the feelings of betrayal, and now I just miss her.

...
Our last conversation was in the bathroom where she encouraged me to start running--telling me that even I could become a runner. She offered to train with me. She promised me that I could do it. I'm not going to take up running, but I left our conversation believing I could.

That's how she is (was?). She was so positive and willing to help. She believed in people.
...
At our staff meeting that dreary afternoon, one of the teachers said, "She was arrested? Like, in jail arrested?" When the teacher's question was answered in the affirmative, the gasps and sniffles were audible. It was an image we couldn't bear.
...
The afternoon I found out the news, I went home to my place where my mom was taking care of Klara. I walked in and told my mom what I'd just learned. Her response was, "What an idiot!" I looked through teary eyes at my mom and said, "It's not that simple. She's my friend."
...
That's the problem. It's not simple. Today, I just miss her.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

The "r-word"

Melinda is the protagonist in Speak--one of the core novels for freshman English at our high school. Speak is Melinda's journey of healing--a journey that becomes necessary after Melinda is raped at a party.

The question on the reading quiz was, "What happened between Andy and Melinda at the party?" The correct answer? Andy raped Melinda. They were afraid to use the "r-word." They just couldn't bring themselves to write it, so they wrote:
"He tried inappropriate things with Melinda."
"He had sex with Melinda when she didn't want to."
"They were both drunk and so he did stuff with her, and she tried to stop him."

I gave them the points, of course, but I kept thinking, "No. She was RAPED."

The word is awful. It's strong. It's scary.

So is the thing it describes.

We shouldn't try to make rape less than it is by using euphemisms.

And it didn't happen because she was drunk. It didn't happen because she shouldn't have been alone with him. It didn't happen because she was a freshman talking to an older boy. It happened because he chose to rape her.

Let's call it like it is.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Maya said it best.

‎"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." 
- Maya Angelou

Motherhood has made me a better teacher. I now see each of my students for who they really are--someone's baby. I love them differently--better. I love them in the way that I would want Klara's future teachers to love her. I can't be with my baby during the day, but I can use this new, powerful instinct for good.

I was reading her analysis of the story, and her words caused me to slow down. They were insightful; I recognized a depth of thought in her answers that was absent from the other students' work. I was ashamed that I was surprised when I glanced up at the name. She's that sweet, quiet, English Learner--the one with the low "F." Why did I expect any less from her before this moment? I scribbled, "See me after class. Let's chat about your grade" on the top of her paper.

She cautiously walked up to me at the end of class, holding her paper with my writing at the top up for me to see--like a puppy that had just been scolded. I said, "The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I was so impressed by your answers. They were so insightful. You obviously have some really good things to say." She shook her head and tears welled in her eyes.

"I'm looking forward to reading your essay when you turn it in tomorrow. Seriously. You obviously have some good insights." She cracked a smile and nodded. "After you get over the hump of finishing your essay, can we talk about some of your make-up work? I really want to see your grade reflect this great work you can turn in." She nodded.

Maybe she won't turn in her essay after all, but, then again, maybe she will. Hope springs eternal.

I was reminded that, sometimes, a kid just needs to hear, "You're on the right track. I'm proud of you." How could I forget that? When did I become that calloused?

Wednesday, October 05, 2011

Done.

I picked her up to kiss her--my six-week old baby--goodbye, and the tears started flowing. I drove away, glancing at the empty car seat base in my rear view mirror, and the tears flowed some more. I made the familiar trek from my car to my classroom, realizing that I'm a different person from who I was last time I walked toward that door, and my eyes welled up with tears. I walked into my classroom and went into hyper drive getting ready for the day, holding back those tears. My colleagues came by to offer support, and then I cried. Really cried.

It went about like that for the rest of the day. I was fine when I was in energetic teacher mode, but whenever I had some downtime, I went into broken mama mode.

In some ways, I'm relieved. I'm not relieved to be back at work, but I'm relieved that this day is over. Klara, of course, was fine. As Auntie Jessica said, "She will be fine. She's a McGowan woman! Strength is part of who she is."

We did it, Baby Girl.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Thanks for that.

It's like she could see what I wanted her to see:
"English was my favorite class the whole year. I am really glad that I had you for a teacher for the two trimesters. You trusted us, believed in us, made us feel comfortable in our first year of high school, and made me more open and confident, not just in writing but in life, too. I hope your baby is beautiful and healthy. I know that she will have a great mother."
It's amazing how, when I'm feeling discouraged, a note like this comes just in the nick of time.

Now, for summer...

Monday, June 06, 2011

Fire the ineffective teachers.

I'm feeling really discouraged with teaching.

I don't know even know how to articulate my frustrations. Yes, I'm burned out and frustrated with a few of my students, but mostly, I'm just discouraged. For the first time in my career, I feel ineffective. I'm not reaching this newer group of students. What I'm doing isn't working anymore, and I don't really know how to do it differently.

I guess it's not the time for any major self-reflection, considering school's out in three days, but here I am trying to figure out where to go from here.

Monday, April 18, 2011

One of many.

As I left school late Friday afternoon, I saw the ambulance. The counselor and school resource officer stood by with solemn expressions. As they closed the ambulance door, I watched as the counselor leaned in and offered a reassuring, maternal smile to the student. It had all the telltale signs of a 5150. One more student whose burdens were too great for one soul to carry. I don't know the student, but I left school with tear-filled eyes. Although I've never taught her, she is "mine." She is the girl who quietly suffers in each of my classes.

As they file through my classroom door, I will wonder about their stories. I will be the one who cares about them--as individuals. I will be the one who sees them as humans, not just students. They're mine, and being their teacher is a burden I will happily carry. 

Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Their Hyundai's with WINDSHIELDS!

I really enjoyed the first segment on last night's Daily Show. Teachers are such greedy bastards.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Burnout.

I'm annoyed. Really annoyed.

I've spent pretty much my entire weekend grading, and I'm still not finished. This is my "normal." The sad part is that I had FOUR days this weekend (because of a furlough day and President's Day). I've accepted spending most of my "free time" grading as part of my lot as an English teacher. That's not the problem. (Well, it is a problem, but it's not THE problem.)

The problem is that I keep hearing on the radio, in the news, and on Facebook about the unfair perks of being a public school teacher. You know, the "powerful teacher's unions," insane pensions, and amazing health benefits?

My reality: I managed to acquire $1,500 in medical bills last month due to my pregnancy-related medical care, and I pay out of pocket every time I go to the doctor. My class sizes are INSANE--to the point that it feels unsafe (both for my sanity and because of the sheer number of bodies in the room). I don't get paid, ever, for the "overtime" I work. If I want to attend a professional development conference, I'm expected to pay for it. One of my dear friends, who is one of the best English teachers I know (and a tenured teacher--you know, the kind who have jobs forever, no matter what), was told to expect to not have a job next year.  I pay into my retirement every month, and I think I deserve a sensible retirement after teaching until I'm 65. Our "powerful teacher's union" is our only advocate, and even their hands are tied in the current climate (and their power is definitely not unchecked--despite their efforts at advocacy, they're often simply told "no").

I just don't get it. If I hear one more thing about how teachers have unfair perks that they don't deserve, I'm not going to be able to hold back these tears. It feels unfair, yes, but not the perky kind of unfair.

They call me a public servant, but lately it feels more like slavery.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Working on finding my soul again.

"Without work, all life goes rotten. But when work is soulless, life stifles and dies." 
-Albert Camus

Thursday, September 09, 2010

Go, Go Power Rangers.

I had a timid freshman come up to me after class. In a quiet voice, he said, "Um, Ms. McGowan, I have a sort of personal question for you. It might be inappropriate, so you don't have to answer it if you don't want to."
Me: "Um, okay. You can ask, and I'll decide whether or not I'm comfortable answering it."
Kid: "Well, Mr. Hahn [beloved teacher/prankster] was telling another kid, and I just overheard, that you dated the Blue Power Ranger? Is that true?"

Effin' Mr. Hahn.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

If I am doing nothing, I like to be doing nothing with some purpose. That is what leisure means. 
-Alan Bennett

This week has been so very lovely. In my mind, "lovely" is one of the best attributes. It has been a lovely, lovely week of leisure. It has been full but not busy. I have filled it, you have filled it, and it's been perfect.

I enjoyed wonderful meals with amazing people at places with good vibes (Gather in Berkeley, Swirl in Livermore, my mom's, and the Ale House). I spent late mornings in my pajamas reading a book of my choosing. I shopped for fresh food at the Ferry Building Farmer's market in the city and the Livermore farmer's market--both times with people whom I love. I squeezed Jett practically every day.  I spent hours wandering around the bookstore, with no pressure to head back home. I slowly, slowly worked on my homework for the week.

I have, not once, been bored, but I've also, not once, wanted to be anywhere else.

Bring it on, summer school. If ever there were a time I was ready for you, it is now.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Sigh. Sob. Smile.

I had a student write the most wonderful, insightful letter and distribute it to each of her teachers. She wrote about the frustration she experienced over the lack of interest in the legacies of the people who have gone before us. She wondered about the men and women she read about in her history books who were only given a sentence or two, when their impact on history was so much greater. She promised to carry on our legacies, and she said, "If my life were to be a textbook, each and every one of you would deserve chapters upon chapters. As my teachers, your impact on me will never be unsung. You have been, and will always be, my heroes." It was beautifully crafted. I cried when I read it. The young woman who wrote it is an incredible person.


The letter that I will cherish even more dearly, however, was hashed out on binder paper minutes before graduation. It was handed to me by a student in a graduation cap and gown, with tears in her eyes, who shook her head, started crying, hugged me, and walked away. I stuck it in my pocket with tears welling in my own eyes. 

When I got home tonight, I unfolded it, and, before I even started reading it, I knew that this, this was the letter I would cherish. She told me what she learned from me, little by little. She wrote about how I changed her and how she can't thank me enough for the life lessons I taught her, and she identified each one. I didn't know she was watching that closely.

Watching that girl walk across the stage, with her life in front of her, was, no doubt, one of the proudest moments of my teaching career.  I can't imagine teaching without my mini-me around, but I'm looking forward to this new season of our relationship. 

We can now, truly, just be friends.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

My Favorite Seniors


I've had five TAs throughout this year, and each of them is a senior who was a very special freshman. They are ladies whom I have watched "become," and become they have. They are heading off to Davis, Harvard, and UCSD, and they are going to do great things with their lives. Seeing them go has been a really tough transition for me. They are the ones who stop by to visit and eat my candy, make me laugh, and tell me about their lives. They are also the only students I've ever cussed in front of. When I accidentally started cussing in front of them, I knew they were damned special girls.

The best part? They're so freaking goofy. In between grading papers and running errands for me, these two (Marnie and Jelena) spent the trimester creating themselves as pictures. This is them as nail polish colors, fruit, presidents, milk, Harry Potter characters, sandwiches, cats, and colleges. They slowly took over the bulletin board in front of their desk.

To say I'm going to miss them is not enough. We're having book club this summer because we're not quite ready to part ways. Not even close.

Sunday, June 06, 2010

This weekend, I found the light at the end of the tunnel

Romeo and Juliet newspaper projects---graded.
Summer master's classes due dates---imported to iCal.
This week's homework assignments---progress made.
The last week of the school year---starting tomorrow.

A significant break from teaching--in about a month.

Monday, May 24, 2010

They think I'm stupid.

Dear student who tried to lie to me about turning in your paper on the due date when really you just wrote it tonight,
I checked the properties on the document you just sent me. It was created this evening at 6:35, and it took you 65 minutes to create. Way to be sketchy.
Booyah,
Ms. McGowan