Teaching in Pictures

Where I am right now, freezing my toes off and lesson planning for the rest of eternity:
Where I want to be (since it is midnight and I am a normal, sleep loving human):

(I pulled the corner of the covers back just to torture myself with the fluffy and warm goodness of my amazing bed)

And yet I soldier on. I hope that the little students weep in appreciation of my steadfast dedication to the quality of their education. Weep.

Love Letters and Play Lists (notes from a typical day)

I let my kids listen to their ipods during work periods, under the condition that if I can hear their music coming out of their headphones, it gets turned off for the rest of class. That seems fair to me. If a student is listening to music and it's not bothering anyone ... how could I justify forbidding it? I can't be hypocritical; I have to have music on while I'm working, so I understand that some of them do as well. And amazingly, having music on instantly calms down some of my most attention deficit students - when they can tune out the distractions, they get a lot more work done.

I like to look at their ipods and pick out music for them while they're working - one grade 8 student today was listening to John Coltrane during a work period and I FREAKED OUT. I was so proud of him. That led to a teachable moment. I started to write the names of artists up on the board.

OLD: The Beatles. Janis Joplin. The Rolling Stones. The Who. Bob Dylan. Johnny Cash. Arethra Franklin. Duke Ellington. Coltrane. Robert Johnson. Ella Fitzgerald. Billie Holiday. The Kinks. Bruce Springsteen.

NEW: The Killers. The Hives. The Strokes. Oasis. The Postal Service. The Arcade Fire.

This list is now considered the "Johnson play list". I even did some air guitar Elvis for them. One student said "you're so cool Miss J - my last teacher didn't even know what LOL meant!" and so this list of music is the only acceptable thing to listen to during class. I figure that if I can't get them to learn about history, at least I can get them to learn about good music.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm such a soft heart; I love love. I love anything to do with love. I love even the idea of love. Now hours after school has ended, I'm marking letters that my Grade 7s wrote, acting as though they were Henry Hudson writing his last letter back to his wife Katherine in England. And seriously, the sentimentality in some of these letters has left me teary-eyed.

"Please Katherine, pray for me. Pray that I will be able to leave this wretched place alive. If you pray, I might be able to return to you again, and love you the way I wish I could love you right now. Don't ever forget that this letter is sent with all the affection that one man's heart is capable of possessing. I am yours, even in death."

Written by an 11 year old! He didn't get that many points for factual content, but I bumped him up to an 80% because he made his teacher cry.


....
And those are the notes from the trenches for today.

Test Answer of the Day

"Question: How did the shift from Medieval country life to town life affect the world view of the peasant?

Answer: I think that the shift from country life to town life affected the world view of the peasant because it would really change his social life. He wouldn't have any friends and maybe no one in the town would understand his jokes. "

.... I'm off to a soccer game and then out with the team for drinks. I think my day speaks for itself in that thoughtful answer above (and really shows the extent to which grade 8s are able to think beyond their own parameters ... not much!)

Toronto On My Mind

Today while running errands, I dropped off my dry-cleaning at a little place in Shawnessey. It seemed nice enough and I'm in no position to commit time to comparison shop. The lady behind the counter dumped out my bag, counted my items and gave me a slip. "See you Wednesday, okay?" she asked. I smiled back, glanced down at my receipt to make sure they had my phone number right and noticed the total cost - $42.25.

And then, for the first time, I started missing Toronto.

Let's begin with the dry cleaning. I did my dry cleaning in Chinatown, where the amount that I brought in today would have cost me a whopping $15.00. I miss my dry cleaner.

I miss the Annex, my old neighbourhood. I miss the tree-lined streets. I miss the funny little shops on Bloor. I miss Mel's Diner. I miss the Thai restaurant on Harbord Street called Flip, Toss and Thai where the owner would greet me by name and in union we would call out my regular order, "shrimp pad thai, zero chili, extra peanuts, hold the tofu"

I miss Future's Bakery. I miss the subway and all the crazy people who ride it. I miss the incredible bookstore on Front Street where I could spend hours getting lost in knowledge. I miss the pasta in Little Italy and walks on the beach with Eddie. I miss the whir of the streetcar as it rumbled past my house.

I miss the theatre. I miss seeing major concerts. I miss being able to drive to New York in an hour. I miss the last school I was teaching at in the Spring, which in many ways is MILES ahead of the school I'm at now in terms of school spirit and student assessment. I miss my best friends and tea at Faith's house and ultimate Frisbee with the Phat Daddies and brunch with Eips and laughing with Emily (it never mattered where we went - we always were laughing)

I walked out of the dry cleaners in a daze. Hindsight tends to be selective; I remember the best things about Toronto and not the worst - the poverty, the humidity, the sense of being displaced. But I miss it all the same.

What to do to combat homesickness? This was my plan today: to drive up to MEC on a sunny Saturday afternoon and pick out winter stuff. Look up ski passes online. Make a commitment to hit the mountains this winter ... because if there's one thing that is going to make Calgary worthwhile, it'll be the skiing.

Or, y'know, the fact that my family is here. Or my amazing job.

I'm trying, I really am.

Now back to the Flames game.

My Generation

Today was career day at my school, which meant that a bunch of successful alumni came back to their old stomping ground to talk to high school students about how successful they are all going to become. There was a lot of back patting and 'rah rah rah'ing ... and I didn't even get an extra prep period, since they only took kids in grades 10 and up. I've never seen so many power suits in one place before.

What made my day so interesting was that many of the people who attended career day were old classmates of mine (from this very school that I teach at) or old teachers of mine and/or my dad's, aunt's cousins'. It was like a time-warp; I had a hard time keeping grounded as I kept running into people who I used to play dolls with or attend birthday parties at the Glencoe for.

So it would have been a good day -a great day, even- if my grade 9s hadn't decided to suck me of my passion, energy and goodness. As usual. And I let them, I did. I didn't yell at them or punish them. I just kept asking them nicely, while inside, wanting to just get SO ANGRY that they were being disrespectful. We were learning about corporations and going through lesson that I had put a LOT of time and effort into, and that had been AWESOME with my other grade 9 class ... and today, it just didn't click.

I'm going to rethink my strategy this weekend. I'm also going to write 97 report cards ... or at least get started on them.

So here I am, half an hour away from the end of another week. By Friday of each week, I'm just glad that I survived. I feel exhausted and overwhelmed and full of notes and ideas and projects to mark. Over the weekend I know that I'll have fun, see my friends, clear the slate and get rest ... but on Friday, I'm done like the dishes.

Teenage Wasteland

I *just* realized the problem with teaching junior high: the boys and the girls are very, very different creatures. I mean, obviously, right? Even in my 20s, I don't understand men. But at 14 years old, they are at such a different developmental stage than the girls are, it's amazing that everything manages to hold together until high school, when the boys start to catch up.

Example: they LOVE body humour. I coached the grade 9 boys last night at a volley ball game and they couldn't stop making jokes about the ball bag, which they called the ball sack. Who wants to touch the ball sack? Who wants to reach in to the ball sack? Miss J, Evan stole my ball sack! No, it never gets old. When I showed them the serving line up and number 6 HAPPENED to be playing next to number 9 in the back row ... well, it was mayhem. Today, I sent an email out to the team congratulating them on their hard work ... and apparently even the word "hard" is funny.

And then the girls look at them, roll their eyes and continue waiting patiently for them to grow up.

I'm up to my nose in report cards, planning, coaching, meeting and teaching right now. I had a great class today with my grade 9s (yes, the very same ones) about corporations and I felt like I was flying. Good days are so good here and when things go right, I'm convinced that I have never been happier. When things go wrong I feel defeated. Most days are somewhere in the middle.

On an unrelated note, today, while talking about the subjectivity of perspective with my grade 7s, one student made a comment about his perspective on uniforms He drove his point home by saying, "if you dress like a slut, you feel like a slut." My jaw almost dropped to the floor, but I pulled myself together enough to take him out into the hall and ask what the hell he was thinking. Where do 11 years olds get this stuff?

Did I Shave My Legs for This?

This is it - the sum of an entire weekend of my life. 40 grade nine essays on geography and city settlement in the United States (thrilling, I know). 37 grade nine portfolio projects. 7 grade seven paragraphs that were due two weeks ago.

One very tired and bored teacher.

I can't feel excited, exactly, because I don't know what I've accomplished other than to keep my head above water for another day. Tomorrow, I take in 40 HUGE grade 7 projects that are going to be labour intensive to evaluate because the 7s still need a lot of support to build their basic social studies skills. Sometimes I wonder if they would notice if I just put stickers on everything and wrote "keep up the good work". I'm pretty sure a lot of my teachers used to drink while marking. Now I know why :)

I haven't even planned my lessons for tomorrow. I don't have any groceries in the house. I haven't seen my friends or hung out with my sisters or taken my niece for a fall walk, or called my grandparents or gotten a hair cut or gone on a date or written emails to people I miss ... but the marking is done. So is my weekend.

I don't ever regret becoming a teacher. I feel so honoured to be doing what I'm doing every day. But I hope that one day, a few months (or years?) down the line, I find the balance between being the best teacher I can be and being the best version of myself. Right now, it's one or the other.

I'm going back to finish marking these papers, then to plan for my lessons tomorrow, then to find something in my closet that isn't wrinkled and thrown under the bed, and to find food in my fridge that will pass as a healthy lunch. I will say goodnight to my housemates who get to go to bed before midnight and I will stay up late reading -fun reading, not essay reading- because I need to do something for myself this weekend, even if it doesn't happen until midnight on Sunday night.

Here's hoping that everyone's weekend was as productive as mine! (and maybe a bit more fun, too)

Right Back Where I Started From

When I was born (my grandmother likes to tell me) my name was up in lights. My Afi was on the Calgary Stampede board of governors for many years, and on July 15th, in honour of his first grandchild being born, the display board at the Chuck wagon race read: "Congratulations Keith Johnson on the birth of grandchild Brianna Marie Johnson". A modest crowd of 15,000 applauded politely.

I was officially, then, inducted into the stampede culture and began my life as a Calgarian.

As I drive through this city now, I realize that every formative memory I have from my childhood has something to do with Calgary. I played on these soccer fields, rode my bike and kissed boys in Fish Creek Park, did the snow-plow at Nakiska, cheered on the skaters during the winter Olympics, hung out with my friends at Southcentre Mall, learned to swim at the Family Leisure Centre, cheered for the Flames, celebrated my 13th birthday with Beth and Steph at the Earls on 4th Street, and learned to drive on the streets of Sundance.

It's funny looking back at all of this, because by the time I reached high school, I wanted nothing more than to leave what I thought of as a "boring, ugly, creativity-limiting, stifling city". The topic of conversation in grade 12 with my best friend Adam was how we were going to 'escape' from Calgary and start living our real lives somewhere much more vibrant and interesting.

Since then I've been lucky enough to have called many cities home: Victoria, Vancouver, Kingston, Toronto, Mississauga. And it took all of these experiences to realize that Calgary never stopped being the place where I wanted to be.

I'm back now; a different person from when I've left. Yet I'm living 5 minutes from where I grew up, teaching at a school where I was once a student and grocery shopping at the same store that my mom bought food from when I wasn't even old enough to cross the street on my own. Have I not 'made it' because I'm back where I started? Or, does you have to leave in order to understand who you really are?

I don't know where life will take me next. I am still looking for my big adventure. But this time around, I have the insight and experience to call these people, these mountains and these memories that I have "home".

Fridays

My weeks go by so quickly. Just when I think that I won't get through another period of economics with my grade 9s on a Monday afternoon, it's suddenly Friday morning and the whole world looks rosier. Fridays fly by - we get work done, say goodbye to the kids for another week and thank god for the only night of the week where I'm not sitting at my desk planning and marking and researching for my classes.

Working at a new school is like being dropped, without warning, into a country you've never seen before with people who don't speak your language. Just when I think people have started to warm up to me, I make another blunder and fall back into the obscurity of being a new, young teacher in a school that is still run by the old guard. I've never had problems making friends before in a professional or personal setting; even in the 12 weeks I spent in practicum I quickly formed relationships with my colleagues and was welcomed into their social circle, their friday afternoon drinks and ski trips and card games. Here, I'm still struggling. I'm patiently testing the waters, making sure that I'm friendly to everyone and extend myself to them, but so far no biters. I think that they teachers here are exceptionally busy; too busy, it seems, to worry about their personal relationships or finding new friends. But for me, starting out (and in a new city, 2000 miles away from my own professional network that I was comfortably established in), I need a friend.

I teach one more class today - Grade 9. They have a quiz and will complain heartily to me about it, before and after. They will try to challenge my answers. They will glare at me when they get 7/14 becuase they didn't bother to study last night. After that, freedom for another week.